“Not yet,” he whispered back. “Nat and his men scoured the village. The men we’re after were staying at the Lochbuie Inn … but they moved on a few days ago and haven’t been seen since.”
Her pulse quickened. “So, they’re sleeping rough in the woods?”
“I’d say so.” His gaze hardened then. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”
16: YE HAVE MY WORD
ARCHIE SHIFTED HIS weight, trying to ignore the dull throb of his arm. The flea bite he’d scratched had soured. His entire left arm was swollen now, the skin tight and hot. Pus leaked from the bite. He needed to see a healer. An irony, then, that they were hunting one. Once they caught up with Hazel, he wouldn’t be asking her to tend to him though—he’d be swiping a blade across her throat.
Moy Castle loomed through the branches of sheltering oaks, its walls dark against the dawn sky. The fortress was waking up. Somewhere inside, Hazel Maclean was breaking her fast, completely unaware that death waited for her in the trees just a few furlongs away.
“This is bollocks,” Ross hissed, scratching his thigh. Flea bites still bothered him and Ian as well, just not as badly as their leader. “How much longer do we wait for the wee bitch?”
“For as long as it takes,” Archie growled.
Christ’s teeth, he couldn’t believe their ill luck. The previous day, the three of them had looked on helplessly as their prey approached her cottage with Craeg Maclean at her side. They’d visited a week earlier, kicking down her door and ransacking her belongings to frighten her. Why not play with their quarry a little before the end? They’d then lain in wait.
They’d expected her to turn up that day. But she didn’t—not untilfivedays later.
However, they hadn’t followed her into that cottage.
They couldn’t. Not with the local chieftain as her protector.
The man who was about to wed Macquarie’s daughter.
“She’ll come out eventually,” Archie added then, more to convince himself than the others. “She can’t stay locked in that castle forever.”
“And if she does?” Ian’s voice was tight. “What then? We go back to Hamish empty-handed? He’ll cut our balls off.”
The words hung in the soft morning air between them. Aye, they all knew what awaited them if they failed. Macquarie didn’t tolerate failure.
Archie’s hand drifted to the dirk at his belt. “She’ll come out. Healers always do … to forage in the woods.” His confidence swelled with each word. “She’ll need to gather her weeds and flowers, and when she does—”
A twig snapped behind them.
All three men whirled, hands flying to their weapons. But they were too slow.
Warriors melted out of the trees, surrounding them in a loose circle. Ten men, maybe more. All armed. All watching them with predatory stillness.
Ian breathed a curse.
A tall man stepped forward, his boots soundless on the mossy ground. Curly dark hair framed a face that was all sharp angles. Cool green eyes assessed them.
“Good morning,” the man greeted them softly. “We’ve been looking for ye.”
Archie’s throat went dry. His fingers tightened on his dirk, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. The warriors around them shifted almost imperceptibly. The message was clear:try it, and ye’ll die where ye stand.
“Andyeare?” His response was belligerent. Best to brazen this out.
“Captain Nathair Black. I lead the Moy Guard.”
Archie’s gut clenched. “We’re just travelers,” he said roughly. “Passing through.”
“Really?” Nat’s gaze swept over them, taking in their dusty, stained clothes, the red bites that covered their exposed skin, and the dirks at their hips. “Do travelers eye a castle like wolves watching a fowl coop?”
Archie started to sweat.
Shite.The woman had squealed. Black knew who they were. The bastard was playing with them.
