“I’m not arguing with you. As it is, I have a chance for you to redeem yourself. Half a pound for one night’s work.”
“Kidnapping a laird is not easy if he will not come to us. How are we supposed to get into the castle and get him out?”
“Who said anything about you getting into the castle?”
“How do we get him then?”
“Every time he comes back from patrols he goes swimming and I know where. All you have to do is watch and wait and then take him while his guard’s down. There won’t even be a fight unless he’s started swimming with his sword at his hip.”
Rufus smiled a toothless grin. “Now we’re talking. All he’s done to cut down on outlaws. We can barely make a living anymore. Where does he swim?”
“We have a deal then?”
One of the other men stepped forward, his eyes darting from left to right, never still for a moment. “I dinnae trust this one,” he said. “Come, Rufus, let’s away before we are hanged for this treachery.”
“I brought no one with me,” Derek replied. “You could kill me now and no one would be any the wiser.”
“Then let’s do it,” the man said, drawing his sword.
“Only then you won’t get your half pound of silver.” Derek brushed a piece of dirt from the knee of his hose. “I only pay once the job’s done. Do we have a deal?”
“Aye,” Rufus replied. “And you better pay up or my sword may have two more notches on the handle by week’s end.
Derek had cause to remember that conversation as he sat up in the tower. He had to steal from the treasury to make sure he had enough money to pay for it. That worried him more than murder. No one could link him to Andrew’s death but someone might find the silver before he could pay the mercenaries.
Andrew had to die. Derek had tried to persuade him to unite with the MacLeishes against the English but the stubborn fool would hear nothing of it.
“Only when they stop stealing from us,” was his reply every time as if life were that black and white. “Until then Duff MacLeish may be your father but he is not my ally.”
Derek knew life wasn’t black and white. It was all kinds of shades of gray.
Was he good or bad? He wanted Andrew dead and the clans united so they could defend the highlands against the English. Did that make him good or bad?
What about hiring the mercenaries to burn the hall while wearing MacLeish tartan? Was that the work of a villain or a cunning hero?
What about stealing the money to pay them? He had taken the half a pound of silver out of the treasury. That was theft which was bad. But it was to help secure the highlands which was good.
The silver would pay the mercenaries. The mercenaries would kill Andrew. With him out of the picture, Derek would send for his father to take over MacIntyre castle.
The clans would unite. He would finally get the acclaim he deserved and best of all, no one important would get hurt. Except the Normans who when they finally attacked would be sent back to England with arrows sticking out of their arses. Surely that made him a hero even if he had to get his hands a bit dirty to get it all done.
He could picture his father sitting in the hall at MacLeish castle, nodding to him. “Well done, my son. You are welcome to come home where you belong. You have proved yourself a man and a MacLeish. I am proud of you, my boy. Forgive me for sending you away.”
The thought made him smile. It was all he’d ever wanted, praise from his father. It had never happened in his lifetime. He’d had more kind words from Andrew than he’d ever had from Duff yet they meant nothing coming from a MacIntyre.
The candle went out, the light dying away in the chamber. He stood up and crossed to the window. Was it done yet? Was Andrew already dead? When would the message come?
All he could do was wait. When Andrew had ridden into the castle after his patrols, he had gone off swimming the next morning in that utterly predictable way of his. Derek didn’t need to see him go. He made sure lots of people saw him working hard, guaranteeing him an alibi should it be needed. Rufus and his men would be waiting on the mountainside, watching for his arrival.
It was only later in the day that he heard she’d gone with him. That didn’t change the plan. Perhaps they’d kill her as well. It wasn’t just because she’d rejected his advances, slapping him across the face just because she knew she was under Andrew’s protection and he could not punish her like she deserved. It was because she was acting more like a laird every day, telling people what to do, getting Rory under her thumb, the steward following her every command.
What if the mercenaries took her for ransom? They weren’t being paid to do so but maybe they’d use her to try and get more silver out of him. Fat chance. They could keep her as far as he was concerned. And what was left in the treasury would be his to use soon enough. No money wasted on rebuilding an old hall. It would go on feasts and clothes like it was supposed to. What was the point of storing wealth and never using it? Andrew went round in that old baldric. When he was in charge he’d have furs and silks like a proper noble. He’d give feasts the like of which the highlands had never seen before.
The first feast would be for his father. Duff would give him whatever he wanted for doing this and what he wanted was MacIntyre castle. He’d become laird in all but name. He’d make the rules for a change. He’d waited long enough, being forced to serve the chief of a rival clan for years on end, unable to leave, unable to make any decisions for himself. He’d had enough of servitude.
He began to pace the room in the darkness, feeling tension rising inside him. He should have had word by now. It had been hours since Andrew had gone.
They were supposed to send a message straight to the castle once it was done. He was ready, poised to take over. He had his letter ready to send to his father. Duff might have ignored the last one but he wouldn’t ignore one telling him MacIntyre castle was his for the taking.
