There was only one way to find out. He had his bow on his back but there was no way he could take out all three of them before they fired back. He had no backup to help him. It was just him and them.
There was a last moment of calm before they yelled and then arrows began to fly toward him.
He turned his horse and thundered down the hillside but then his mount skidded to a halt at the riverbank.
The recent rains had swelled the waters and the horse was reluctant to enter but Lennox had no choice. "Come on," he said, urging it forward. "It’s this or we both get spiked like a hedgehog."
The horse slowly entered the water, at once sliding sideways in the current. "You can do this," Lennox said, glancing behind him at the approaching archers.
He had almost made it to the other side when an arrow pierced Bren’s rump, making him rear upwards in pain before bolting forward. The beast no longer cared what happened, wanting only to be free of the maddening agony the arrow was causing.
Lennox tried to hang on but the horse tripped over a rock deep under the surface, stumbling and then falling. Lennox was thrown off, landing heavily on the riverbank, no air left in his lungs, his limbs refusing to listen to his orders to move.
"Get the horse," one of the archers said, his voice coming from far away. "It will warn the clan of our approach."
"No!" Lennox cried out, turning his head in time to see three more arrows strike the horse, sending it crashing into the water.
The three archers turned their attention to him. "You didn’t have to kill him," Lennox said, trying to get to his feet.
"We didn’t have to," one of the archers said, raising a stone in his hand. "But it was fun." He swung the stone down and it caught Lennox on the side of the head with a horrible crunch. Then all he saw was darkness.
When he awoke he could see nothing. Dried blood had glued his eyes shut. Peeling the lids apart with his fingers, he looked around him, trying to work out where he was.
A dungeon. That would explain the stale air and foul smells. Not just a dungeon. A pit with only one way out. Above him was the only source of illumination, a trapdoor, the planks not tight enough together to block out the light completely.
The walls were coated in green mold. He would die in here. There was a table in the corner and upon it a skeleton chained by the ankles and wrists.
What poor soul had been here before him? Was that to be his fate? Rotting away and never breathing the mountain air again?
He frowned as he felt his limbs, testing them for breaks. A rope burn on his ankle. They hadn’t dropped him down into here. They’d brought him down with ropes. That could mean only one thing. They intended to ransom him.
He got to his feet, testing his legs. He swooned for a moment, dizziness washing over him, the bleeding lump on his head throbbing as he leaned against the wall. There was little he could do but wait.
Wait he did, for an interminable length of time. The only time he saw another living soul was when the trapdoor was lifted and a stale quarter loaf of black bread dropped down to him. Then the trapdoor slammed shut, locking a moment later.
Lennox did his best to make the bread last, soaking each morsel in the water that ran down the walls, making it soft enough to eat.
The letter was still safe in his tunic. That was something. His sword was gone, which left him few options for fighting his way out, even if by some miracle he could get up to the trapdoor five feet above his head.
There was nothing else in the room he could use. The table was nailed to the floor and though he’d gotten his fingers bloody trying to undo the nails, it refused to shift. The only other thing in the dungeon was an ancient door off its hinges, leaning against the wall next to the table. Nothing else.
He had no idea how long he was there. The bread was long finished by the time he began talking to the skeleton. "I was wondering if you had a key to get me out of here? A ladder perhaps? No? Shame."
He fell to his knees, hands held upward in supplication. "Please, Lord. I beg you, help me."
There was a gust of wind from nowhere as if a door opened. The door over by the table seemed to move and then a figure bumped into the table.
For a moment he would have sworn the skeleton had come to life. But then he saw what had entered the dungeon and he thought he’d gone mad. He grabbed hold of the woman who’d appeared. Was she real?
She fought to free herself from his grip. She looked so innocent, so shocked, so scared.
Then she kicked him between the legs.
3
When the hulking figure grabbed hold of her in the dark, Rose reacted instinctively, lashing out with her foot and connecting hard.
Immediately the grip on her wrists relaxed and the man fell to his knees. "What did you do that for?" the man asked, speaking in a strained Scottish accent.
