"English," Lachlan confirmed, examining the seal. "Bearin’ Ashcombe's crest."
Alpin's jaw tightened. So, it was confirmed then. Ashcombe had sent scouts, or messengers, into MacDougal territory.
"Let him up," Alpin said. "But keep him restrained."
They hauled the man to his feet, twisting his arms behind his back. He was young, perhaps twenty-five, with the lean build of someone who spent more time running than fighting.
Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead where he'd hit the ground, and he was breathing hard from the chase.
"Name," Alpin demanded.
The man spat at his feet.
Callum's hand moved toward his sword, but Alpin held up a hand. "I asked ye a question. I'll give ye one more chance tae answer civilly."
"Go to hell, Highland savage."
"Wrong answer." Alpin nodded to Brodie. "Check that wound on his side. The one he's tryin’ tae hide."
The man's eyes widened slightly, enough to confirm Alpin's suspicion. During the struggle, he'd seen the stranger favor his left side, moving as if something pained him.
Brodie yanked up the man's shirt, revealing a bandaged wound that was seeping fresh blood.
"Old injury," Brodie reported. "Maybe three, four days. Sword cut by the look of it and startin’ to fester."
"Who gave it tae ye?" Alpin asked. "One of me men when ye were spyin’ on us?"
The stranger's silence wasn’t answer enough.
"Tie his hands," Alpin ordered. "We're takin’ him back tae the castle. That wound needs treatin’ if we want him alive long enough tae be useful."
"The Duke will—" the man started, then caught himself.
"The Duke will what?" Alpin leaned in close. "Come fer ye? Demand yer release? I'm countin’ on it. Because when he daes, we'll have a nice long conversation about trespassin’, spyin’, and threatenin’ MacDougal lands."
Fear flashed across the stranger's face, quickly suppressed.
They bound the man's hands securely and hoisted him onto Duncan's horse, with Duncan mounted behind to keep him from attempting escape.
The prisoner said nothing more, but Alpin could see his mind working, trying to figure a way out of the situation.
"Back to the castle," Alpin said. "Double time. I want him locked up and that wound seen to before it kills him."
They rode hard, maintaining tight formation around their prisoner. Alpin's mind was already racing ahead, planning. This changed things. A messenger meant Ashcombe was coordinating something, sending orders or receiving reports. And a wounded scout meant there had already been at least one confrontation with MacDougal patrols.
The situation was escalating faster than he'd hoped.
They headed to the castle, and he was already planning his interrogation. Ashcombe had made a mistake sending scouts into his territory. And Alpin intended to make the most of it.
The game had changed. And he needed to make sure he stayed three moves ahead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Have ye seen the laird this mornin’?"
Mhairi paused outside the breakfast room, her hand on the doorframe. Inside, two maids were setting out fresh bread and cheese, their voices carrying easily in the quiet corridor.
"Nay, he left before dawn with Callum and some of the men," the older maid replied. "Out on some business at the borders, I heard."
