Angus’ gaze was deceptively bored. As soon as they opened the cell, he would disarm them and kill them. He was insulted that the English occupiers of the Lowlander castle had sent but three inferior men to fight him. Then again, they didn’t ken they had the fearsome Highlander warlord in their dungeon. A pity, that. They’d learn their mistake soon enough.
Bothwell Castle had fallen in and out of Scottish hands for as long as the laird could remember. The English king, Edward I, was said to be amongst those who were to fight for the stronghold, which was the sole reason for The Karrik’s presence near to Glasgow. Angus had as much use for the Lowlands as he did for England, but he wanted the head of the English king. When Edward I had failed to show, Angus and his men had turned north to return to the Highlands. ‘Twas then that Doctor appeared in front of his galloping horse…
Angus frowned at the memory. Mayhap he should have run the wee mon over, yet trampling an old mon dressed in the cloak of a statured priest was not in his nature. The laird wasn’t particularly religious, yet neither did he wish to spit in God’s eye. Judging by the finery of Doctor’s cloak, he had the appearance of a priest the church held in high esteem.
Thinking to pay penance for the many souls who’d parted from this world by his sword hand, the laird had decided to help Doctor. He’d told his men to continue on without him, that he would catch up with them the soonest. Colban had remained at his side as he always did and the others had obeyed his command. Thirty heartbeats later, they were surrounded on all sides by the English.
The laird’s first thought was to fight them. His second was to let them take him that he might learn their blackguard king’s whereabouts. When Colban reached for his sword, Angus stayed his hand with a glance.
The Highlander “captives” and the priest who he’d later learn was no priest had been all but paraded through the keep en route to its dungeon. Edward I had been nowhere in sight. ‘Twas a wasted errand, but one the laird had planned to correct after a few hours of sleep. He’d had his sleep. ‘Twas time to fight.
“Ye thought to send a witch and a warlock here to do your bidding?” one of the English spat. “Ye be dead men—all of ye!” His face was a mottled red. His eyes bulged from their sockets. “Kill the prisoners!” he shouted at the other two Englishmen. “Kill them all!”
Afore the soldiers could open the cell, the door to the dungeon flew open. Two figures shrouded in hooded cloaks much like the one Doctor had worn afore the soldiers absconded with it appeared at the top of the cement stairwell. The much smaller of the two held up an odd stick and pointed it at the first Englishmon. The stick seemed to make a cracking sound as the soldier fell to the ground, dead. The figure next pointed the stick at the second Englishmon, then at the third. Dead and dead.
Angus couldn’t help it. His jaw dropped for mayhap the first time in his thirty and three years.
“What in the saints?” Colban muttered, echoing the laird’s thoughts. He crossed himself. “Is that whotheybe?”
The Karrik’s jaw tensed as the cloaked figures made their way down the winding stairwell. “’Twould seem it is.”
* * * * *
Two hours earlier
“I remember when your hair was fairly short,” Bellamy mused. “You’ve turned into Rapunzel.”
Octavia half snorted and half laughed as she plaited her hair back into a series of rows. Stopping the tight braids a couple of inches from her hairline, she allowed the rest of her golden brown curls to cascade down to the middle of her back. In the internment camps she’d found that was the best method to keep her hair from constantly falling into her line of vision. “You haven’t seen me in two years. The feeders didn’t exactly oblige me with visits to the salon.”
“Want me to cut it?” He grinned. “I’ve got a knife.”
“That’s a negative, James.” Still, she knew she would be taking scissors to her long locks as soon as she happened upon a pair. Long hair was a weakness no SEAL could afford. It could be weaponized against you with a simple tug. “I’ll take care of it when the situation presents itself.”
Ten minutes later, their cargo in backpacks, the duo set themselves to the tasks of hunting the Xenocann and tracking the doctor. They stayed close to the river, but not close enough to be seen should anyone be near it.
“This could all be one big compound for human collaborators,” Octavia muttered. “Stay vigilant.”
James nodded. It was a fact that the wealthiest humans had struck deals for themselves with the enemy. So long as their way of life remained intact, to hell with the rest of humanity. No survivor would shed a tear for any of the traitors when the enemy eventually and inevitably turned on them. Their time would come. Hopefully they tasted delicious to the feeders.
“James,” Octavia whispered. “Look over here.”
They came to a stop in front of a fresh corpse. Octavia used the tip of her rifle to roll the man over. “This is definitely not the doctor.” She eyed the victim’s odd manner of dress, but didn’t dwell on it. Humans wore whatever they could find these days. Still, the clothing was too scratchy and subpar to belong to a collaborator. Something about it didn’t sit well, but she let it go for the time being. “Whatever killed the guy went for his brains first and his innards last.”
“At least we know we’re heading in the right direction then.” James frowned. “I wish that made me feel better.”
She commiserated, but said nothing.
Twenty minutes later they came across yet another fresh victim. Again with the odd clothing, though this time it was made of chainmail. What the fuck?
“His brain and intestines are gone too,” James said on a sigh. He crouched down to eye the corpse. “Did the portal spit us out into the middle of a medieval fair or something?”
She snorted at that. “I’m starting to consider it as a possibility.” Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at the dead man. “First a peasant and now a knight. Maybe we’ll find Rapunzel yet.”
“Hopefully we’ll find her alive.” James stood back up. “I have a way with fair maidens in distress.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
His expression turned serious. “Two vics in twenty minutes.” He scratched his beard. “The Xenocann should be full by now.”
