The McCade pub was a squat, ugly building with only one floor. It was in a state of disrepair—peeling paint, lopsided shutters, a door with a panel kicked out, and a sagging roof. There was movement inside, but not much. The front door gaped open, revealing nothing but darkness inside.
“Are we sure she’s in there, Thomas?” Dominic asked quietly.
Thomas glanced over at Flora. The lass had been dressed in a plain shirt, breeches, and boots, and her blonde hair was hidden under a cap. She looked pale but determined, her eyes fixed on the McCade pub with absolute hatred.
“I’m sure,” Thomas said. “If not… well, I don’t know where to find her.”
That idea sent an ice-cold stab of fear through him. What would he do if he couldn’t find her? He hadn’t even told her how he truly felt. They had that one snatched moment together, which had gone past in a blink. Thomas felt like a fool. How could he have been so blind, so stupid?
“Thomas?” Dominic pressed, shuffling closer to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready? We don’t know how much time we have.”
Thomas gave a curt nod. “Yes, I’m ready.”
The problem here had been how many men to take. Thomas could have arrived with dozens if not hundreds of warriors, but what good would that do? If the McCade pub was anything like the Sinner, it would have narrow passages and low-ceilinged rooms. That meant too many men would bottleneck the halls, and there would be no swinging great swords around.
Thomas had brought six of his best men, as well as himself and Dominic. Flora was to hang back until they’d gone in and subdued the rest. They were lightly armed but ready, nonetheless.
“Let’s not lose the element of surprise,” Dominic reminded him.
Thomas gave a nod and slunk out of the undergrowth towards the pub. Dominic followed, and his men slipped along behind him, making no more noise than a cat.
There was no sound from inside the pub to indicate that they’d been heard, but neither was there the usual chatter of conversation.
Perhaps he just doesn’t have many customers.
They reached the doorway, and Thomas glanced back over his shoulder. The men pressed up against the wall, braced. As previously arranged, three men had gone to secure the back entrance. However, the trees and undergrowth pressed in around the pub, and Thomas couldn’t rule out the prospect of somebody slipping out of an unknown entrance or even diving out of a window.
It felt like he was trying to keep water in a sieve.
Hold on, Emma.I’m coming. Just hold on a little longer.
He gave the signal, and they rushed forward, bursting in through the door. It swung open without any impediment—there was nothing behind him, nobody waiting. The rooms beyond were dark, and the men squinted in an effort to see.
This was odd. Why were there no torches lit, no lanterns, no candles? As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he saw that the bar was silent and empty, with nobody sitting at the abandoned chairs and tables.
A curl of fear began to unravel itself in his stomach.
“I think…” he began.
“It’s a trap,” hissed Dominic.
Behind them, the door slammed shut. They turned to see two huge, burly men whose heads nearly brushed the ceiling guarding the way.
“A pleasure to meet ye in person, Laird MacPherson!” came a taunting voice, and a large man came sauntering forward out of the shadows.
Gregor lurked at his elbow, baring his teeth and clutching a rusty knife. There were around four armed men beside him, leaving them fairly equally matched.
At least, they would have been equally matched if Thomas had not sent three men to guard the back of the pub. That didn’t matter, though, surely. His men would come through, and they would be evenly matched again. In a place this small and narrow, strength didn’t matter nearly as much as skill.
Or so Thomas hoped, because all of McCade’s men were larger than him, which was saying something. He spotted a fifth man lurking in the background, unarmed and looking extremely worried. He seemed to be young, no more than thirty, maybe even closer to twenty, but his hair was prematurely gray. He showed no interest in joining the fight, but nobody paid him any attention.
I’ll wager that he’s Simon.
Thomas remembered his promise to Flora. There was no time to think about that, of course.
“I’d not worry about yer men round the back,” McCade said as if reading his thoughts. “We were ready for them. So, Thomas MacPherson, I take it ye are here to die?”
21
