“Now, wait just a moment. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. She’s just a wench, after all!”
Thomas lunged, and Lachlan screamed.
The scream didn’t last long.
22
Thomas’s men, along with Dominic and Flora, were waiting for him when he stepped outside McCade’s study. The gray-haired man was being restrained by two of the men. Flora kept shooting him quick, nervous glances, but the man hung his head as if he were ashamed and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Is he dead?” Dominic asked.
“Aye, he is. Ye can check if ye want.”
Dominic shook his head. “No, I believe ye.”
The pain and exhaustion finally washed over Thomas, and his knees crumpled. Dominic dived forward to support him, letting him sag to the ground.
“Emma, where is Emma?” Thomas managed, clapping a hand to his side.
The wound on his arm was still bleeding freely, sticky blood congealing on his forearm and hand. The hilt of his sword slipped from his bloody fingers, landing on the floor with a clang.
Dominic glanced at Flora and gave her a nod. “Go on, then.”
Flora turned and walked back towards the entrance hall. The hall was filled with clutter, including a battered, half-moldy old rack of hat and coat pegs attached to a wooden box to sit and pull boots on or off. She grasped the side of the rack, feeling up and down from something. There was a muffledclick, and she began to pull.
Slowly but surely, with a nasty screeching sound as the wood scraped over the stone floor, the wooden rack began to pull forward until it stood away from the wall to reveal a narrow wooden door.
“Clever,” Dominic remarked, hoisting Thomas up onto his feet. “We wouldn’t have found that. Although she probably could have just told us where it was.”
“Aye, but then she wouldn’t have got her lover off scot-free,” Thomas groaned. “She’s clever. I’ll give her that.”
“I don’t have the key,” Flora said. She paused, knocking on the door. “Is someone in there?”
Emma didn’t know whether to be thrilled or disappointed when she heard Flora’s voice. She couldn’t hear much through the thick stone and heavy wooden door, but she clearly heard Flora say, “I don’t have the key.”
“I have the key!” Emma gasped. “Gregor… Gregor had it.”
She glanced nervously over her shoulder to where Gregor lay staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, bloody foam around his mouth. She darted back down, reluctant to touch him at all, expecting at every moment for him to lunge upright and grab her.
He stayed dead, thankfully, and she all but stumbled up the stairs, clutching the keys retrieved from his pocket. She undid the stiff, rusty lock with shaking hands and stumbled forward into the light.
Not exactly light, though, as it was now dark outside. A few candles had been lit here and there, and it seemed almost unbearably bright.
The first face she saw when her eyes adjusted to the light was Thomas’s. He stood there, pale-faced, dripping blood onto the floor, bracing his arms against either side of the doorframe.
“Emma,” he gasped, his voice raspy with relief.
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was an incoherent gurgle. She reached forward for him, grabbing at him as if he might melt away in her hands. His arms went around her, and she would have hugged him tightly if he hadn’t suddenly given a smothered cry of pain.
“Sit down, ye fool, before ye collapse,” Dominic said sharply, coming forward to support Thomas. Emma saw the full extent of his injuries and felt sick.
Her legs sagged, and she would have crumpled to the floor, face-first, if Flora hadn’t grabbed her arms, easing her down.
“I’m sorry,” Flora gabbled. “I’m sorry I betrayed ye and did all that, but Lachlan made me. I swear, I never meant—”
“It’s all right,” Emma said, her own voice sounding distant to her own ears. “I know what he’s like. I know what ye must have gone through. I don’t blame ye, so don’t blame yourself.”
Flora gave a small sigh of relief, smiling weakly. “I’m glad ye are alive. I think Laird MacPherson would have torn this place apart brick by brick if ye had been harmed.”
