Pila was prattling on about how boring it had been at the castle since Finlay and his men had escaped.
“The laird steward was so mad, especially when the captain of the guards said, ‘What did ye expect would happen, sir? This is the man’s castle, after all, an’ he must ken every nook an’ cranny o’ the place!’ So, the steward told the captain of the guards to leave an’ hired two massive mercenary guards in his place. They follow the laird steward around everywhere he goes, carryin’ their huge swords. In fact, they might as well sleep in the auld man’s bed with him, they are so obtrusive!”
Isla’s stoMch gave a nervous twitch. “Pila! Don’ ye think it would be nice for ye to have told Finlay about those two new guards before he infiltrates the castle? Come, there is no’ a moment to lose. We must tell him.”
But by the time Pila had helped Isla limp to the cellar door, Finlay and his men had already entered the castle and begun creeping to the places where they knew the sentries would be on duty. Once they had taken care of them, it would be easier to disarm those men sleeping at the barracks. If any other guards tried to fight, they would die. Isla knew her father would be going to speak to the sentries on duty at the main gate. They were old friends of his, and he wanted them to be on the right side when the sun rose on a new day. It was easy to see and hear Master McDonnell as he conversed with the sentries.
“Come, lads, ye ken what the steward did was wrong. It is inevitable that a warrior is goin’ to win the day. Some auld loon with a ledger is never goin’ to be able to hold back the castle’s rightful heir from taking his lands back.”
The sentries were nodding in agreement.
“Aye, McDonnell, ye’re right,” one of them said. “Losh, we hardly recognized ye with yer fine new armor an’ carryin’ a sword. There’s many a merry widow who might take a fancy to ye!”
“Isla!” the blacksmith said when he saw his daughter approaching, “Ye did so well, lass! I’m so proud o’ ye. These gentlemen were just tellin’ me they are changin’ sides. Isnae that grand?”
“Never mind about that, Faither,” Isla said impatiently. “Where’s Finlay?”
Her father looked confused. “Where else should he be? He’s gone to arrest the steward for treason while his men take care o’ the sentries an’ mercenaries sleepin’ in the barracks.”
A surge of terror gave Isla wings. Forgetting about her injuries, she bolted to the east wing, where Pila had told her the steward had his quarters. Every step she took was agony, but it no longer mattered. What mattered was that she warn Finlay about the mercenary guards before he tried to make the arrest.
The steward’s quarters were in the east tower turret. It was an easy place to guard. When Isla saw the dead brute of a mercenary soldier lying at the foot of the spiraling stairs, she heaved a sigh of relief.
Surely Finlay will have taken care of the remaining guard in a similar fashion? I will go up, nonetheless, to watch the arrest.
Holding her aching side and hobbling up the stairs, Isla entered the steward’s chambers. Being a turret, the parlor and dressing room would be above and below the main bedchamber. She said his name before she entered; even Isla knew better than to take an armed warrior by surprise.
“Fin? It’s me, Isla.”
Then she went in.
The first thing she saw was blood on the floor. If the woolen rugs had not been so thick, the blood would have pooled and leaked, spreading as far as the entrance. Finlay’s boot seemed to have absorbed the brunt of the sword blow, but his calf was a mess, hacked and bleeding. He glanced over at her but did not take his sword blade away from the steward’s neck.
“Isla, what are ye doin’ here?! Never mind, go an’ see if ye can find me somethin’ with which to tie up this weasel’s hands.”
She ignored him. “Fin, Pila told me the steward has two guards. Where’s the other one?”
The steward was trembling, but Isla recognized a certain smug cunningness on the old man’s face. It troubled her. What did he have to be smug about?
“Never ye mind about another guard. Have ye nae heard o’ shifts? He’s probably down in the barracks. Go find me rope or a belt or somethin’.”
Isla was reluctant to leave the bedchamber, but she knew that Finlay was in no state to drag a reluctant prisoner down to the dungeons without the man’s hands being tied first, and he needed a rope of some sort. Still, she hesitated. Pila lived at the castle, and what she said about the guards always staying close to the steward bothered her. It would be the first time she disobeyed her laird and the man she loved, and Isla’s heart trembled at what she was about to do. Isla did not leave the bedchamber; instead, she slipped behind the heavy tapestry hanging on the wall next to the stairwell leading down to the dressing room.
She was perfectly placed to see the hatch in the floorboards rising up silently. Isla had enough knowledge of the castle by now to understand the place was a labyrinth of trapdoors and secret tunnels. Of course the laird’s bedchamber would have a basement room underneath it where people could hide!
“Fin! Beware the floorboards behind ye!” she screamed.
Finlay spun around immediately, just in time to see a heavyset man emerging out of the trapdoor. In an instant, he dropped the steward and prepared to meet the mercenary guard in combat.
The two swords clanged together so hard that the metal sparked and sang. Facing his foe, staring the man down, Finlay pushed back against the other blade that had crossed his own. All Isla could hear was grunting as the men tried to bring his blade closer to the other’s neck. It was a fight to the death. Both men knew it, and neither one was prepared to die easily.
It took all his strength for Finlay to push the other man’s sword away, but he managed to force the guard away from him, and their swords dropped to their sides as they panted, circling one another, looking for a weakness. The effort cost him dearly; Isla saw more blood leaking out of his lower leg. The guard saw it and grinned. He stopped circling around Finlay and closed with him, but this time, instead of aiming his blade high, he swung at Finlay’s legs.
Both men were evenly matched in height and weight. If anything, Finlay was the more muscular out of the two, but only one of them was injured, a fact that the steward’s guard was using to his advantage. In combat, if a swordsman swung at the feet, his opponent could step back or jump over the sword’s swing. Finlay was no longer able to do this. Even though his face did not show it, Isla knew he could not possibly keep up his defense for much longer.
Not stopping to think twice, Isla picked up a stool next to the fireplace, crept up behind the guard, and brought the stool down on the man’s head. A loud thump echoed around the room. The guard must have seen stars, but he was wearing a helmet. He gave his head a shake to clear his vision.
That was all the time Finlay needed.
Isla gave a little shriek as the laird’s son’s blade sunk deep into the guard’s neck.
