“I might have known you’d be here, old man,” Hector said.
She swallowed as twenty horses surrounded them. Their riders had blood splatters on their arms and faces.
Hector dismounted, drew his sword, and signaled to his men to move back.
“Please, Malcolm,” Sybil whispered, “don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”
“I always hoped for a warrior’s death,” Malcolm said. “I’ll take this traitor with me if I can.”
“It will be a pleasure to run my blade through your heart, old man.”Whoosh whoosh. Hector whipped his sword in the air. “I’ve been waiting to do it for years.”
Malcolm fought well, swinging his claymore with remarkable power and precision. In his prime, he might have been better than Hector. But he was not now. Hector fought with a terrible ferocity, each strike harder than the one before and with such speed that his blade was a blur.
Sybil watched in horror as Hector’s sword left a red streak of blood across Malcolm’s thigh and then another across his right arm. Malcolm fought on valiantly with only his left arm. He managed to draw blood on Hector’s cheek with the tip of his sword, but anyone could see how the fight would end.
“Nay! Nay!” she shrieked when Hector plunged his sword into Malcolm’s belly and the older man fell in a heap.
She managed to sink her teeth hard into the hand of the man holding her and break free. She fell on top of Malcolm, covering his body with hers to protect him. When her captors hauled her away from him, she clawed and kicked and bit at them like a wildcat.
“Let me go!” she cried. “Let me help him!”
“He’s dead,” Hector said, and slapped her so hard her ears rang. “Now keep your mouth shut, or I’ll let my friend here ruin your pretty face—and worse.”
She sucked in her breath as an enormous man with a pockmarked face appeared in front of her. To confirm her fears, she slowly lowered her gaze from his hideous face until she saw the giant axe tucked in his belt. Its blade was covered with blood.
God have mercy on her. She was face to face with Big Duncan of the Axe.
CHAPTER 44
“Duncan, find any others who were traveling with them,” Hector ordered. “When you’ve taken care of them, meet us back at Fairburn Tower.”
Sybil was careful not to look toward the bushes where she had last seen Grizel and Kenneth hiding and prayed that they had managed to get far enough away during the fight that Duncan would not find them. One look at his massive frame of solid muscle told her the odds were against an old woman and a young boy.
Sybil rode with her hands bound and a rope tied loosely around her neck. Hector’s men taunted her with obscene remarks, but they eventually lost interest when she failed to react. In truth, she was so numb with shock and grief that she barely heard them.
Her scheme to deliver Kenneth to the Grants had led to utter disaster. Malcolm was dead. Grizel and Kenneth were in grave danger, perhaps already killed at the hands of that monster Big Duncan. And it was all her fault.
Questions swirled around and around in her head. Why had Grant not come to meet them? Did he not receive her message, or did he believe Kenneth was dead and her message a ruse to buy time?
If these men killed her, would Rory ever know what happened to her? It pierced her heart to think he might believe she had left him. They had only reconciled last night, and she feared his trust in her was still fragile.
Dusk had fallen when her captors stopped at a tower house. Someone lifted her down, then Hector pulled her into the house by the rope around her neck as if she was a goat. She was past hope and past care. He could not do more damage than she had done herself.
“I’ve no time for ye now.” Hector held her by her chin as he leaned so close to her that his foul breath filled her nose. “But I’m looking forward to getting to know my nephew’s bride verra well.”
She was taken down to the undercroft, where her guard unlocked a door, shoved her through it, and locked it behind her. The room she was in was pitch black. Feeling her way along the wall, she took a step. The ground disappeared beneath her, and she stumbled down several stone stairs and fell to her knees on a dirt floor.
Exhausted from grief and despair, she leaned against the cold stone wall in the eternal darkness of her prison.
***
With a heavy heart, Rory rode back to Castle Leod. The only thought that eased his burdens was knowing that Sybil was waiting there for him. He desperately needed to hold her in his arms. And perhaps she could help him to see that all was not lost.
Rory’s own clansmen were trying to murder his son. Grant was likely preparing for war in the belief that they had succeeded. After the slaughter of the Munro chieftain’s party, their former alliance seemed beyond repair. What had been strained relations with both clans during his brother’s time as chieftain was on the verge of erupting into war across Eastern Ross.
The even greater danger to the clan was that the MacDonalds would learn of it and launch an attack from the west. Hector had brought too many warriors with him who should be defending their western shores.
When they finally reached Castle Leod, Rory took the steps to the keep three at a time, with Alex behind him. He scanned the hall for Sybil, but she was not there. Catriona saw him and rushed to his side. She caught his arm as he strode toward the stairs that led to the bedchambers above.
