Darnell’s words halted.
Not a warble.
Because Hugh had him pinned to the wall with the staff across his gullet, a knife to his cheek.
“I’ve done things for this country,” he snarled, “that will see me greeted by Satan himself. Never…” The blade tip bit. Blood seeped. “…call me a coward. You hear?”
The brute choked but Hugh’s hold was merciless and only when the Scotsman’s skin mottled red did he lessen his hold.
“I hear,” Darnell rasped. “Just testing ye.”
Hugh drew back, lowered his staff but kept his knife drawn. “Men who test me will meet their maker.”
A hand on his shoulder and he spun, knife at the ready, but Roberts held his palms up, head nodding. “Aye, I knew when we met. Saw it in yer eyes.”
“Knew wot?” Cleavers groused.
“We need men like Davies here. Men who’ll do what it takes.” He stared to Hugh. “But you’ll not go north. I’ve other tasks for you.”
Hugh swallowed heavily.
Was this group responsible for Ross’ death? Roberts had boasted of coin and arms, so where the hell was it coming from? And where were they getting their information?
“Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll do what it takes.”
