Page 89 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

Now both of them looked at Gaie, the heat building in Teasag’s cheeks.

“She could stop him, but she willnae!! An’ I dinnae ken why!” she blasted.

Expecting a retort, Teasag glared at Gaie, but instead of shouting, Gaie was calm.

“Because I have got a plan. So are ye gonnae help me, or nae?”

Neacal’s plan was as threadbare as his stockings. Having reached Marcas’s home by morning light, his master plan consisted of sneaking into Marcas’s house and surprising him.

The first part had been easy enough. However, the second part seemed to be eluding him.

So, there he was, crouched down in the front room of the opulent house that Marcas had commandeered in the center of town.

Getting inside the house was easier than he would have thought. Marcas had simply left it empty and the lock that should have given him trouble was unpicked in seconds flat. But what Neacal hadn’t banked on was how long it would take for Marcas to appear!

For over an hour, he had been cramped in, behind a box, waiting. Rubbing his stiffened leg, Neacal wandered about the room thoughtfully.

Tucked into the corner of the room was a shining sword. Nothing surprising there, but something about it told him to go take a closer look. Even from halfway across the room, it shone out of the gloom.

Curiously, Neacal picked it up, admiring the heavy feel in his hand and swishing it around a few times for good effect. Running his finger down along the handle, he noted the unusual topaz colored gemstones adorning the base.

Lost in his thoughts, Neacal did not hear the sound at the door. He was just slotting the sword back when a shiver ran through him. There was something about it that bothered him.

Picking it up again, it hit Neacal point-blank. It was Duncan’s, the missing dagger that Teasag had mentioned earlier.

Carefully turning it over in his hand, Neacal stared in disbelief. Of course! It was obvious now he thought of it. The only thing that surprised him was how obviously Marcas had left it lying around.

Unable to believe what he was seeing, Neacal lifted it up into the air, examining it. Sure enough, at the handle's base, the dagger was marked with the initials DD, Duncan Dewar. Neacal gave a low whistle and was about to replace it when the latch sounded on the door.

Quickly, Neacal darted back into his position next to the box. He tensed as he heard footsteps advancing towards him.

It was Marcas.

And he was pointing a crossbow right in his face.

Neacal’s heart skipped a beat as he scrambled to ready himself from his hiding position on the floor. But in his rush to find his arms, Neacal lost precious seconds, and this was all the chance that Marcas needed.

“Hello Neacal, I was wondering how long it would take for ye to turn up,” Marcas wore a twisted grin across his narrow face.

From his crouching position on the floor, Neacal tried, desperately, to lunge at him. But it all went wrong, he hadn’t prepared himself properly, and the dagger he was about to pull was no match for the large bow that Marcas was brandishing.

Without warning, Neacal found himself on the wrong foot. Something inside him was screaming to get out of there, and fast.

Yet from where he was kneeling, he could barely get up without risking an iron bolt in his spleen.

“I see yer fell into my wee trap,” Marcas sneered, gazing down his long, twisted nose.

Neacal felt his anger stir. The sgian dubh tightened in his hand, but Marcas held firm with the crossbow in front of his face.

Marcas pressed his squashed nose right into him, giving Neacal the chance to observe how beat it looked.

Now he came to think of it, the bruising had seemed very fresh on the day they had met before. And although being injured in the course of battle shouldn’t be too surprising, this looked more the result of a fistfight, something a little odd for such a senior commander as Marcas.

Despite his rank, someone had had a good go at breaking Marcas’s nose, and as far as Neacal was aware, there hadn’t been any clan skirmishes with the local brigands for a couple of weeks.

It was as if it had been broken, and recently. Briefly, Neacal recalled how twisted it had seemed during their last encounter, on the road away from Blackness. Now his mind was dancing, full of thoughts about how he had done it.

Or, more specifically, who had done it.