Page 93 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

But every time he drew close, Marcas simply smirked and moved away. A few more lunges and Neacal still hadn’t got close to him.

With every missed challenge, Marcas’s face grew more self-satisfied.

“Och, Neacal, e’en wi’ a silver sword ye cannae catch me, ye couldnae catch a cold!” he taunted as Marcas darted about, pushing the black sgian dubh into Neacal’s face.

From behind them, Lorcal’s attempts were deflected by a simple flick of the wrist, sending him crashing to the floor.

“In fact, it doesnae seem like any o’ yer wee gang is much use,” he laughed, his eyes narrowing in. “Except for one,” he remarked, mysteriously. “Because he certainly has his uses…”

Neacal’s heart pounded loudly. “Who?” he yelled. “What is the name o’ the cur who betrayed me?”

He jabbed Marcas with the heavy blade, but Marcas managed to have the edge when they locked cutlasses.

A battle of strength ensued, with Neacal very nearly succeeding in overpowering Marcas, but at just the last minute, losing his footing and finding Marcas back on his feet and about to strike.

Laughing out loud, Marcas lunged at Neacal, swiping him sideways across the forehead with the tip of his sword.

The blade scraped Neacal’s eye, almost taking it out completely. If it had been half an inch to the right, it would have blinded him.

As Neacal grabbed his eye, struggling to get a grip of himself, he felt himself sway wildly, stumbling and about to fall back down into the steps which led down to the cellar.

He was on the verge of collapse when, with no warning at all, Marcas suddenly flopped to the ground.

To begin with, Neacal didn’t even see what had done it. Then, he realized he had been struck by a blow to the head from behind.

And although he wasn’t killed, he had been stunned just long enough for both Neacal and Lorcal to subdue him and roll him into submission and bind him with rope.

“Ye’ll nae prove anything,” groaned Marcas, as between them, Lorcal and Gaie bound his hands. “As far as the laird’s concerned, yer the killer, Neacal. An’ all o’ ye will pay!”

Marcas’s threats were dire, but he was in no position to save himself. Without any of his guards able to help him, he was forced to submit weakly to being captured by the gang.

“That’s where yer wrong, Marcas!”

Looking up, Neacal saw his savior, with her long blonde hair flowing free. She waved the candelabra in one hand and what looked like a letter in the other.

And grinning from ear to ear, she smiled.

“We can prove everything, from the sgian dubh ye stole to the vial ye used for the poison… an’ that’s nae all. Then there’s this wee letter…!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Slow doon, an’ tell me this again, ye say it was Marcas who killed McAllister, Duncan an’ that farmer, what’s his name again?”

Brodie Stewart was struggling with the story that Neacal and Teasag were presenting him.

From the center of the great hall in Blackness Castle, Laird Brodie leaned in and listened carefully.

In the middle of the hall, a huge fire crackled, and even though it was nominally summer, Teasag moved nearer to it, in a desperate bid to get warm.

Outside, it was blowing a gale, and the swirling leaves were more reminiscent of autumn than summer.

For a moment, Teasag felt her attention wander, so, awed by the grandeur in the room. She cast her eyes around the hall, wildly, taking in the wealth on display.

Along the top of the hallway hung a line of portraits, all painted in oils, of the laird’s esteemed family members. Earls, knights, and other dignitaries, all peering down in disdain.

Despite being used to castles, Teasag couldn’t help feeling intimidated right then. Blackness Castle was at least twice the McCallum keeps size, and she wasn’t used to addressing a laird like this.

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Teasag, her voice faltering a little. From beside her, she felt Neacal press his soft, warm hand into her shoulders.