Page 65 of The Cursed Highland Bride

“Insolent pup,” Ewan grumbled under his breath, then hunkered down beside Tor to watch the castle. “Any sign o’ our people?”

“Nae,” Tor shook his head. “Thank ye for that.” He nudged his head in the direction of the young recruit.

Ewan shrugged. “He is young. He thinks that he kens the ways o’ the world, but he does nae. Life will teach him otherwise very soon.”

Tor chuckled. “I believe that he may have just received his first lesson.”

“I was much like him nae that long ago. The death o’ my faither has taught me many things, and I am still learning.”

Tor laid a reassuring hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “Ye are doing a fine job on the council. Yer faither would be proud o’ ye.”

Ewan smiled. “I thank ye for that. I pray that he is. It has nae been easy.”

“My brother kens all too well the mantle o’ being the eldest son. Ye should speak tae Dunn when ye have difficulties. He will ken yer troubles and may be able tae offer aid when needed.”

Ewan nodded his head. “I will. Thank ye.”

“It is nearly time,” Tor breathed as the first beams of light poked their sleepy heads above the horizon.

“May God have mercy upon us all,” Ewan murmured, crossing himself. Both men stood, clasped arms, then parted to give their soldiers their final orders. Upon first light, they were to fight.

* * *

Dunn and his men crossed the river, then waited until darkness fell before setting out for the Morgan stronghold. At a certain point along the way, Dunn and Andrew slipped down along the riverbank while the rest of the men continued via land toward the front gates. Dunn followed the shadowed riverbank until it came directly beneath the castle walls. He and Andrew had created a rope with a metal hook on it to throw up into the hole. If they were able to get the hook to hold strong enough, they would then climb up inside. It was not going to be an easy task, but they were both strong, muscular young men. If anyone could manage it, it was them.

They stood under the privy hole and listened in the darkness. No cry of alarm sounded. No rush of footsteps or hail of arrows descended upon them. “Tor must nae be in place yet,” Andrew murmured.

“Or he is better at hiding than they are at seeing,” Dunn jested to lighten the mood. “I asked him tae wait as long as he could tae allow us time tae search the castle. We dinnae want them chopping off our heads as we emerge from the privy.”

Andrew grunted back a laugh. “Shall we?” He made a mock courtly bow, indicating for Dunn to go first.

Dunn chuckled softly. “We shall indeed.” He threw the hook up with all of his might, praying that it took purchase on one of the privy beams. In order to make the privy hang out over the river, it had needed to be made of wooden construction, unlike the rest of the exterior of the stronghold which had been built with stone. The hook did not take purchase on the first throw but by the third, he had managed a secure climbing rope.

Dunn grinned with satisfaction as he heard the solid thunking sound of metal sinking into wood. He jerked on the rope to make certain that it would not give way under their weight, then he began the climb. It was an arduous trip up the rope, straining every muscle that they had, but with plenty of huffing, puffing, grunting, and cursing under their breath, they made it to the top.

“Och,” Andrew breathed in protest as they climbed up through the privy hole. “It smells o’ Morgan shite.” He said the word as if, by association of name, Morgan excrement smelled worse than any other form of excrement.

Dunn held back a chuckle and leveled his companion a look that said to be silent. “From here on out, we dinnae breathe a word unless we must,” he whispered, then pressed his ear to the door to listen for anyone that might be outside of it. Hearing nothing, he opened the door a crack.

The corridor beyond was empty. Torches flickered up and down the passageway. Easing out into the passage, Dunn motioned for Andrew to follow. The castle was laid out the same as most, with the bedchamber of the laird and his family above stairs while the great hall, kitchens, armory, and storage rooms took up most of the main level. The Morgans were blessed with further storage rooms, some of the higher-ranking soldiers’ quarters, and a prisoner cell below that. Having the backing of the crown had served them well in wealth and in royal favors. The castle was testament to it.

Dunn motioned for Andrew to take the back stairs. “The cell,” he mouthed, and Andrew nodded in confirmation. The two men separated, each giving the other a parting look to be careful. Andrew went in search of the prisoners, and Dunn went in search of Alistair Morgan.

Dunn walked silently down the length of the corridor, stopping to listen at every door. When he came to one with the sound of loud masculine snoring reverberating through the wooden portal, he smiled and tried the latch. The door swung open, and he edged his way inside and over to the bed. Sleeping cozily, as if he had not a care in the world, was Alistair Morgan himself. If it had not been so tragic, it would have been funny.

Dunn brought his sword down to rest just below Morgan’s chin. “Stand and deliver my wife,” he ordered, his voice deep and threatening.

Morgan’s eyes opened with a start at the feel of cold metal against his throat. “How…?” He could not even finish the sentence for fear that the movement of speech would cause his throat to be slit.

Dunn shook his head. “Where is my wife?”

“If ye kill me, ye will never find her. She will die in a deep, dark hole o’ despair, never having laid eyes upon yer face again.”

“A deep, dark hole ye say? And where would I be finding one o’ those? Perhaps ye would like tae take her place.” He moved the blade just enough to punctuate his point.

Morgan lifted his hands to show Dunn that he was not armed. “Would ye kill an unarmed man in his bed?”

Dunn arched a brow in accusation. “Ye would have done so tae me and my men had my wife nae told me o’ yer schemes.”