The Warrior Page 8

  “The lady is not under arrest,” the man replied in a less than civil tone. He shifted his musket to the other arm and held out a hand toward the path. “But if she wishes her solicitor present while we speak to her, we shall accompany the two of you to The White Lion to gather him.”

  The first lesson Da had taught her was to always fetch either himself or Angus or both when aught was amiss. She took hold of Duncan’s arm and turned them back in the direction in which they’d came. They marched along at a fast pace, the thud of the soldiers’ boots behind them competing with the hammering of her heart. She didn’t dare speak for fear of shattering to bits. This had something to do with what had happened. These men knew. She felt it to the deepest level of her soul.

  Duncan held the door for her, then followed her in, letting it swing shut on the soldiers. “Dinna volunteer anything, lass. Say as little as possible, aye?”

  The soldiers appeared behind them before she could answer, so she gave Duncan a quick nod. She swallowed hard and took the lead down the hallway. “This way.” She motioned for the men to follow as she pushed into Angus’s sitting room. Relief swept across her at the sight of her father standing beside Angus’s chair.

  “Da.” That’s all she had to say.

  Her father stormed forward, shoving himself between Tilda, Duncan, and the redcoats. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Lord Mackenzie.” The spokesman of the trio granted a customary but insolent bow, then made a curt nod at Tilda. “The captain wishes to speak with the lady regarding a particular incident. Her presence is required at the Tolbooth immediately.”

  “Since when is an earl’s daughter embarrassed in public and carted off to the Tolbooth like a common criminal?”

  Tilda caught her breath.

  Duncan shoved his way forward and stood with Matheson Mackenzie. “Well?” he demanded. “Would an English lady receive such crude, disrespectful handling?”

  The redcoat’s jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed. The two beside him shifted in place, their insolent cockiness gone.

  Tilda read the soldier as clear as day. He was sizing up his odds of surviving on what was tantamount to enemy soil. The White Lion was but one of several Mackenzie holdings in Inverness, and all feared Matheson Mackenzie as one of the fiercest smuggling warlords of Scotland. If the Sassenach had an ounce of sense, he’d retreat.

  Standing as tall as his narrow frame allowed, the soldier squared his shoulders, then made a jerking bow toward the Mackenzie. “I shall return within the hour with the captain, the warden, and two witnesses who swear that Second Lieutenant William Hodges died during the line of duty while attempting to save one Lady Tilda Mackenzie from being brutalized by a Scot.” His beady-eyed glare shifted to Duncan. “The witnesses state they can identify the Scot who murdered Hodges and then wounded one of them as they retreated the situation for reinforcements.” His demeanor shifted, and he assumed a cold, heartless smile directed at Duncan. “This man fits their description.”

  Chapter Seven

  It appeared the MacDonalds were not the only threat Inverness had to offer. Duncan rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. He had wanted adventure. Perhaps, he had wanted a mite too hard.

  “Lying bastards,” the Mackenzie said as he locked the door behind the officers as soon as they cleared the room.

  “They’re hanging me to protect their own sorry hides.” Duncan moved to the window, then glanced back at the Mackenzie with a resigned shrug. “Although to be fair, I did murder the devil.” He turned back to the window and searched the area.

  Only one soldier strutted down the street toward the Tolbooth. He angled to the other side of the wide panes of glass, scanning the area for the other two. A flash of red flickered just out of sight toward the stable. “I believe one went to guard the stable. I’d lay odds the other man guards the door to the pub.”

  “Ye could take him out the tunnels,” Angus advised the Mackenzie with a nod toward Duncan. “Get him to the docks and on a ship. The Mercury is in port.”

  The docks. Duncan’s sense of survival pricked through the hairs on the back of his neck. Who knew how many loyal to the MacDonald had already stationed themselves around the docks and lay in wait for him? Or how much reward the MacDonald had placed on his head? And knowing Sern and the way the man always covered his own arse, he had surely spread word of the bounty and turned Duncan’s capture into a contest. Sern was a friend but took care of himself first. If MacDonald’s men didn’t shoot him, they’d turn him over to the bloody British to save themselves the cost of the lead to kill him.

  If he could just get his horse out of the stable, he could outpace the soldiers and their sorry mounts. He’d disappear into the Highlands and make his way to Tor Ruadh. Alexander would provide sanctuary as long as needed.

  “I need my horse. I’ve hidden in the Highlands afore.” He turned and met Tilda’s panicked gaze. An ominous clutching squeezed his chest. What would happen to her if he ran? Honor demanded he hold fast and take a protective stand beside her. He stiffened against the growing tension within, fearing there was more than honor troubling him here. He’d never known honor to twist his soul into such painful knots. The thought of abandoning sweet, courageous Tilda pained him worse than any wound.

  “Ye must go,” she whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “’Tis my fault ye are at risk. I canna bear it if they hurt ye.”

  Duncan gritted his teeth. Damn this all to hell and back. He strode the length of the paneled room back to Angus. The oddly calm man sat at his desk, scowling off into space, puffing on his pipe. “If I leave, will they turn on Tilda? Can they harm her?”

  “Not if they value their lives,” the Mackenzie said, still posted at the front of the office beside the door. He released the lock, eased open the heavy door, then bumped it shut again. “The bastard’s right outside the door.” He rumbled with a strained growl and thumped his fist against the wall behind him.

  Angus held up a hand with a scolding frown directed at the Mackenzie. “The two soldiers who attacked our Tilda are not only attempting to hide their crimes against our lady but also explain the unforeseen death of their lieutenant.” Angus paused and took a long draw off his pipe, huffing out fluttering puffs of smoke in circles that widened as they floated upward, then disappeared. He turned and scowled out the window across the office. “As an officer, even a second lieutenant, Hodges may have held peerage. Depending on the man’s rank and title, his family might deliver enough coin into the proper hands to protect his name.” Angus shook his head, the drawn corners of his mouth pulling into a harder frown. He stroked his chin, drew in a deep breath, then wheezed it out. “If they canna lay hold of young MacCoinnich here, I feel certain they’ll twist the charges to place Tilda at fault to further protect themselves and conceal their actions.”

  A hard rap rattled the door. “I demand ye grant me entry this instant!”

  “God help us. She’s all we need right now.” The Mackenzie rolled his eyes, then glared at the entrance to the study. “’Tis not the time, woman,” he bellowed.

  “Stall her,” Tilda said, rushing to the back of the room. She shouldered open one of the dark panels covering the lower half of the plastered walls and revealed a tunnel. The look she cast to Duncan pulled at his heart as she waved him forward. “Ye must go. Now. They’re sure to return any time.”

  “If ye dinna open this door, I shall have this fine young man break it down!”

  “I shouldha tossed that bitch over a cliff when I had the chance,” the Mackenzie swore as he stomped to the door, threw it open, then yanked Fennella inside before slamming it shut again.

  “Unhand me!” she said, slapping at the Mackenzie’s hands.

  Duncan stared at the livid woman. Bedecked in elaborate ruffles of stiff burgundy, she looked a great deal like an angry hen with feathers puffed. This was Tilda’s mother? There was no resemblance at all between them.

  Aye, Tilda had generous curves, fine and f
ull for her diminutive stature, but still a tempting figure that made a man’s mouth water. Her mother looked an oversized, shapeless gob of scowling misery wrapped in finery. Duncan stole a quick glance at Tilda, then returned to his perusal of her mother. Not a single likeness in their facial features, either. These two couldn’t be more different if they tried.

  “Who is this brutish, ill-mannered man?” Fennella huffed forward. “’Tis rude to stare. Did yer mother never teach ye proper behavior toward yer betters?”

  “If there were a better here, my behavior might be different.” Duncan took a threatening step toward her. “And since ye wish to discuss ill-manners—I consider it an unforgivable faux pas for ye to call yer daughter names that break her heart. What say ye to that, ye heartless old cow?” Duncan had no time for the foolish woman. If given half the chance, he’d be more than glad to help the Mackenzie shove her arse off a cliff.

  Fennella’s jaw dropped. With a hand clutched to her kerchief-covered chest, she took a step back with an insulted huff.

  “Well done, lad,” Angus said. “Ye rendered the woman speechless. Rarity that.”

  “Ye must go!” Tilda grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him toward the tunnel. “Stay to the main passage. Dinna turn anywhere.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I am so sorry. Ye will come out close to the docks, but ye’ve a better chance surviving there than ye have here.”

  “She’s right, man,” the Mackenzie said as he pressed the butt of a pistol into Duncan’s hand. “If ye dinna wish safe passage on the Mercury, then wait ’til nightfall and make yer way back here. We’ll see to it yer horse stands at the ready.”

  Angus tucked a folded bit of parchment into the inner pocket of Duncan’s waistcoat and patted his chest. “If ye decide to leave by sea, show that to the Mercury’s captain. Dell will require proof before he allows ye to board.”

  “Why are ye helping this man? What has he done?” Fennella pushed into their midst, color riding high on her fleshy, spider-veined cheeks.

  “He saved my life, and now he’s about to hang for it.” Tilda stepped forward and stood toe to toe with her mother. “Just this once, keep yer mouth shut and stay out of it, aye?”

  Fennella’s entire face flared red, and her fisted hands shook until her bracelets rattled. “Vile, misbegotten girl. I shall teach ye a lesson ye shan’t soon forget! Ye’ll think twice before speaking to me in such a manner again.” She whirled about and hurried across the area with amazing speed for her waddling gait. With a yank of the office door, she threw it open and pointed to the exposed tunnel at the back of the room. “Alarm, man, alarm! Yer prisoner is about to escape.”

  Duncan itched to shoot the troublesome crone where she stood but couldn’t bring himself to do so in Tilda’s presence. Instead, he leveled the pistol at the soldier’s chest as he backed his way toward the tunnel. “Step back out into the hall and close the door behind ye. They’ll never know how I escaped.” If the fool followed instructions, he’d let the man live.

  “Aye, they will! I shall tell them every word of it! I swear it!” Fennella shoved the young soldier forward. “Get him, fool. Shoot him dead afore he escapes ye.”

  “Can ye not shut her maw and tie her in the corner?” Duncan spared a glance at the Mackenzie, then returned his focus to the redcoat easing toward him with musket raised.

  “That I can.” The Mackenzie barreled forward, snatched Fennella’s kerchief from around her neck, and gagged her with it. He caught hold of her slapping hands, clasped them behind her back, and lashed her wrists together with the sash from around her waist. He plunked her down into a chair and labored it into the corner with a huffing grunt. With a dusting of his hands, he gave Duncan a solemn nod. “Godspeed to ye, son.”

  “Halt, sir, or you force me to shoot.” The young redcoat settled his musket more snugly against his shoulder. He scuttled a long stride toward Duncan. With his back to the wall, he swung the gun aside and pointed it at Tilda. “I have no reservations about shooting a woman.” The tip of the barrel was less than three feet from Tilda’s head. The soldier pulled back the hammer with his thumb and waited.

  “Dinna move, Tilda,” Duncan said. The Englishman had a wild, blood-thirsty look about him. Duncan wished he had shot the fool as soon as the man had entered the room. That would teach him to be merciful to a bloody Sassenach. He inched forward. He’d give no quarter to the bastards ever again. Duncan lowered his pistol and tossed it to the floor. There was no helping it. If he shot the whoreson, the rifle could fire and harm Tilda.

  “Good man,” the soldier said, keeping his gun aimed at Tilda. “I believe it best we wait like this to keep matters in hand.”

  “No need to wait any longer, sir. We have arrived.” The original spokesman for the three arresting soldiers strode into the room. An entourage of redcoats and one Scot followed close behind.

  Duncan’s blood boiled hot and fierce. There they were. The two bastards who had escaped him in the woods. The scoundrels stood against the wall with their arms folded across their chests. They both grinned at him, taunting him to react. Duncan clenched his teeth. He’d see justice served to those two. Somehow. Some way.

  The Scot with the group made a scowling nod first at Angus, then at the Mackenzie. “For the sake of the lady, we shall render a verdict as quick as possible.”

  “Render a verdict?” Angus rose from the desk and hitched his way to the center of the room. He took up a stance in front of Duncan, placing himself between him and the bevy of soldiers lined along the wall beside the door. The Mackenzie and Tilda took their places on either side of Duncan. Fennella hissed and fumed in the corner, shrieking through the kerchief stuffed in her mouth. Angus ignored Fennella and pointed his pipe at the Scot. “Gordon McElmurry, as warden of the Tolbooth here in Inverness, ye know good and well that such a serious charge as implied here must go to trial.”

  “Actually, it does not. This is a military matter.” A tall man, moving with the grace of a beast stalking its prey, weaved his way to the front of the group. The heels of his polished boots clicked together. “Captain Reginald Forthwaite, at your service, sir.” He meandered back and forth across the room in front of Angus as though quite bored. With an abrupt turn, he singled out the two soldiers that had attacked Tilda. He snapped his fingers, then pointed at the floor beside him. “Gildercutty. Corsbett. Front and center.”

  Both men hurried forward, snapped to attention, and saluted.

  Captain Forthwaite returned their salute, then aimed the pair of white gloves he held in one hand at Duncan. “Is this the man?”

  Both Gildercutty and Corsbett dipped their chins in a sharp nod. “Yes, sir. That be him all right,” the one to the left said.

  With a chilling smirk, Captain Forthwaite held up his hands. “There now. You see? All settled. Easy as that.” He turned to the warden. “Warden McElmurry, this man shall be a temporary tenant at the jail here. Send him to Aberdeen on the next transport.” He spared a dismissive glance at all in the room. “He shall hang for the murder of Second Lieutenant William Hodges.”

  Tilda pushed past Duncan and took a stance in front of him. She nudged Angus aside, then shook her fist at the captain. “Ye canna hang an innocent man. A curse on all yer souls if ye do so. Ye shall not take this man! I will not allow it.”

  “Tilda, no,” Duncan warned, willing her to listen. At this precise moment, he didn’t know exactly how but some way, he’d figure an escape. He’d slipped traps before. She didn’t need to put herself through anymore suffering than she had already endured.

  Shaking her head and tears streaming down her face, Tilda pointed a shaking finger at Corsbett and Gildercutty. “Those two! And the dead man!”

  “Yes?” Captain Forthwaite said with a bored sigh as he cast a long-suffering glance to the ceiling then deigned to turn her way. “Yes, m’lady, you may thank them for attempting to save your virtue. I doubt you shall ever see them again since we have settled the matter.”

  “Save my v
irtue?” Tilda shrieked.

  Duncan sensed Tilda’s rage reaching its pinnacle. Her father and Angus felt it as well, because they shifted to stand on either side of her.

  She jabbed her finger at the men again. “Those two and the dead man kidnapped me from our stable. Beat me. They tortured me and were about to take turns at destroying my virtue when this man…” She paused and reeled a step back to take hold of Duncan’s jacket collar. “This fine man risked his life and saved me.”

  “All lies, sir! The lady’s done gone hysterical. Happens, you know?” The gap-toothed cur Duncan had wounded during the attack paced nervously.

  Tilda glared at the man with her hands fisted at her sides. “Ye were in the pub! Ye insulted me that night, then waited for me in the stable the next morning.” Tilda scooped up the marble box holding Angus’s tobacco and hurled it at the man’s head. “Ye are the liar! I have yer bite marks on my body to prove it!” She ripped away the wide ribbon from her throat and pointed at the angry abrasion wrapped around her neck. “They did this to me. Tried to strangle me to keep me still whilst they violated me. The two of them and the dead man.”

  The captain’s expression tightened, then he pressed his fist clutching his gloves to his chest. “You have obviously suffered, m’lady, and most certainly have my apologies.” With a cold, hard look at the two accusing soldiers, he huffed out his impatience with the matter at hand. “Well, then. What say you to that charge, Gildercutty? The lady claims to possess proof other than what is visible around her neck.”

  Gildercutty snorted out a self-assured laugh, then opened his mouth wide and shoved in close to the captain’s face. He pointed at his rows of snaggled teeth, some black with rot, and quite a few missing. “Bite marks? See me mouth? I ain’t got the teeth to leave no bite marks, sir.”