A Scot of Her Own by Maeve Greyson

Author:Maeve Greyson [Greyson, Maeve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2022-04-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

“I see no sign of them. Anywhere.” Perched on the crumbling edge of a tall crag, Thorburn scanned the landscape.

“Edrid never errs,” Ross said, frowning down at the gently rolling land stretching between their current position and the point reaching out into the sea where the construction of Duart Castle sent up columns of smoke from the workers’ fires.

Thorburn backed away from the cliff’s edge, thinking back over all the spy had told him. Edrid spoke as if he had witnessed a large group of marauders heading for Duart before one of them bashed him with a club. And that was the part that didn’t make sense. Why did they not finish the job and kill the man? Or torture him for information? From all Adellis had told him, and from the proof of the scars on her back, her brother thrived on tormenting prisoners. Why had they allowed Edrid to escape, knowing he would report not only their position but their numbers?

An eerie knowing made him turn and stare back at where they had just been. What Edrid had reported was nothing more than a diversion. Carefully laid bait to lure them away from camp, and Thorburn knew why. Teeth clenched so hard his jaws ached, he bowed his head. He prayed those he had left behind managed to hold off however many dogs Jarl Alrek had sent to fetch his sister.

“A trap?” Ross asked.

“Aye, a feckin’ snare for sure.” Thorburn lifted his head, regret and anger surging through him at a slow burn. They had made a fool of him. “I shouldha allowed her to come with us. That wouldha foiled the bastard’s plans. Instead, I did exactly as he guessed I would and left her there. Like a lamb staked out for wolves.”

Without a word, Ross gave the signal to turn about. It rippled through the twoscore of men awaiting their orders. The unit shifted and turned as one. With an apologetic tip of his head, Ross glanced skyward. “It will take us ’til nightfall to get back, ye ken?”

“I am well aware of that.” Thorburn charged down the incline. “Tasgall!”

“Aye, m’lord?”

“Off with it. All of it.” He tossed his helm to the ground and yanked loose his belt. “And rid my horse of any extra weight. I need a mount unencumbered and fast. Make haste, ye ken?” Bending forward, he hunched the heavy shirt of mail up to his shoulders.

“Aye, m’lord.” The knave finished the job and dragged the hauberk off him. Tasgall scooped up the helmet, then placed the articles onto his own steed, lashing them behind the saddle. “Ye’ll be keeping yer axe, aye? And the dagger?”

“Aye.” Stripped down to nothing but his trews and léine, Thorburn belted his dagger to his side and placed his massive sparth into the specially fashioned leather holder attached to his saddle. He tossed the shield to Tasgall, then launched himself onto his mount. Lighter meant faster, and he needed swiftness more than ever before. Praise God, they had ridden rather than marched to intercept the troublemakers before they reached Duart.

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