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“It’s so terrible.”

As more people approached, he heard lament after lament, and a fear washed through him, for immediately his thoughts went to Katherine. Swiftly jumping from his horse, he raised his hands to quieten them.

Looking directly at the first man who had spoken, he said, “Tell me what happened?”

“Yer men, me laird. They’re all dead. Well, all but one. They killed them.”

“Who killed them?” he pressed, but he already knew the answer to his question.

“The Englishmen yer men were guarding, me laird. They killed yer guards in the middle o’ the night and then escaped.”

It took all his strength to control both his expression and the emotions that threatened to bubble up.

“Show me,” he demanded.

The villagers led him to the area they had laid the bodies. Bound fully in cloth strips, his men lay in a row on the ground, while sobs and moans came from the crowd that surrounded him.

“What about the one who survived?” Domhnall murmured.

“He’s in the healer’s cottage, me laird. Come. I will tak’ ye.”

Again, the crowd of villagers followed him down the cobbled street until they reached the cottage. While everyone remained outside, the healer led him into a dark room, where the guard lay, his breathing short and his eyes barely open.

“I’m sorry, me laird,” he croaked, when Domhnall approached the bed. “They attacked us in the middle o’ the night. The rest o’ the men are dead. I tried tae stop them…”

“Hush now,” Domhnall said quietly. “Ye need tae save yer strength. Dinnae worry. I will find them and they will pay fer what they’ve done.”

Once outside again, Domhnall looked at the heavily saddened faces of the villagers who were looking at him with despair in their eyes.

“Dinnae fear. I will find these men. Look after this guard until I can send someone tae come and fetch him.”

“What will ye dae, me laird?” someone cried out from the crowd.

“I will return tae the castle fer more guards, and then, we will find these Englishmen and kill them,” he growled.

Soon afterwards, Domhnall was back on his horse and riding at great speed back to the castle. On his way to Drynoch, he had been concerned with the conversation between himself and Katherine. Now, he was concerned not only with Katherine’s safety, but also what her brother planned to do. The castle was already on high alert, but the man was clearly clever, and thus, Domhnall needed to return and warn them, as well as garner help.

Anger raced through him at the thought of his murdered guards. He should have sent more. In fact, he should have escorted the damn devil himself. But Reginald de Beaumont would pay for their deaths. In fact, he would pay with his own life.

He had been travelling for about an hour when Domhnall came upon what appeared to be a man on the ground. He looked injured, while his horse was standing nearby nibbling at the grass. Had the horse been spooked by something and thrown him?

“Hey,” Domhnall called out as he neared.

The man was lying face down and did not move. Fearing that he might be dead, Domhnall jumped from his horse. He did not really have time for this, but nor could he pass by without trying to help.

“Hey,” he said again, bending and rolling the man over.

Suddenly, there was a knife at his chest, and as the man glared up at him, he snarled, “Move and Katherine dies.”

Damn it!

Hearing movement behind him, Domhnall turned his head and saw three other men surrounding him.

“At last, we meet, Laird MacLeod,” one of them said as he stood forward, his sword drawn and pointing at Domhnall’s throat.

He was taller than the others, with a commanding presence. His face thin and angular, reminding Domhnall of a rat. But there was an evilness in this man’s eyes.

“I am Reginald de Beaumont,” he declared. “You are now my prisoner. Stand.”