Page 43 of Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe #3)
“Guards! Guards!” he shouted, but before anyone could come to his aid, Nicholas tried to twist free of the man’s grasp.
Sherwood’s grip was far stronger than Nicholas had imagined.
They grappled for control of the dagger, rolling back and forth over the carpet as each worked to stab the other.
Nicholas heard the pounding of several men running toward the tent and knew he would have to take Sherwood another time.
He rolled with Sherwood toward the back side of the tent, ending up on top of the Englishman, then used every bit of strength he had to raise the dagger.
Instead of plunging it into the other man’s chest, he twisted it so it ripped into the canvas, then he pushed it down enough to open a tear big enough for him to get through, but Sherwood was still gripping his wrist and had a hand at Nicholas’s throat as three men rushed into the tent.
“Guards, take him!” Sherwood shouted.
Nicholas took a deep breath and managed to throw the dagger out through the tear in the tent.
Then he called on every bit of strength he had and launched himself off Sherwood and dove out through the same tear, rolling as he hit the ground, then racing through the camp, knocking over anything and everything he could as he passed.
He grabbed a torch and tossed it into the midst of soldiers sleeping near the cold remains of a fire, then made sure as many soldiers as possible saw him as he dashed out of the camp and headed up the ben as fast as his legs could take him.
“Do you think they will follow you?” Jock asked from behind a tree when Nicholas arrived at their rendezvous.
“I did my best to grab everyone’s attention, so I expect they will. Is everything prepared?”
“Aye, Nicholas,” Uilliam said, “we but need those daft English to take the bait. Did you learn what you needed to?”
“Aye, he knows naught of any Guardians except my Rowan, and he does not seem to ken what she can do. Our secret weapon is still secret from the king. Unfortunately, Sherwood still lives.”
The three of them waited, and Nicholas took advantage of the calm before the storm to steady his breath and prepare for the next part of the plan.
Torches flared in the distance, but it quickly became apparent that no one followed him.
“Damnation.”
“You need to get to the castle,” Uilliam said to Nicholas. “The sun will be rising soon. Look, the sky is growing lighter already. You have riled the wasp nest, leave the rest to us.”
“I had hoped we’d cull a few more soldiers before we had to face them in daylight. Do what you can, Uilliam, Jock. I will see you in the bailey ere long.” Nicholas took off at a run, heading for the bolt-hole tunnel and the next stage of the plan.
T HE OWL CALL quietly flew down the tunnel, and Scotia could hear Rowan sigh.
“He is here,” Rowan said. “Nicholas is here.”
“Malcolm, Jeanette, go now!” Scotia said, hating the necessity for the Guardians to split up, even for a short time .
“We will be back as soon as we can,” Malcolm said as he lit a lantern and handed it to Jeanette. “Lead the way, angel.”
J EANETTE LED M ALCOLM up the steep, narrow stair that wrapped around the tower between the inner and the outer wall.
It had only one door at the bottom of the tower and one at the top.
She and Rowan had discovered it once when they were children.
She had not been down the stairs ever since.
But she had used the small landing at the top to store the Chronicles of the Guardians, for that landing was just inside the secret door in her mother’s solar.
“It should not be much further,” Jeanette whispered, holding the lantern high so at least a little of the light fell behind her for Malcolm. She shook her head and pulled away a spider’s web from her face. It was not the first she had run into, and she was certain it would not be the last.
“If you let me lead, I could clear those for you,” Malcolm said.
She could hear the hint of laughter in his voice and could not help but smile.
It was one of the things she loved the most about her new husband—even when she could see only the worst in a situation, he found the humor in it, lifting her spirits as no one else could.
Once they arrived at the landing, it took only a moment for Jeanette to find the hidden latch.
As soon as the door swung inward on silent hinges that Jeanette had oiled herself before they ever thought they might need to use the hidden stair, Malcolm pulled her aside and stepped up to the door.
He listened carefully before pulling the door open enough for them to pass through it.
The heavy tapestry still hung over the doorway, obscuring it from the room, so Jeanette knew ’twas unlikely it had been found by the English .
“Leave the lantern there,” Malcolm said. “We dinna want the light seen from the bailey.”
Jeanette did as he said, then they both pushed past the tapestry and entered Elspet’s solar, the chamber where she had been killed.
Jeanette looked about in the dark, letting her eyes adjust after the light of the lantern, and slowly the room revealed itself to her.
Almost nothing had changed since that day.
The bed was stripped of the bloody bedding, but other than that, the destruction caused by the man who had killed her mum, Archie, the other spy who had come here with Nicholas, remained.
“Dinna look at it, angel,” Malcolm said, taking her hand and pulling her to the window that looked out into the bailey.
He opened it slowly, in the hopes that they would not draw attention to it from those few guards who were stationed along the top of the remaining parts of the curtain wall, and then they took up their post. Standing on either side of the open window, they watched for the first signs of the MacAlpin warriors attacking the English camp.
“Do you think Nicholas was able to kill Lord Sherwood?” Jeanette asked, keeping her voice as quiet as possible.
“I dinna ken,” Malcolm replied just as quietly.
“He is alive, and I was not sure he could accomplish that much. But the man survived as the king’s favorite spy for years, so I have to believe he has skills he has not shared with any of us.
When we return to the tunnel we shall find out soon enough exactly what we are up against this day. ”
Jeanette stared out over the bailey and nodded her head.
“No matter what, I will protect you.” He reached out and took her hand again.
“I ken that, husband of mine.” She smiled over at him and kept his hand clasped in hers as they watched the black sky of night turn the leaden grey that heralded the coming of the dawn.
Suddenly, an arrow aflame arced out of the forest then sank below the level of the curtain wall, just where the English camp was set up.
The war whoops of the MacAlpins and the MacKenzies came to them on the morning breeze .
“The attack has begun,” Jeanette said, rushing to the hidden door.
Malcolm beat her to the tapestry, holding it out for her, then following her back into the hidden stairway. She closed the door and made sure ’twas latched securely, then he picked up the lantern and led the way as fast as they could manage the stairs.
“Are you ready, Jeanette?” he asked as they neared the bottom. “Are the Guardians ready?”
“As ready as we can be. ’Tis time to take back our home. ’Tis time to rid ourselves of these Sassenachs once and for all.”
S COTIA TOOK A deep breath as Nicholas slowly opened the cleverly disguised door that sat just where the tower butted up against the curtain wall.
The two Protectors, Duncan, and one of the other warriors led the way into the still-dim bailey.
The other four warriors would come behind the Guardians.
Her heart was beating hard, and her hands were damp. She wiped them on her trews, checked that her sword hung by her side, and wished she still had her shield, though she knew her task in this was not to fight with these expected weapons.
When everyone was out of the tunnel and standing against the curtain wall, hoping to conceal their presence in the bailey for just a little longer, Jeanette secured the door once more.
Nicholas whispered, “Ready? Now!” and the Protectors led the way to the well in the very center of the bailey at a run.
A cry went out from the wall walk, and Scotia knew they only had a few short moments to get a barrier up to protect the Guardians while they worked.
The three of them huddled on the north side of the well, not sure if it mattered if they were in exactly the right spot to draw the power of the Targe stone, but Malcolm had argued, and Duncan had agreed, that at least on the north side they would not have anyone standing on a curtain wall behind them, and the stone wall of the well might afford them some protection.
Rowan had the ermine sack on the ground and open already with the symbols facing the correct Guardian.
The Targe stone was cradled in her hands.
Jeanette had left the tunnel with her cup in one hand and a waterskin in the other, already unstoppered, so she had her cup filled and settled almost as quickly.
It struck Scotia suddenly that she had nothing to prepare.
A frisson of fear ran over her skin, but she refused to give into it.
She had touched the Story Stone when she became a Guardian, but she had not had it when they practiced what they were here to do.
Was that why they had not been able to create the Highland Targe then and there?
Doubt joined fear, dancing a raucous reel in her stomach.
The sound of swords clashing nearby startled all three of them, but Scotia refused to look.
“Say the blessing, Jeanette,” Scotia said, her voice sharp with worry. “Quickly!”