Page 26 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

KYLIE REMAINED WHERE she was while Rae raced up the steps to the wall. He then sprinted around the walkway, leaping over the prone body of one of the intruders, and approached her.

She rose to her feet when he drew near. She then staggered, nearly falling over. Cods. Her legs felt like congealed porridge. She’d kept her wits and courage throughout the attack, but now shock caught up with her.

Moments later, Rae reached Kylie and hauled her into his arms.

She clung to him, pressing her face to his chest. Beneath the thin material of his lèine, his skin was slick with sweat and his heart hammered. But he was uninjured. Alive. Relief splintered within her, and suddenly she was weeping. Loud, messy tears.

Lord, she’d never sobbed like this. It was as if a dyke had somehow burst, and years of pent-up emotion gushed forth. There was no holding it back now .

Rae didn’t say a word. He merely held her tight and let her weep against his chest.

And when she was spent, she sagged, limp and exhausted, against him.

“Speak to me, lass,” he murmured then, his breath feathering across her forehead. “What are ye doing out here? Ye aren’t hurt?”

“No,” she rasped, pulling back slightly and raising her gaze to meet his. Rae’s eyes were shadowed with worry, yet achingly tender. “Tormod MacDougall tried to kill me … but I knifed him in the cods.”

Rae’s big body stiffened against hers, his eyes snapping wide.

“I then shoved him over the edge,” Kylie added.

“Ye did?”

“Aye.” She managed a tight smile. “Hopefully, he was trampled after he fell.”

Rae’s gaze glinted at this. He then shifted his attention to the barmkin below. “Tormod was behind this,” he shouted down to where Jack was picking his way through the dead. Nearby, his men had cornered three of the attackers who were still alive. “Can ye see him?”

A pause followed before Jack eventually called back, “He’s not here.”

Kylie’s breathing caught. She disentangled herself from Rae then and moved closer to the edge, scrutinizing the mess beneath her. Her gaze went from body to body, but there was no sign of Tormod. His distinctive long blond hair usually made him easy to spot. “He must have escaped,” she said, even as bitterness filled her mouth. “The way they came in.” She turned back to Rae, to find him watching her, confusion upon his face. “They climbed up through the storm drain … I saw them. ”

Rae’s gaze held hers for a moment before he growled a low curse. “The bastard won’t have gotten far … not after a blade to the balls.”

Kylie’s lips thinned. No, the warrior would be bleeding heavily and in pain.

“Send men out to where the storm drain exits,” he called down to Jack. “Tormod can’t be far away.”

His brother gave a curt nod before turning and barking orders to those at the gate. Meanwhile, both Kylie and Rae had fallen silent, their attention taken up by the mess the rising sun now unveiled.

It looked as if at least ten of their own men had fallen during the skirmish. Below, a woman started to keen. One of the cook’s assistants knelt on the cobbles next to her lover’s prone body.

The harrowing sound made Kylie wrap her arms around herself. Suddenly, she couldn’t stop shivering. “Come,” Rae said roughly. “I need to question those we’ve taken captive … but let’s get ye indoors first.”

He moved close then and put a protective arm around her shoulders. Leaning into him, Kylie nodded numbly. Together, they turned, but they had only taken a couple of steps when Rae came to an abrupt halt. And when she followed his gaze east, to where the pale morning sunlight sparkled on the Sound of Mull, she saw what had caught his attention.

A large cog, its black sail billowing as it headed away from the coast.

Kylie’s breathing caught, for she’d seen that cog before—the previous Bealtunn—at Moy Castle. It was The Night Plunderer .

“Those dog-humping bastards,” Rae growled.

“The Ghost Raiders have cast aside their horned skulls it seems,” she replied, even as a chill feathered down her spine .

“Aye,” he muttered. “It’s nigh impossible to climb a storm drain garbed like a demon.” He turned then, waving to Jack and calling down to him, “Ye’d better get up here, brother.”

Jack did as bid, taking the blood-splattered steps two at a time, and approaching the east wall. And when he spied the raider’s cog sailing away, he also spat out a curse. “So, that’s where Ramsay MacDonald ended up, is it?”

Kylie frowned. She didn’t recognize the name.

Rae shot his brother a quizzical look. “Ramsay MacDonald … wasn’t he the outlaw ye fell foul of years ago … the one who tried to rape Tara?”

“Aye … that’s him,” Jack growled back. He’d halted next to them, his gaze still trained east. The cut across his naked chest was oozing. It would need seeing to, but he paid it no mind. “He was also the warrior who tried to get into my quarters earlier.”

Rae’s brows drew together at this news. “Well, he won’t be giving ye any more trouble.” He paused then, his gaze flicking back to where the cog was quickly growing smaller in the distance. It sailed as if Satan’s fiends were chasing it. “I wonder if he and Ross Macbeth are one and the same.”

Kylie gave a soft gasp, and the brothers both glanced her way, surprised by her reaction. “I saw Ross Macbeth,” she explained. “From a distance last spring near Moy Castle … when Liza and I were out walking. It was just before the attack at Bealtunn. Is the man ye speak of big with a permanent scowl and wild dark hair and beard.”

“Aye,” Jack replied, his jaw flexing. “Sounds like him … although he’s now sprawled in the guard tower stairwell with a slit throat.”

Rae’s lips thinned. “MacDougall went looking for allies it seems,” he muttered .

“Aye … and once Ramsay learned that I captain yer guard, he couldn’t resist his chance for revenge.”

“And he would have had it too,” Rae said, his voice roughening, “if someone hadn’t raised the alarm.”

Both men looked at Kylie once more, and self-consciousness stole over her. “Well, luckily I was up early,” she murmured. Her gaze shifted away then, for she marked the way Rae’s eyes glinted. It was a reminder that she was supposed to be leaving this morning.

Kylie’s pulse quickened. She needed to talk to him alone.

“Maclean!” A man called from below, intruding on their conversation. All three of them turned from the wall to see one of the Guard, out of breath, skid to a halt inside the gates. He’d clearly just sprinted up the hill outside and across the drawbridge. “There’s no sign of Tormod … just two large abandoned rowboats. Three of us climbed up the tunnel to check, but it’s empty.”

Rae’s curse was blistering, echoing off the surrounding stone. Likewise, Jack’s expression was thunderous, while Kylie’s stomach clenched.

How was it possible? She’d delivered the warrior a grievous wound before pushing him off a wall and into a crowd of fighting men. He shouldn’t have been able to crawl to the storm drain let alone escape down it and disappear.

“Send more men north and south along the coast,” Rae ordered. “He’s not getting away.”

“But he might have swum out to the cog,” Kylie suggested. “We saw it set sail, but it was likely moored close to the coast earlier. ”

Both Rae and Jack’s expressions pinched. It seemed unlikely, for Tormod was injured, but they couldn’t discount the possibility that he’d made it to The Night Plunderer either.

Silence fell upon the wall, broken only by the soft sobbing of the grieving woman below. Her weeping rose and fell—like a lament for her dead lover, and for the others who’d fallen to defend Dounarwyse this morning.

“We wintered at Castle Coeffin!” The man’s wail echoed across the barmkin.

Snarling, Rae leaned in close to the face of the warrior whose finger he’d just cut off. “Did Duncan MacDougall send ye?”

“No,” the man panted, his eyes glazed with pain. “He merely sheltered us.”

“MacDougall has no love for the Macleans,” Jack muttered from behind Rae.

“Aye,” Rae replied, never taking his gaze off the man he was questioning. “It would suit him to have a MacDougall take this broch.”

Rae leaned in once more. “Was that Tormod’s plan then?”

The warrior didn’t reply, and Rae took hold of his hand once more. “I don’t think ye need that thumb.”

The man made a choking sound, his blue eyes bulging. “Aye … he wanted Dounarwyse. We had more men onboard The Plunderer … who were ready to help make the broch safe for us … and enough supplies to see us through months. He spent all winter planning it. ”

This admission made Rae sit back on his heels. And all the while, fury pulsed under his breastbone.

Nearby, another of the men they’d taken captive lay dead in a pool of blood. Rae had taken off two of his fingers, but the Ghost Raider had merely spat at him. However, his companion had been much more forthcoming. A few feet away, the third of their captives glowered at him.

Christ’s teeth, the bastards had nearly managed it. If Kylie hadn’t warned them, the Raiders would have slaughtered them all in their beds. And they’d used the storm drain to get into the castle. No one outside the broch knew about it—but Tormod had, and he’d used the knowledge to plan an attack.

Rae’s gaze shifted to the iron hatch, which had now been closed. He couldn’t risk that ever happening again. He’d have the blacksmith make him an iron lattice covering to put over it. That way, the water could escape when they had heavy rain, but no one would ever be able to crawl up the drain and surprise them again.

Rising to his feet, Rae sheathed his dirk at his hip. He then turned to where Jack still looked on. His brother’s face was set in hard lines, anger smoldering in his green eyes. He knew what the laird was about to say next.

“We’re done here,” Rae said, stepping away from their captives. “Hang these two from the walls.”

“There ye go.” Kylie finished wrapping the warrior’s arm and secured the bandage tightly. “All yer injuries will need checking again tomorrow mind. ”

“Thank ye, Lady Grant,” the young man replied with a brittle half-smile. Gareth Maclean had received a few deep gashes, two to his sword arm and one to his thigh. Kylie had just finished painstakingly sewing the wounds before dousing them with strong wine and wrapping them. The warrior’s face was pale in the aftermath.

They were in the barracks, where two other warriors—who, like Gareth, had sustained wounds during the fight—had also been tended. Kylie and Tara had worked tirelessly all morning to help them. It was now noon, and Tara had gone up to look in on her daughters and relieve the maid who’d been looking after them for her.

Packing up bandages, ointments, and her bone needle and catgut into the healing basket she’d brought from the tower house, Kylie cast Gareth a reassuring smile. The lad’s face was as pale as milk. He was a recent addition to the Guard, and this had been his first blooding. “Rest today,” she ordered softly. “And make sure ye eat something.”

He nodded, his boyish face creasing into another attempt at a smile.

Kylie left him then, stepping out into the barmkin with her basket hooked over one arm. To her relief, the dead had been carried out of the broch and the blood had been scrubbed away. Those of the Guard who’d fallen would be buried outside Dounarwsye kirk the following day, while the corpses of the attackers had been heaped upon the pyre, to be burned.

Above, the sky had cleared for the first time in days, and a crisp wind tugged at her hair and clothing. The rich aroma of roasting meat drifted across the barmkin then, for the laird had ordered Cadha and her assistants to put on a hearty meal for the broch’s residents .

They’d lost men, but they’d also beaten those who’d tried to overrun the fortress.

It was a bittersweet day.

Looking at the cobbled expanse before her, Kylie could almost imagine the dawn skirmish had never taken place. But it had—and the corpses of the two captives now swung from the western wall. She hadn’t gone out to see the grisly spectacle, but others had. Those men would likely hang there for a while, as their bodies bloated and crows pecked at them, as a warning to any who dared cross the Macleans.

Kylie suppressed a shiver. Of course, things could have gone very differently. It could be Rae and Jack strung up by their necks, while Tormod MacDougall took the laird’s seat in the hall.

Trying not to think about such things, she walked across the cobbles and climbed the steps to the broch. She then made her way upstairs and found Storm sitting outside the door to the lady’s solar. Tail wagging, he nudged at her until she put down her basket and gave him the affection he craved. “What are ye doing out here, lad?” she asked as a wet tongue swept across her cheek. “Why aren’t ye with yer master?”

Her gaze shifted then, across the landing to the closed door to the other solar.

Instinctively, she knew Rae was inside.

She also knew she had to speak to him. There were words that had to be said.

Ducking into the lady’s solar, she put away the healing basket before returning to the landing. She then crossed it, Storm padding after her, knocked on Rae’s door, and waited.