Page 63 of The Laird's Wicked Game
MacDougall was a canny one. Two clever for Ramsay’s liking. He didn’t trust men as intelligent as the newest addition to his crew. Over the past months, he’d marked the way Tormod had befriended the other raiders. In the evenings, Ramsay didn’tdrink or dice with his men, but Tormod did. He often heard him jesting with them or ribbing one of his crewmates.
Ramsay had stayed alive over the past years by listening to his gut—and it told him that Tormod wasn’t to be trusted.
He needed the warrior to get into Dounarwyse and take it successfully, for Tormod’s knowledge of the broch and its routines made him indispensable. For the moment. However, once the broch was taken and Rae and Jack Maclean were dead, Ramsay intended to kill Tormod and take Dounarwyse for his own.
Why shouldn’t he? He’d suffered more at the Macleans’ hands than Tormod ever had. He deserved recompense. He’d rule the brochandTara. A smile tugged at his lips as he imagined all the things he’d to do the haughty bitch. Maybe, he’d keep Jack alive for a while so he could watch.
“Not long now.” A familiar voice cut through his lascivious, vengeful thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder at where a tall, lean form approached, picking his way through the slumbering figures of the warband they’d amassed over the long winter: fifty men ready to take Dounarwyse. The moon was trying to break through the cloud above, and a few shafts of moonlight had managed. It glinted off Tormod’s pale hair and frosted his haughty face.
The hair on the back of Ramsay’s arms prickled.
“No,” he replied gruffly. “We’re almost close enough to drop anchor.” Ramsay frowned then. “Maybe we should go in now, the dead of night has always worked well for us Ghost Raiders.”
“Not yet,” Tormod replied, stepping up to his shoulder, his own gaze fixed upon the dark western horizon. “Just before dawn is better. The Guard will be close to changing, and those on the wall will be weary.” He glanced Ramsay’s way then. “I’vethought long and hard about this day over the past months, Captain. My plan is a good one.”
Ramsay gave a soft snort at this before asking, “So, we’ll need to wade through water to get to the tunnel entrance?”
Tormod nodded.
“And there won’t be any guards around?”
“No … the drain empties amongst the rocks directly beneath the broch. If we use mist and darkness as a cloak, no one watching from the walls will see us either.”
“And how easy will it be to climb up the drain?”
“Not very … but we’ll have our weapons tied to our backs.”
“Great,” Ramsay grumbled. “I hate cramped spaces.”
Tormod shrugged. “It might be a bit of a squeeze for a man of yer girth … but it's manageable.” Ramsay scowled at this. He didn’t appreciate the snide edge to the younger man’s voice.
“As soon as we’re clear of the tunnel and in the barmkin, we will split into our teams,” Tormod went on. “Ye shall go with those securing the walls, and I will lead my team into the broch to deal with the laird.”
Ramsay pulled a face. “No … Harris and four others are handling the gate,” he answered, his tone hardening. Indeed, he’d confirmed this with the lads the day before while Tormod had been out recruiting the last of the men who’d join them. He wasn’t going to let this interloper dictate all the details of this attack. “I’llstorm the guard tower with Will, Nathair, and Coll … that’s where Jack Maclean and his family sleep.”
Tormod’s lean frame tensed. “That’s not the plan we agreed to.”
Ramsay snorted. “I don’t give a pig’s arse about yer plan … I told ye from the start that I wanted Jack’s head and his wife as my prize. The others can secure the walls, trap the guards in the barracks, and get to the bell tower to prevent anyone from raising the alarm. But I’ll have my revenge first.” Of course, his plans were a little different from those he admitted, for he intended to maim Jack, take him captive, and then draw his suffering out. However, Tormod didn’t need to know that.
Something ugly rippled over his companion’s face at these words. It was fleeting, yet in the moonlight it was unmistakable, and Ramsay stilled. His right hand, which hung at his side, flexed as he readied himself to draw his dirk. MacDougall acted like everyone’s friend, yet it was a thin veneer. The man didn’t like to be crossed, and he hated that Ramsay was in charge here.
Moments passed, and Ramsay’s fingers brushed the grip of his dirk. Aye, he was ready.
However, the warrior didn’t move. “Very well,” he said eventually, “As ye wish.”
Tormod lowered himself into the water, clenching his teeth as the chill hit him. Satan’s turds, it was freezing. Around him, he heard the gentle splash of the other warriors doing the same, before someone muttered an oath.
“Quiet,” Macbeth hissed.
Tormod cast a narrowed gaze around him, barely able to make out the shapes of the thirty men who’d accompanied him. They were ready, as was he. The remaining twenty men—warriors he’d spent the last few months recruiting and then training—waited onboardThe Night Plundererfor their signal.
As soon as the guards at the gate were dealt with, one of the Raiders would wave a black flag from the ramparts, signalingthat it was safe for them to sail in and drop anchor. The rest of their men would then enter the fortress and help secure it. The pirate cog was heavy with supplies—sacks of grain, wheels of cheese, barrels of pickled herrings, among other items—which would ensure they’d outlast a siege. One of the first things Tormod would do, once the broch was his, was take fowl and goats from Dounarwyse village, as well as all the food and grain he could find.
With a force of fifty men, no one within this broch would be able to resist them. And it would mean that Tormod would have his own sizable guard to take on Loch Maclean when he tried to take the fortress back.
The Ghost Raiders had sailed again, but this time, they’d cast aside their long black cloaks, mailed gloves, and eerie horned sheep skulls. Tonight, they were men again—fell and dangerous.
Of course, their captain was among them, although Tormod wished he wasn’t.