Page 70 of The Laird's Wicked Game
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 onboardThe 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.