“Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile,” Glynis said. A beetle recognizes another beetle.
Hugh hit her so hard across the face that Glynis saw stars and swayed on her feet.
“Mind that tongue of yours if ye want to keep it,” he said.
She had been foolish to goad him—her stepmother always told her that she did not know when to be quiet. Because Hugh had protected her from Magnus, she’d relaxed her guard around him. She’d do well to remember that Hugh was a ruthless man who killed innocents and stole food from the mouths of children.
“If Magnus sets foot on my boat against my orders, kill him,” Hugh said to the man with him. “I could use another boat.”
While Hugh hoisted himself over the side of the galley, Glynis eyed her guard. He was a huge, muscular man with unkempt hair, a scarred face, and only one ear. When the guard turned, the look he gave her sent alarm racing through her veins. Glynis felt helpless to defend herself, tied like a dog to the mast. She tugged at the ropes, but they held fast.
* * *
A heavy fog rolled in over the loch as evening turned to night. Although Alex could not see the shore, the raucous laughter of the pirates’ camp carried clearly across the still water. Hugh had grown lax.
Behind the laugher, Alex heard the clank of cups and the snap of the fires. Hugh’s and Magnus’s men would outnumber them, but they had surprise on their side. Judging from the sounds, Hugh’s men were well into their cups, celebrating with Alex’s whiskey and ale.
Alex, Duncan, Ian, and Connor stood at the front of his galley and would go first. While the others were fine warriors, the four of them had long years of fighting together. And they were the best.
Alex nodded to the others, and the four of them dropped over the side of the boat with a soft splash. He paused to listen, but the pirates carried on as before. As soon as he gave a low dove call, the other men began dropping into the water behind them. They moved silently through the chest-high water, holding their shields and claymores over their heads. As he neared shore, Alex could see the glow of campfires through the thick fog.
He and Connor hid in the brush near the shore, while Duncan and Ian led most of the men behind the encampment. Duncan and Ian’s group would attack from behind so the pirates could not escape inland. Their plan was to trap the pirates between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Before giving the signal, Alex and Connor’s task was to make certain Glynis and any other hostages would not be caught in the middle of the attack. They crawled forward on their bellies until they were close enough to see the faces of the men gathered around the fires. Alex saw Hugh and Connor’s other uncles, Angus and Torquil.
But he did not see Magnus. Or Glynis.
Alex’s blood went cold as he saw one man come out of a tent that had been set up and another go in. Either that was where the whiskey was—or they were taking turns with a woman. When Alex heard a woman cry out, he was off the ground before Connor grabbed his arm to stop him.
No, Connor mouthed and shook his head. He nodded in the direction Duncan had gone, to tell him that Duncan was closer and would deal with it. The blood pounded in Alex’s head. In his mind’s eye, Alex could see Duncan slipping into the back of the tent and then holding his hand over the man’s mouth to keep him quiet while he slit his throat.
The man did not come out of the tent. Aye, the four of them knew each other very well.
It was not Glynis that he had heard cry out. Alex scanned the rest of the camp, but he did not see her or any other prisoners who would be in harm’s way when they attacked. But where was Glynis? Had she also been in the tent, raped by a dozen men?
Or was she dead?
Alex forced himself to focus on the battle ahead. When Connor touched his arm, Alex made another low bird call to alert the men with Ian and Duncan that it was time. An instant later, he and Connor rose to their feet, shouting the MacDonald battle cry, “Fraoch!”
Their men across the fire echoed their ferocious cry. Fraoch! Fraoch! Fraoch!
Alex channeled his pent-up rage and his fear for his wife into his blade, slicing through one man after another. Battle fever burned in his veins like blue fire. He whirled and swung like a madman, until Duncan’s voice penetrated through the battle sounds around him.
“Connor needs help!” Duncan shouted from across the fire.
Alex turned and saw that Hugh and several of his men were closing in on Connor. Alex leaped to his defense, and the two fought back to back, as they often did. Despite everything, Alex began to enjoy himself. He was made for this. No one could match the pair of them as fighters—except perhaps Duncan and Ian.
Hugh was a strong and cagy fighter, but he was always willing to risk the lives of his men before his own. When it was clear that Alex and Connor were winning the fight, Hugh slipped away into the darkness.
“I’ll get Hugh,” Connor shouted. “Angus is running for their boats—catch him before he escapes.”
Through the fog, Alex could just make out the back of a man running hard for the loch. Alex charged after him and brought him down to the ground, crashing on top of him with a thud.
“Where is she?” Alex shouted, as he sat on Angus’s chest with his dirk against the man’s throat. When Angus did not answer quickly enough, Alex pressed the blade deeper, drawing a line of blood. Enunciating each word, he said, “Where is my wife?”
“On the boat,” Angus gasped.
“Which boat?”