“Ye made your choice and can freeze to death for all I care,” the guard said. “I can’t let ye in without my chieftain’s permission, and he’s gone to bed.”
Before the guard could close the door or take a breath to shout, Duncan pulled him outside by the front of his shirt, locked an arm around his throat, and knocked him on the head with the rock.
“Simon?” another guard called from inside.
Duncan flattened himself against the castle wall and waited. As soon as the second guard poked his head out the small door of the gatehouse, Duncan hit him with the same rock. Working quickly, he tied the two men together with his rope and dragged them a few feet into the darkness away from the castle wall.
He drew his dirk and entered the gatehouse without making a sound. Anticipating he might need to make a quick escape, he removed the heavy crossbar that held the gate closed. When he heard footsteps, he paused until they passed. A single set of boots. Duncan trained his men to work in pairs when they stood guard—not that two men could have stopped him.
The guards up on the walls would be looking outward for attackers, if they were awake at all. To avoid raising suspicions, Duncan walked across the yard as if he belonged there.
Inside the keep, a few men were still drinking near the hearth. Sean was not among them. Staying in the shadows, Duncan followed the wall around the room until he reached the doorway that led to the stairs. This was the riskiest part so far because no one but family members and a few trusted servants would have good cause to go to the rooms above at this late hour.
Duncan waited until there was a burst of laughter from the men around the hearth, then strode through the doorway and started up the stairs.
When he was halfway up, a woman’s scream came from above, piercing the air—and his heart. It was Moira. Duncan charged up the spiral stone stairs three at a time. The door on the next floor was closed. Without pausing, he slammed his shoulder against it. The door crashed open and banged against the wall.
Moira lay on the floor in a pool of blood with a man on top of her.
Duncan was across the room in two strides. He jerked the man up by the back of his tunic with one hand while he brought up his dirk with his other to slice the man’s throat. He stopped his arm midswing. The man he was holding was Sean, and he was already dead.
Duncan looked down at Moira.Oh, Jesu.One of her eyes was swollen purple like a ripe plum, and the rest of her face was battered. Her gown was torn and gaping open.
Blood was everywhere. In her hair. On her hands and face. Soaking her gown. Duncan dropped to his knee beside her. Grief swept through him.God, no!He was too late to save her.
Chapter 10
Moira moaned and struggled to sit up.
Praise God, she is alive.Duncan put his arm beneath her shoulders. “Are ye hurt badly,mo leannain?” My sweetheart.
“Is Sean dead?” She sounded dazed.
“Aye,” he said. “Can ye walk? We must leave the castle at once.”
Even while he said it, he heard boots on the stairs. If the men found Moira covered in blood and their chieftain dead, it would not go well for her.
Duncan lifted her to her feet. Holding her with one arm and his sword in the other, he started out with her just as one of the MacQuillan warriors filled the doorway. Two more were right behind him. Duncan needed to dispatch them quickly before they raised the alarm and brought the fifty men sleeping in the hall into the fight.
“What have ye done to—”
Duncan cut the first man down before the words were out of his mouth. Then he shoved the next one backward into the third, sending the pair tumbling down the stairs.
Holding Moira to his side, Duncan leaped over the flailing men and continued down the stairs. The noise had drawn three more warriors into the bottom of the stairwell. But the fools did not have their blades at the ready. Before they could unsheathe them, Duncan kicked one in the gut, swung his claymore into another, and rammed the third with his shoulder.
Damn. The commotion was waking the other MacQuillan men. When Duncan started through the hall, some of them were already on their feet and reaching for their swords. Duncan lifted Moira over his shoulder and ran like hell for the door.
He burst through it, cleared the steps in one leap, and ran hard through the darkness of the bailey yard to the gate. Knowing he had removed the bar, he hit the gate running. It was made of heavy oak, but it swung open against his weight.
After a few yards, he was in pitch blackness. The MacQuillan men were on his heels, and Duncan could not see the path to the beach. He was running blind.
A dog barked. A moment later he saw the wolfhound in front of him, leading the way, his golden fur just visible in the night.
Moira moaned, and Duncan thought of her bruised and battered face bouncing against his back. But he had no choice. He must get her away from here at all costs. The shouts behind them were growing closer, but so was the sound of waves crashing on the beach. As he crested a hill behind the dog, he saw the white foam of the curling sea swells through the darkness.
“Niall!” he shouted as he followed the wolfhound down the bluff to the beach.
“Over here!” Niall called.