Chapter 21
Thomas clenched the hilt of his short sword, glancing warily around at his attackers. Some of McCade’s men were trying to sidle around them to flank them, and he caught Dominic’s eye.
“I’m not here to die,” he said aloud, holding McCade’s gaze and hoping he wouldn’t notice Dominic and their three men surreptitiously spreading out, preparing to rush their attackers. “I’m here to take back the woman ye stole from me.”
McCade beamed. “Ah, sweet Emma. She’s a pretty wee thing, make no mistake.
Ye know, when she worked for me, I wouldn’t let any of the men touch her, as she was such a skilled healer.
Didn’t want the goods damaged, ye know? Looking back, I wish I hadn’t been so soft about the whole thing.
She’d have made me a pretty packet of money. ”
Thomas had heard enough. He launched towards McCade, his sword drawn from his sheath in the blink of an eye, out and swinging.
McCade paled, backpedaling rapidly. Two of his men came together, shoulder to shoulder in front of him, and their weapons rose up to meet Thomas’s instead.
One man used a short sword—a clever choice—and the other wielded a heavy axe.
The instrument looked blunt, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t do damage.
Around him, chaos erupted. Dominic gave a cry, and he and the men dived forward to meet McCade’s gang.
Swords clashed, men grunted, and bitten-off shouts echoed through the air.
Some of McCade’s men had chosen long swords, which stuck in the ceiling when they tried to swing their blades in an arc.
On the other hand, Thomas and Dominic’s men had short swords and knives easier to maneuver in such a small space.
They were outnumbered, true, but for the first time, Thomas felt that there was hope.
The two men who’d protected McCade seemed to be the best trained of them all—which was probably why he’d chosen them as his personal guard—and Thomas was beginning to feel the strain.
It had been a long time since he’d fought in a melee.
He’d kept up his training, of course, but there was a big difference between a civilized, friendly match between two friends on the walls of the Keep and a mad fight for survival in a claustrophobic, smelly little pub.
There was no time for fancy footwork or clever parries here. Sweat poured down his face as he tried desperately to fend off two men at once.
They bared their teeth, moving in unison as if the whole thing were rehearsed, and he felt himself being shoved slowly but surely back.
The center of the fight was behind him, and he was likely to be accidentally stabbed or bludgeoned by his own friends if he wasn’t careful.
He caught sight of Dominic in the corner of his eye, taking a vicious sword slash to his thigh and going down on his knee with a gasp.
“Dom!” Thomas cried, shouldering sideways to knock Dominic’s attacker off balance.
It worked. The man stumbled, giving Dominic the crucial half-second he needed to recover.
While he was distracted, though, Thomas caught sight of a silvery blade arcing down towards him. He blocked it, but as he did so, the second man swung the axe at his side. Thomas dodged as best he could, but the blow still glanced off his side. He heard ribs crack, and pain arced through his torso.
A lightning-hot pain ripped through his arm, and he glanced down to see a line of blood trail down his forearm. He was lucky, the blow could have cut off his arm if there was room to swing in this place.
Movement beyond the men’s shoulders caught his eye, and he spotted McCade sidling back towards a small office room at the back of the building.
The wretch is escaping.
Thomas bared his teeth, throwing himself forward with renewed energy.
The man with the axe lifted his weapon again, but this time, Thomas ducked under it, slicing forward with his sword and running his opponent through the heart. The man dropped his axe with a scream, clutching his chest and crumbling to the ground.
One down.
The second man gave a cry of rage and rushed forward, trying to use his superior weight and height to force him backward.
In a small space like this, though, height and strength were only a disadvantage. The man’s reach was longer than his, so Thomas darted back and forward, ducking and weaving between the sword slashes and thrusts.
Swordplay was a tiring business, and the man soon began to grow tired.
Thomas pushed in for the kill. He ducked underneath a vicious overheard arc that missed the ceiling by a hairsbreadth and sliced at the man’s arm. The man dropped his weapon with a cry, and Thomas cut at the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees.
With a smooth, powerful swing, he sheared the man’s head from his shoulders, and the man collapsed, lifeless on the ground beside his companion.
Everything went quiet. All Thomas could hear was his own labored breathing. The pain in his chest and arm throbbed like it had its own heartbeat. Dizziness and exhaustion washed over him.
I’m not done yet.
He glanced around, taking in the scene.
All of McCade’s men were dead or dying, sprawled on the floor. Only one of Thomas’s men was injured, a youngish man with a mop of red hair. He was sitting propped up against the wall, attended by his friends. Dominic was streaked with blood and sweat, his sword hanging loosely from his fingers.
“Ye were in the thick of it, I think,” Thomas commented.
Dominic winced. “Aye, but ye fought the two best men. Now what?”
Thomas bit his lip, glancing around. “McCade has barricaded himself in a room back there. I didn’t see a window, so it looks like he’s trapped.
You two break down the door. I’d do it myself, but my ribs are bust. Dominic, go fetch Flora, she needs to find the hidden doorway, then check on the men who were sent round the back. I’ll deal with McCade.”
Dominic nodded and turned to go. Thomas glanced around again and finally realized what was missing.
“Wait. Where’s Gregor?”
Emma could hear shouts and cries filtering down from the floor above her.
A fight, probably. There were always brawls at the McCade pub, and there were often fatalities.
At a guess, she would say that she was being kept in a room beneath the front hall, although she’d never heard of a room down here.
Well, I did try and stay out of this pub as much as I could.
On closer inspection, she had guessed that other people had been kept here before.
There were no furniture or personal effects left in the cell, but there were still hints here and there.
She had found a scrap of fabric caught on a rusty nail, a button, a few marks scratched into the wall, something that might have been a name—Alice, or Alys, or something like that—and other bits of rubbish and forgotten pieces of a person’s life.
More to the point, she’d found a broken chair leg wedged in a corner.
It looked as though someone had been using it to try and pry out a piece of stone.
A useless task, as that would only lead to more stone.
Somebody had been trying to escape, and they’d done their best to hide the chair leg afterward.
Thank ye, whoever ye are.
Emma picked up the chair leg and clutched it like a truncheon. She kept hearing running footsteps above her and was braced at every minute to find someone barging through the door to her room.
She hoped it would be Simon. He had come down only an hour ago and given her a cup of water and a piece of bread. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He was kind to her, at least.
“If ye are still here by nightfall,” he’d said, “I’ll bring ye a blanket.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, if she was still here.
The familiar scraping and screeching sounds came from the top of the stairs, and the door swung open. Gregor’s bulky frame filled the doorway, and she froze.
He stared down at her for what felt like forever, then closed the door and locked it behind him.
Her heart leaped into her mouth. She felt sick.
“Well, now, haven’t ye caused a deal of trouble?” Gregor said softly. “All this because of ye.”
Emma bristled. “I’d say it’s because of ye and McCade, rather.”
He chuckled and began to descend the steps towards her. He didn’t rush. He took the steps slowly and leisurely as if he had all the time in the world.
He didn’t even have a weapon. His large hands, the size of spades, hung loosely at his sides, his fingers flexing and ready for violence.
Emma gripped the chair leg as hard as she could, raising it threateningly.
Gregor reached the bottom of the stairs and chuckled.
“What do ye think ye will be doing with that, lassie? Ye know, I keep thinking that all of this could have been avoided if ye had just kept yer mouth shut in the woods that night, eh?”
Emma’s face flared. “Ye stay away from me, ye monster.”
“I lost everything because of ye,” Gregor hissed, his eyes alight with something cruel. “I was thrown in the dungeons. I had a life, and now it’s gone because ye couldn’t keep yer damn mouth shut!”
Emma lifted the chair leg threateningly. Splinters dug into her palms, and she tried not to think about that. Gregor would do much worse if he got his hands on her.
He lunged towards her, and she couldn’t hold back a shriek of fright. She darted to one side, and his grasping hands narrowly missed her.
Gregor regained his balance, chuckling delightedly. “I’m glad ye are putting up a fight. We have all the time in the world down here.”
Without warning, his fist lashed out, catching her across the jaw. She spun around, sprawling out on the stone floor, barely managing to keep her grip on the chair leg.
Ye really do see stars.
Forcing her way through the dizziness, sudden nausea, and blinding pain in her head, Emma scrambled back before Gregor could grab her ankle. She needed to stay on her feet. If he got hold of her, it was all over.
He circled her, grinning. She blinked hard, trying to force the blurriness out of her vision, trying her best not to let him get behind her. It was a game for him, and one that he was thoroughly enjoying.
He reached for her again, intending to grab her wrist in a crushing grip, and this time she jammed the broken end of the chair leg into the meat of his forearm.
It didn’t do much real damage, but the sharp, jagged splinters dug into his skin, and he howled, more from surprise and anger than pain.
He wrenched his arm away, which probably did even more damage, and she took her opportunity.
Her arm shot out, slapping across his mouth, and she popped the two yellowberries between his teeth.
Gregor choked and spluttered, taken by surprise. He staggered backward a little, his hand flying to his mouth. He’d crushed the berries between his teeth, Emma could see the watery, blood-red juice dribbling out from the corner of his mouth.
Nobody ever expected yellowberries to have red juice, but they did.
If Gregor recognized the sour taste of the berries, he didn’t let on. He spat, growling with rage, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Emma began to count. Yellowberries were a famously fast-acting poison, although perhaps he hadn’t eaten enough. What if they weren’t yellowberries at all, and she had somehow made a mistake? There’d be no saving her now.
Then, Gregor began to cough. It started as a clearing of his throat, then the coughing grew louder, slowly but surely. His eyes widened with panic as his throat began to close, and he clawed at his neck.
“What… what did ye do… ye witch?” he rasped, then his legs gave out.
Emma backed rapidly away towards the staircase, the chair leg still clutched in her hands.
She’d seen death from yellowberry poisoning once before, and it wasn’t pretty.
Above the sound of Gregor choking and foaming at the mouth, arms and legs flailing wildly, she heard the distinctive splinter and smash of a door being kicked in.
She gasped, turning and running up the stone steps.
Have they found me?
“Somebody help me!” she yelled, hammering on the resolutely closed door of her prison. “Can anyone hear me? I’m down here! Down here!”
The door to McCade’s study swung open with a crash, swinging crazily on its hinges. The man himself cowered in a corner, wedged behind a desk.
Thomas stood in the doorway, eyeing the man. His sword was gripped in his hand, blood dripping from the point to pool on the floor.
“Thomas, we found another man,” Dominic murmured. “Hiding behind the bar. He’s unarmed and says he surrenders. What should we do? Take him to the dungeons?”
“Is his name Simon?” Thomas asked, not taking his eyes off the cowering McCade.
Dominic frowned. “Uhm, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Find out. If it is, don’t lay a hand on him. Not yet, anyway. Where is Flora?”
“She’s coming. Still no sign of Gregor.”
Thomas nodded. “I see. He’ll turn up soon enough.”
Dominic followed his gaze, spotting the terrified McCade in the corner. “What about him?”
“I’ll deal with him,” Thomas responded. “Lachlan McCade here needs to learn a valuable lesson.”
“I didn’t mean to encroach on yer business,” Lachlan wheedled. “I have money, ye know. Ye can have everything. The Sinner is a fine pub. I swear I’ll never—”
“It’s not about the pub,” Thomas interrupted. “I could forgive that, ye know. It’s about ye laying hands on the woman I love. That is not something I can let go easily.”
Dominic glanced sharply at Thomas. “The woman ye love, eh?”
“Now’s not the time, Dom.”
“Fair enough.” Dominic glanced at Lachlan again, his lip curling. “I take it we’re not taking him back to the Keep.”
“No, we’re not. I’ll not be long.”
Dominic nodded and retreated down the hall. Thomas stepped into the room, kicking the half-broken door closed with his foot.
“Ye should never have laid hands on her,” he hissed. “Ye will pay for this with yer life.”
“Now, wait just a moment. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. She’s just a wench, after all!”
Thomas lunged, and Lachlan screamed.
The scream didn’t last long.