Chapter 15
Even before Duncan opened his eyes, the smell of dark earth permeated his senses, and he was aware that he sprawled on the ground.
His mouth felt as dry as old peat, and he could barely form a groan to protest the ache that thrummed at the back of his head.
But a voice reached his ears, and he stilled his body.
“Why did ye hit him sae hard?” a reedy voice hissed, his tone laced with annoyance. “When he wakes, he’ll wonder why we assaulted him.”
“Ye didnae say that we shouldnae hit him, master,” another man responded, his voice quavering.
The leader made a sound of disgust, and walked over to where Duncan lay.
Sensing the other man’s scrutiny, Duncan forced himself to remain motionless, to ignore the throbbing pain which radiated to his brain.
After a moment, he heard the rustling of parchment, and then the thin voice began to chant.
He recognized a few of the Gaelic words, but through the hammering in his head, the rest of the incantation sounded like gibberish.
A few minutes more the song finished, and he heard a soft thud, like a book closing.
The man moved away from him, and Duncan felt that it was safe enough for him to assess his situation.
He didn’t know what was happening, but he needed to evaluate the conditions before he could determine a sensible stratagem.
It was his keen sense of observation and cunning that allowed him to get out of scrapes, and which kept him alive all these years.
At this moment, his instincts told him that he was outnumbered, and the unusual lightness of his sword belt indicated that he was disarmed.
The rational side of him understood that he had little chance in fighting the guards without becoming seriously maimed or butchered.
Still, the fog that surrounded his brain began to finally lift. But how long was he unconscious? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? He recalled seeing the raven surveying them, but he hadn’t anticipated that he would be attacked from behind.
His ears perked at the sound of the murmuring conversation off to the side. Watching through the slit of his eyes, he observed two pairs of worn leather boots, and the hem of a woman’s kirtle. At least there weren’t a dozen combatants waiting to fight him.
Fortunately no one paid him any heed, and he took the opportunity to shift slightly in order to study his captors. Gauging the circumstance, he noted that two armed men flanked Adrina. And while she appeared dispirited, she was unharmed.
Standing in front of the lass was an older man, who he guessed was the infamous Fingal MacNauld.
A tuft of hair grew at the side of his head, leaving the middle section bare.
It appeared that whatever hair he had lost on his crown was growing out from his narrow chin.
Tucked underneath his arm was a leather-bound book that appeared old and worn from use.
While he didn’t appear physically intimidating, the guards were strangely frightened of him.
But Fingal wasn’t what Duncan had expected at all.
From what Adrina described, he had imagined a horribly disfigured man who was evil to the core.
But Fingal looked nothing out of the ordinary.
If anything, he had the appearance of a harmless, ordinary clergyman.
If Duncan had come across him at a small kirk, he would have thought nothing of him.
However a cleric normally didn’t command armed warriors, he reasoned. Adrina’s warning of the advisor’s supernatural powers echoed in his mind. If her counsel was to be considered, he needed to move with caution.
A slight movement on Fingal’s right shoulder drew Duncan’s notice, and when he peered at the black mass, he discovered a raven perched there.
While his logical mind couldn’t fully accept it, he instinctively knew that this bird wasn’t a typical one.
It sat quietly at its roost, listening to the muted conversation as if it understood every word.
Was it possible that everything that Adrina had told him about the raven was factual, that Fingal had an unearthly connection to the animal?
If this was accurate, then the creature had trailed them this entire journey, and reported its findings to its master.
That was how the guards knew about the campsite, and where to find them.
“I have tae see that he’s all right,” Adrina said, breaking away from one of the guards.
She managed to take a step toward Duncan when Fingal barked, “Stop her.”
The Highlander snaked his hand on her arm and jerked her back.
“Well, well,” Fingal said, shoving the book into his belt. He walked around Adrina, circling her as if she was coveted prey. “What do we have here?” Moving to stand in front of her, he reached for her gold pin.
Even before he touched her, Adrina flinched.
Duncan’s body immediately tensed, but he forced himself to relax, and allowed the interplay to continue.
If the man showed any intentions of hurting Adrina, Duncan would rise to her defense.
It didn’t matter whether he was unarmed and outnumbered.
However, Fingal didn’t appear to do anything threatening other than scrutinizing Adrina’s brooch.
Duncan had seen the jewelry before and wondered why it held so much fascination for the other man.
To be certain, it was a pretty object, but his sisters possessed pieces that were far more beautiful.
For long minutes, Fingal continued to study the gold clasp, his lips pursed in concentration. He lifted his hand, comparing the gem set in the middle of the ornament, and the stone anchored on the signet ring that he wore.
“This bloodstone is raw and unpolished,” he said finally, his tone hushed. “Where did ye get this?”
“It has been in my family for centuries,” Adrina said, her soft voice wavering. Unconsciously, she raised her hand to cover the bauble, protecting it.
But Fingal would have none of it. He pried her fingers away from the clip.
Adrina batted at his hand, and took a retreating step. But then she stopped, and she squared her shoulders as the expression on her face turned defiant. “’Tis mine, and ye cannae have it.”
“Och, sae that’s what ye think?” Fingal said, flashing his teeth.
Duncan’s hand on the ground curled, and he realized that he clutched at a clump of grass. He slowly unfurled his fist. It wasn’t time yet.
But then it happened so quickly that Duncan almost gave himself away too soon. Fingal’s fingers closed over the brooch, and ripped it off her plaid.
“Nay!” she screamed.
Her palm automatically went to the empty spot on her arisaid. She stared at the older man, shock and horror etched on her countenance.
“I take what I want,” he said with a sneer. “I dinnae think ‘twas possible, but now I perceive why ye were immune tae my spells. ‘Tis the gemstone on your brooch that protected ye. I didnae ken why I hadnae thought about it till now.”
“’Tis nae yours tae take,” she said in a half sob, and made a grab for his arm.
But the advisor lifted his arm, while brushing her aside with the other, as if she was an annoying bairn.
“Ye will nay longer need the pin,” he said calmly, dropping the jewelry into his leather sporran.
Adrina’s face flushed, and she rushed at Fingal, intent in getting back her possession.
Things were starting to get out of hand, and he needed to distract Fingal before he took something else from Adrina.
Duncan let out a loud groan, pretending that he had just woken. The distraction worked, and the advisor swiveled his head, and looked over in Duncan’s direction.
“The Highlander is awake,” he said if he was commenting on the weather. “I was hoping that my man didnae hit ye too hard.”
“Why did he hit me?” Duncan asked, rubbing the tender spot on the back of his head for emphasis.
“We couldnae determine whether ye were friend or foe,” he said smoothly. “’Tis best tae error on the side of caution in these days of uncertainty.”
Duncan pushed himself up from the ground. “Aye, ‘tis true that there are times when ye cannae determine friend from foe. But ye could’ve just asked,” he grumbled. “Who are ye, and where’s Adrina?”
“I’m Fingal MacNauld,” he said. Then he looked behind Duncan and gestured. “Conran, bring the lass over here.”
A thick-set guard dragged Adrina over to them. The lass’ cheeks were streaked with tears, and her eyes were suffused with sorrow. “’Twas a mistake tae allow ye tae escort me here, Duncan. I’m truly sorry for bringing ye into this mess. I —”
“Now we ken that ye are a friend,” Fingal said, interrupting her.
“We’ll need tae thank ye for bringing our dear lassie home.
” He placed a hand on her shoulder while she tried in vain to squirm away from his hold.
Still ignoring her, he turned to Duncan, his expression serious.
“Adrina hasnae been well of late. The village healer believes that demons have entered into her mind. She claims tae see and hear things beyond this realm, sae we can assume that everything she says are perpetrated by these wicked spirits, or by the Black Donald himself.”
“She has told me strange things about sorcery…” Duncan said, allowing his voice to trail off.
“He lies, Duncan. Dinnae believe him!” Her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“As ye can see, she is clearly delusional,” Fingal said, shrugging. “’Tis nay wonder she behaves sae erratically. MacGill and his wife are verra concerned about her. At the verra least, they’ll be glad that their daughter is returned home safely.”
“’Tis nae the truth,” Adrina said weakly.