Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) (27 page)

"Hurry, Da," Hamish whispered beside him.

Sleat pulled the key out and inserted it again, then wiggled. Nothing. What the hell? Had Gegrim given him the wrong key? "That double-crossing bastard," Sleat hissed.

A flaming torch dropped from the wall above and a battle cry rang out. The torch struck one of his men and his clothing burst into flames. He yelled and danced about. Hamish shoved him to the ground. "Roll, you idiot!"

Through the gate, Sleat saw the guards running toward them, swords aimed.

"Retreat!" Sleat yelled. Some bastard had warned Neacal and his men. Probably Gegrim. He should've known not to trust the whoreson.

Men's shouts echoed from distant parts of the castle and more torches were tossed from the wall to light up the battle ground, catching the heather afire. An arrow struck the ground beside Sleat, shot down from the wall-walk. He leapt aside and lifted his targe.

Guards and soldiers charged along the wall from the front portcullis. How did they have so many men at the ready? Gegrim must have told them of Sleat's plans, for no one else knew. He and his men were already outnumbered.

"Retreat!" Sleat scrambled back down the hillside over the rocks, heather and gorse. Some of his men had already escaped. One of Neacal's guards chased after him, his sword raised. Sleat slashed his blade at the man. He blocked it and struck back. More enemies approached, trying to halt their retreat and trap them. Battle cries resounded around him.

Blades clanged behind him and a man shouted. Was it one of his own men? He couldn't take his eyes off his opponent to see.

He had to kill this bastard, or die himself. He refused to be trapped on this island and at Neacal's mercy. Sleat redoubled his efforts and struck at the enemy.

Seconds later, he ran the man through, then shoved him to the ground. Glancing back, Sleat could not tell who was who in the torch-lit gloom.

"Retreat!" he yelled again in the event some of his men hadn't heard his order the first time.

Several of his clansmen, as well as MacRankin's, followed him down the steep hillside, across the rocks and along the sand bar causeway. Neacal's guards gave chase. Some of his soldiers turned back to hold them off while Sleat and MacRankin headed toward the wood.

Where was his son? Sleat stopped and turned back to stare into the dimness, lit here and there by torches and burning heather.

"Hamish!" he yelled.

One of his soldiers ran past him.

"Where is Hamish?" Sleat demanded.

"I've nay seen him."

Sleat growled a string of curses, then headed back toward the castle. Dozens of soldiers poured down the hill now.

He paused. To run toward them by himself would be certain suicide. "Hamish!" he roared, fear and rage such as he'd never felt before consuming him.

One of Neacal's guards slowly stalked toward him.

"Where is my son? Send him to me!"

"You're the one who brought him here. If he's dead, his blood is on your hands," the guard said.

Nay, he could not conceive of it! "You bastard! I'll kill you!"

"Aye, come on, then!" he challenged, beckoning with his hand.

Sleat glanced toward the wood. Had Hamish escaped before him? Mayhap he was already hiding with the others.

The guard hastened his approach. "'Haps you would like to go inside and talk to the chief," he taunted.

"Go to hell!" Sleat ran across the damp sand toward the wood, praying with each breath that Hamish waited there. When he arrived, he was gasping for breath and lightheaded. "Hamish? Where is… Hamish?"

"Is Hamish here?" MacRankin yelled.

Unable to see everyone in the darkness of the wood, several of the men asked around.

"Hamish!" Sleat shouted.

Silence.

Sleat fell to his knees, rage and grief overcoming him. He cursed Neacal MacDonald to hell and back, stabbing his dirk into the loamy soil over and over, imagining it was Neacal he gored.

***

"Chief!"

Neacal glanced in the direction the shout had come from, the postern gate. One of the guards ran toward him. "Sleat thinks his son was injured or killed outside."

"Was he?"

"Don't know yet. We'll have to round up the dead and injured."

"Some traitor must have given Sleat a key to the postern gate," Neacal said. "We were wise to change the padlock after we heard about the troops camped at Acharacle."

"Aye. Speaking of the traitor… the five in the dungeon were released when the fighting began."

"Damnation!" Hackles raising at the very idea some man he thought he could trust was the worst backstabber, Neacal glanced around the bailey. He suspiciously eyed each of the men, but none appeared guilty. "We have to find out who it is. Are any of the five still here? Or did they escape during the battle?"

"Parlan was killed. I don't know about the others."

Neacal nodded. "Guard this gate well. Once the dead and injured are brought inside, lock it again. Sleat could have a larger force ready to invade at any moment, especially if his son turns up dead."

"Aye, chief."

Neacal returned to the center of the barmkin and waited while the dead and injured were being brought inside the walls. Guards stood with torches shining down on five dead men and two captured with minor injuries.

"'Tis Sleat's son, Hamish," Neacal muttered, staring down at one of them. "Is he dead?"

"Aye," Matthew said.

"Sleat will return with a vengeance."

"Aye," Matthew said again.

"Why were they attempting to enter through the postern gate?" Neacal's gaze moved steadily over his clansmen and guards. "Did someone give them a key?"

"We're trying to figure that out," Gegrim said.

Neacal didn't recognize the other two enemies, still living, their hands tied behind their backs. Their plaids were different, but Neacal had seen the design somewhere before. The white, black and red pattern nagged at the back of his mind.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the scraggly, sweating man being restrained by a large guard.

The man spat at him, but missed.

Rage shot through Neacal like a bolt of lightning, and he barely restrained the impulse to punch the bastard in the jaw. "Which clan are you from?" he growled.

The man remained silent.

Neacal turned his attention to the other bound man, asking him the same question, but he kept his mouth shut tight.

"Lock them in the dungeon. I'll question them later. I wager they'll start to talk when they grow hungry."

"Aye, chief." The guards dragged them away.

"In the morn, we'll take the dead bodies out and allow Sleat to reclaim them," Neacal told Matthew. "As for right now, have our men search this island and the surrounding area to make sure no living enemies yet remain."

"Aye," Matthew said. "We'll keep a sharp lookout for Sleat. No doubt he will return soon."

"Indeed. Also, see if you can discover who the traitor is who gave Sleat a key."

***

Just before noon the next day, Neacal carried a lantern and descended the steps into the dungeon. Leith and Dugan accompanied him, one before him and one behind, each carrying torches. 'Twas doubtful the new prisoners were hungry enough as of yet to talk. Neacal didn't condone torture—he'd endured too much of it himself—but he had to find out who these men were and what Sleat's plan was. The lives of his clansmen depended on it. He took his position as his clan's protector very seriously.

He already knew Sleat had wanted to take Bearach for Hamish, but now that Hamish was dead, Sleat's plot was likely simple revenge. Neacal didn't underestimate him. He knew the man would strike back ten times harder, but they would be ready.

One of the guards unlocked the iron-barred door. After it screeched open, Neacal stepped into the cell. The short, stocky prisoner sat propped in the corner. "Get up," Neacal commanded. When he did, Neacal approached and gathered his shirt front into his fist. "What is your name?"

The man smirked. "Go to hell, you mad bastard."

Rage ensnaring him, Neacal punched him in the stomach and the man went down. Lying upon the dirt floor, he groaned.

"Do you think Sleat cares a thing about you? He left you and your comrades for dead. You're nothing to him. You owe him no loyalty. All you have left is your life. 'Tis your decision whether you keep it or lose that, too."

"You'll kill us once we tell you what you want to know." The other man in the opposite corner said.

"Nay. I'll let you live and even have bread and water sent down. But first you must be honest. If you lie, you get naught."

The two men held their silence.

"Do you want to drink your water from a cup? Or do you want to lick it from the damp walls?"

"Nay!" The man he'd knocked down was almost a whimpering mess. "If you'll promise to release me, I'll tell you."

"What makes you think I'll believe you?"

"I'll tell you true. I swear it."

"Keep your mouth shut, Jarvis!" his comrade ordered.

"Jarvis, is it?" Neacal asked. "Go on then, Jarvis. Which clan are you from?"

"Don't do it, you bastard!" the other prisoner yelled.

"Leave me be, Angus!" Jarvis squawked, glaring at his clansman.

"Well, which clan is it you come from?" Neacal asked.

"MacRankin," Jarvis blurted.

Though 'twas a simple answer, hearing that name was like a sharp kick to Neacal's gut. The MacRankin chief was the one who'd tortured him two years prior. Neacal glared at the man, scrutinizing his face in the dimness. He didn't remember him from his association with the clan. Had Sleat told him to say that? Sleat most likely knew of the whole situation.

"Why should I believe you?" Neacal demanded.

"I have nay reason to lie. I want out of here. I have a wife and a wee son, only a few months old."

"Since you're a traitor, their lives will be in danger, you dolt!" Angus grumbled.

"Why were you with Sleat and what is his plan?"

"The MacRankin joined forces with Sleat. I don't ken why. Some sort of deal they worked out."

"Are you talking about the chief? Titus?"

"Aye."

Neacal couldn't believe it. "What does he want with me?"

Jarvis remained silent a long moment.

"Come now. Don't stop singing."

"Revenge."

"What for?" Damn the man. MacRankin already had his revenge. Neacal hadn't even lain with Lady Aislinn. He had kissed her a couple of times but 'twas not worth the torture he got.

"His betrothed. She threw herself from the tower and he said 'twas your fault."

"What?" God's blood. Aislinn had killed herself? Neacal grabbed hold of one of the bars to steady himself. That could not be his fault, could it? "Mayhap Titus pushed her from the tower, or had one of his guards do it."

Jarvis simply stared at him. Both of them knew how malicious and soulless the MacRankin chief was.

"So… now he wants to kill me? Is that it?" Neacal asked.

"Aye. 'Tis what he said."

"And what does Sleat want?"

"He wanted this clan and castle for his son but… he's dead now."

"Exactly."

"He'll be back."

"I'm certain of it. More revenge, aye?"

Jarvis nodded.

"Who met with Sleat in Acharacle and gave him the key to the postern gate?"

"I know not. I was camped out in the wood at the time. I'm naught but a foot soldier."

"Did you see him?"

"Nay. We'd walked for miles and 'twas late. I was asleep."

"Maybe a name was whispered amongst the soldiers," Neacal suggested. "The name of someone from Bearach. One of the MacDonalds. A stranger would've been noticed."

Jarvis shook his head. "Sleat is a MacDonald, too, and I don't ken all his men."

"Damnation," Neacal muttered.

"Will you please let me go now?" Jarvis begged. "I have to get back to my wife and son to take them away so MacRankin will never find me. I told you what you wanted to know."

"I'll think on it. I may have more questions for you. In the meantime, try to recall the traitor's name. I'll return in the morn."

MacRankin likely wouldn't leave the area now. Neacal fully expected him to help Sleat attack Bearach at some point in the near future, so 'twas unlikely Jarvis' family was in danger at the moment. Of course, Neacal would never want to put a woman or child in peril.

After the three of them exited the cell, his guards locked the door and they climbed the steps. "Give the prisoners some bread and clean water," he told one of the guards as he left.

Even if he couldn't find out the traitor's name now, they needed to come up with a plan of action in dealing with another attack.