“Tell me why ye are here,” Duncan said, grabbing Harman by the neck of his tunic.
“I’m not telling you anything,” the man said, straining against the ropes. Even though he was defeated, he was defiant. “’Tis none of your business.”
“I’m afraid ye have made it my business,” he said tightly. “Are ye one of Harold’s men?”
His lips curled into an ugly sneer. “What if I am?”
“Then ye will regret the association,” Duncan said, trying to resist the urge to wipe the smirk from his enemy’s face.
The man cringed visibly. But Duncan didn’t care. The old anger and hate resurfaced, and churned in his gut. He knew first hand how much devastation and grief that the English could cause.
“Should we execute them, MacGregon?” the tavern owner asked, his face flushed with battle fever.
“Aye, let’s do it!” an angry voice shouted from the crowd. “Let’s kill them, and get rid of the vermin!”
Kill them, kill them,the words echoed in Duncan’s mind.A red haze filled his vision, the bloodthirsty energy pulsing through him, urging him to complete the deed. This was his chance. If he eliminated thesesassenachs, there would be two less Englishmen in the world to cause suffering for the Scots. He would be serving his countrymen, and avenging those who had died by the hands of the enemy.
Duncan’s hand tightened on the grip of his claymore. And then almost as if it had a mind of its own, his sword arm lifted above his head. It was a simple act, and it would finish swiftly. He had terminated enough men in battle that he would feel no remorse afterward.
Harman’s eyes bulged from its sockets, the pupils shrinking to tiny dots as he watched the sharp blade above him. The bravado that he demonstrated earlier had disappeared like the morning mist. “Please,” he rasped. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. “I don’t want to die.”
Duncan lowered the sword tip, and placed it at the base of the other man’s throat. Harman’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically up and down.
“Did Harold send ye here?”
“Don’t say —!” Jop cried. But someone in the crowd struck him in the mouth, abruptly cutting off his words.
“Tell me the truth!” Duncan growled, the sharp tip of the sword piercing Harman’s skin, drawing a line of blood.
“Aye!” he said, his voice filled with panic. “’Twas King Harold who sent us.”
Jop let out a moan and cursed at his friend.
“Are there more of ye here?” Duncan demanded.
“Nay,” Harman sobbed. “’Tis only us!”
The man’s choked, desperate cry penetrated into Duncan’s consciousness. Slowly the red haze lifted from his eyes, and his grip on his sword relaxed. As much as he wanted to annihilate thesassenachs, he couldn’t do it. Honor forbade him. Duncan knew better to slaughter unarmed men. That was akin to murder, and he wasn’t a murderer. He also knew that no matter how much he wanted to make these two men suffer, it was wrong. The punishment for the crimes committed against him and his countrymen were not theirs to carry alone.
“I will spare your life for now,” he said, sheathing his claymore.
“’Tis foolish tae keep them alive.” A man pushed himself to the front the crowd, his face red with rage. “If ye willnae do it then I will.”
“Nay one touches them,” Duncan said sharply, stopping the man in his tracks. “These bastards possess information useful to the queen. Killing them prematurely willnae help our cause.”
“Aye, the queen will hear of this,” Torin said, agreeing with Duncan. The feverish flush on his countenance was now gone. Although Duncan was certain that if he gave the order, the tavern keeper would have eagerly helped him butcher the enemies. Indeed every single person in the room would have participated, and none of them would have harbored any regrets afterward.
However common sense dictated that destroying the bastards wouldn’t solve their immediate troubles. Harold had thousands of knights at his disposal. Killing two of his lackeys made no dent in the invading troops that would soon flood Scotland. Once their adversaries were within their borders, they would attempt to seize everything that he and his people held dear.
“’Tis fortunate that ye came along,” Torin said, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. “Thesesassenachsarrived into town yesterday, poking around, asking questions about the terrain. We were suspicious of them, and didnae tell them anything. Still, they lingered here.”
Duncan studied the cowering men. “They’re here tae scout the land, and tae spy on us,” he said, his tone grim.
The men in the room looked at one another, unease creeping into their faces.
“What will ye do with them?” Adrina asked. She had come to his side, and regarded the prisoners as if they were snakes. “How do ye ken that their people wouldnae come here, and search for them?”
“’Tis unlikely,” he said. “Scouts are sent ahead of a troop, and are usually nae expected tae return straight away — especially if other spies are sent tae different locations.”
