He held the candle closer, using caution not to allow the tallow to drip on the bed. No sense in letting anyone know he’d been here.
He wouldn’t be learning anything from Annie this night. Or any other, for that matter.
Her head jutted out askew on her body like a misshapen doll, her neck obviously broken. From the looks of it, she’d been strangled. With extreme prejudice, to borrow a term from the movies back home. And though he was no expert, he’d guess from the feel of her skin she’d met her demise shortly after he and Isa had spoken to her this afternoon.
Robert pulled the covers back over the old woman’s head and made his way to the fireplace. He stared at the candle, fighting his own private battle. The internal debate raging in his head at the moment was not a pleasant one.
The idea of what someone had done to that old lady made his palms itch to crack skulls. But he had Isa’s safety to consider. And Isa was not going to take this well. Not at all.
If he told her what he’d found, that is.
“Yer no supposed to be in here.”
Robert whirled around to face the woman who’d spoken, deciding as he did, the less he admitted to knowing, the better off he’d be. A quick scan of the room assured him she was alone.
“I came to visit Annie,” he responded, keeping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “But I think she’s sleeping.”
“Ha!” the woman scoffed. “There’s no a need to mind yer voice for her benefit. The illness took her peacefully, in her sleep, this very night. I’m here to clean her body and ready her for burial.”
Robert doubted Annie’s death had been peaceful in the least. The old woman had struck him as a fighter.
“Well, then—” he edged closer to the woman, holding out the candle as he did so—“I suppose you’ll have more need of this than I will.”
He backed into the dark hallway and pulled the door shut just as the first fist landed in his gut.
Chapter 15
Catching him unaware, that first blow knocked the air from him, ramming his back into the door he’d just closed.
Prepared or not, he’d been a warrior too long, had trained too hard to be taken out of any fight so quickly, and this one would be no exception.
In the dark, he paused only a second, listening, before he struck out with his left forearm, driving up and into what felt like someone’s chin. At the same time, his right hand flew up to his shoulder, finding only empty air.
Dammit! His sword still hung on the back of his chair, where he’d placed it when he sat down for the feast.
On his other side a blow glanced off his shoulder. When he concentrated, he could hear them breathing. There were at least three, perhaps four, of them, and while he gave blows as good as he got when they moved in on him, he wasn’t about to step away from the solid door and leave his back unprotected.
He was ready for the next hit, grabbing the hand that connected with his shoulder. He twisted, bending it back until he heard the bone snap. He ignored the scream and the footsteps of someone running away as he took another well-calculated swing. His fist connected, hard. He heard the crack of bone and felt the solid hit vibrate through his arm, satisfied with the scream of pain that followed.
Two down, though he thought he’d heard perhaps two more.
What he hadn’t heard was the door behind him open. He realized it had only when something heavy struck him between the shoulders. His reflex to the blow, throwing his arms in the air, left him open to the next hit. Something, perhaps a foot, landed a solid blow to his ribs, sending a shot of unbearable pain lancing through his side. Unable to catch his breath, his legs buckled and his knees hit the floor while he gasped for air.
A moment later, something hit the back of his head, and he pitched forward into darkness.
“Master Robbie?”
He heard the words, as if they came from very far away. He even thought he recognized the voice and honestly did want to answer, but the pounding in his head drowned out any sounds he might try to make.
“Oh, do wake up, Robbie. I dinna ken what to do to help you.”
It was a little voice. Young. Helpless. Frightened.
Robert fought the haze blanketing his head and blinked his eyes, pushing himself up from the floor to sit.
Small hands caressed his cheeks and Jamie’s face swam before his eyes.
“Are you hurt? Should I go get Mistress Isa for you?”
