"Humph." His dark glower shifted to Henry a few yards behind her.
"I mean it," she said more firmly. "For the sake of my son and his safety." That had to sway him, for he obviously cared about children.
Remaining silent, he narrowed his eyes and turned away. Though she wanted to express her gratitude a thousand times over, embrace him, and press a farewell kiss to his lips, she stood as stiff as a pike while the gate was unlocked and opened.
Cyrus walked outside, and they closed the gate again. She watched as a man cut the ropes from his wrists.
"Off with you now!" Henry flicked his hand.
Cyrus glared back at them, then strode calmly away, across the meadow, and into a distant pine forest. Her eyes burned as she strained to see one last glimpse of him, but he was gone. Though her heart was breaking, she prayed he would not come back, for his own safety. She glanced aside to see that Ben Comyn's eyes reflected a killing rage. After what Cyrus had told her about their past association, she could see Comyn as naught more than a child murderer.
"Now, mistress, 'tis time to sell me the rest of your properties." Henry sounded so merry that she wanted to clout him in his smug mouth.
After one lingering look at the spot where Cyrus had disappeared into the wood, she blinked the stinging moisture from her eyes and crossed the courtyard. Would she ever see Cyrus again? Perhaps 'twould be better if she didn't. Certainly better for him. As for her, naught would ever be the same. She was losing almost everything she cared about—Cyrus, her properties. But not her son. They would be penniless, but they would have each other.
She forced herself to trudge up the steps and into the hall.
"Here are the three deeds for the shops and tenement buildings in Aberdeen. I will pay you two pence for each of them." Henry set a ridiculous stack of six pence in front of her.
Some of the other men snorted and chuckled. How could they find such greed and theft entertaining? They were all barbarians.
She loved her businesses so much. They had been her father's and grandfather's. 'Twould carve a hole in her soul to sign them over to this knave. But she did sign, her anger rising with each scratch of the quill.
When she finished, Henry loomed over her. "Now, where is the deed to Greymont? You claimed it was with these deeds, but it was not."
"'Tis at Greymont."
Henry's face reddened and a vein in his forehead bulged. "What? Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I didn't wish to."
"You bitch!" Henry arose and pointed at two of the Comyn clansmen. "You two, go capture MacKenzie again!"
When Ben Comyn gave a slight nod, his men hurried away.
"Nay!" Elspeth leapt up, intending to race out the front door after the two clansmen.
Henry lunged at her, grabbing her cloak to yank her back. In the process, he jarred the table. The lit candle tipped over onto the deeds and the parchments caught afire. An explosion of flames burst up in front of Henry. That must have been whisky one of the men had spilled on the table. Alarmed, she tried to yank herself away from him.
Henry screeched and jumped back, releasing her. "Put it out! Put it out!"
The front door blocked by the clansmen, Elspeth ran toward the stone stairwell that led down to the kitchens. She hoped the men were too busy putting out the fire to give chase.
She emerged into the kitchen garden, then sprinted toward the postern gate. She halted abruptly when she saw three Comyn clansmen standing guard in front of it. Damn them! She needed to warn Cyrus that the knaves were coming for him.
∞∞∞
Cyrus stood behind the trunk of a large pine and stared back at Darby Hall. Damnation! How could he have let this happen? No weapon. No men. No horse. The woman he loved in the paws of a madman. Aye, he did love Elspeth. He hadn't wanted to care, but he couldn't help himself. Of a certainty, he was not leaving her there. He would kill every last one of them with his bare hands first.
He searched the ground around him for makeshift weapons. Stones, broken branches.
The sounds of galloping horses reached him. Crouching, he looked toward the manor house again. Two riders. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the plaid. Comyns.
"Bastards!"
Had Henry gone back on his word or had Ben Comyn decided this was too good of an opportunity to pass up?
Cyrus chose four rocks, about the size of his fist, then broke two fallen pine limbs into makeshift pikes with sharp ends. Gathering his supply of primitive weapons, he waited behind the thick trunk.
