The two Comyn clansmen dismounted and unsheathed their swords. Their wary, wide-eyed gazes scanned the wood. He was glad to see they were already a wee bit spooked and that they had no inkling where he was.
"You look over there, and I'll search this way."
They did not bother with their targes. Why would they? They thought him unarmed.
After a few minutes, the more distant one called, "I don't see him. Mayhap he went on north."
"'Tis doubtful, considering how riled he was about the lady."
The knave was not ten feet away. Gripping the stone in his hand, Cyrus peered out from behind the pine. Deciding now was the best time to strike, he drew back his arm and flung the rock. It struck the man on the side of the head. He yelled as he went down, then cursed and rolled to his knees. "He's over here!"
Cyrus selected another rock, then when the man regained his feet, Cyrus hurled it at him. The stone thwacked him on the forehead. He dropped backward like a felled tree and didn't move.
The other Comyn clansmen ran through the pine needles, his feet slipping this way and that. "Lonnie!"
Cyrus crouched out of sight, pine limb pike in one hand. Though he had no knife to sharpen it with, the broken, splintered end was pointed. He cradled a stone in his other hand.
"Show yourself, you MacKenzie cur!"
Cyrus popped up and threw a stone at him. The man ducked an instant before it could strike, then charged forward.
Cyrus grabbed both pine limb pikes. With his opponent's first strike, Cyrus caught the blade with one large stick and stabbed him in the abdomen with the other. The man screeched and yanked at his blade, still buried in the wood. Finally, he withdrew his sword and attempted another strike, but 'twas much weaker. Cyrus shoved him backward through the pine needles where he stumbled and fell beside his comrade.
Though neither man was dead, Cyrus confiscated all their weapons, including several small knives. He would need them when he stormed the gates.
Of a sudden, a noise reached his ears—many horses' hooves pounding the earth. He spun around, expecting to see the rest of the Comyns charging across the field from Darby. But 'twas empty. He then realized the sound was coming from the opposite direction, along the road. Could it be the MacKenzie reinforcements? 'Twas too much to hope for.
He hastened toward the road.
The first man around the curve was Dirk with his flame-colored hair, and beside him, Norval.
"Thank the saints," Cyrus hissed.
He had never been so glad to see his guard and his brother-in-law. Next in line were Rebbie and his father, the Marquess of Kilverntay. Dozens of soldiers and guards from all their clans followed, even MacNeil and Irving. Thanks be to God, they were all right.
Cyrus hurried from the edge of the wood and into the road. All the men appeared surprised as they drew up.
"Am I glad to see you lads," Cyrus said.
"What the devil are you doing out here?" Dirk frowned. "You look like you've been in a battle."
"Aye, you could say that. The Earl of Dalacroy enlisted the help of the Comyns of Toramuir in his quest to steal all Lady Grey's properties. Old enemies of mine. She told him she would not sign them over unless they released me unharmed. Which they did about a quarter-hour ago. Then Ben Comyn sent two of his henchmen out here to kill me."
Dirk peered at the two confiscated swords in Cyrus's hands. "I'm glad to see they weren't successful."
"Chief!" Norval pointed at the house. "Darby Hall is on fire!"
