Chapter Eleven
Ready to skewer the whoreson who'd shot at him, Cyrus glowered back in the direction from which the arrow had flown. Someone moved at the top of the ten-foot wall but 'twas too dim to see who it was.
"What happened, Chief?" Norval yelled down at him from the open gatehouse window.
"Some bastard shot an arrow from the wall." He pointed, not seeing the would-be assassin now.
"Are you hit?"
"A graze."
Who was trying to kill him? One of his enemies? Dalacroy? A man's face popped into his mind. "Paul MacTarril." He tore out from behind the steps and sprinted toward the front gate. He snatched out the key to unlock it.
"Chief!" Norval clambered down the steps and chased after him. "The magistrate? You think he's shooting at you?"
"Could be." Cyrus knew it sounded insane, but that was the only man he'd had conflict with in this area. 'Twas either him, the new Earl of Dalacroy, or whoever was targeting Elspeth. Surely the MacLeods of Lewis hadn't followed him to Aberdeen for revenge. Nay, it had to be the person who had stolen Elspeth's jewels and injured her guard. And 'haps the whoreson had paid off MacTarril and gained his assistance.
After unlocking the gate, Cyrus glared out into the gloaming. 'Twas late but not yet full dark. No one skulked about and silence reigned.
"'Tis not wise to go out there with no one but me to guard you." Norval drew his sword.
"Stop your fashing." Once he and Norval had exited, Cyrus locked the gate back, then sprinted along the wall, sword in hand, and turned the corner. The place was empty. No assassins lurked here. Farther along, bushes and trees grew thickly. He could not tell who might lie in wait there.
"Chief, with all due respect, I must insist you return behind the walls now. The archer could be hiding in the wood, drawing on you as we speak."
Cyrus moved to the spot where he guessed the archer had been. He could just make out two blunt impressions in the mud and grass. "He used a ladder. Probably more than one man. The grass is trampled."
"Aye. You ken I'd give my life for you, but I'd rather not have to this night." Norval was like a mother hen, despite his bushy black beard.
"Have no worries of it." Cyrus strode back toward the entrance.
Once they were inside with the gate locked, Cyrus spoke low. "Sean and James should've arrived at Rebbinglen by now and will hopefully return with a few more men by tomorrow evening. I'll have to garrison this place and hunt down these bastards."
"Aye, Chief."
'Twas true Cyrus was used to having a couple of dozen men with him at all times. Anticipating no trouble on this journey to find a bride, or even on this side trip to escort Elspeth home, he hadn't even brought his targe or armor… much less enough men to fight a battle.
Seeing torchlight glinting off a bit of steel on the ground beyond the gatehouse steps, Cyrus strode forward and picked up the damnable arrow that had struck him. It had a wicked, long bodkin point stained with his own blood, a dull wooden shaft, and black fletching. He might use any identifying marks or design quirks to find the person who'd had it made.
"Cyrus?" Fraser stood in the doorway. "Were you outside the gates?"
"Aye." He glanced again in the direction where the archer must have been before.
"I thought I heard the gate close. What happened?"
"An arrow grazed the chief's shoulder!" Norval announced in typical dramatic fashion.
Fraser descended the steps. "Here, inside the walls?"
"Indeed." Striding forward, Cyrus held the arrow aloft. "We saw the imprint where the bastard used a ladder, there." Cyrus pointed. "The grass was well-trodden. Then he—or they—must have disappeared into the bushes farther along."
"Saints," Fraser hissed, then trotted up the steps and held open the door. "Come inside, brother. These walls are too low to be of any use."
Cyrus scowled, not accustomed to his younger brother ordering him about. It seemed their roles had suddenly been reversed.
Fraser waited expectantly. "I want you to be safe. We'll search for the culprit in the morn. 'Tis too dark now. An army could be hiding in the undergrowth."
"Aye." Conceding the point, Cyrus climbed the steps and went inside, while Norval returned to the gatehouse.
