The men dismounted, murmuring amongst themselves. "I saw only two leave the house, but now there are three. They picked up one along the way."
"Hell," Fraser rasped low. If only Cyrus hadn't sent Irving and MacNeil to snag their attention, Fraser would've been in the clear and on his way to Castle Rebbinglen. He had been very canny in the way he'd left Darby Hall before dawn. Obviously, the two guards hadn't been as stealthy.
"Leave at least one of them alive to take back to his lairdship!" the leader ordered. "Come on, Eblin. I saw one over here."
Rage boring through him, Fraser ground his teeth. He didn't want to leave any of these whoresons alive.
The bald-headed leader, along with the one he'd called Eblin, shorter and stockier, headed toward Fraser, while the other four enemies divided into groups of two. Their strategy was obvious—two against one in each case.
Keeping the tree trunks between him and the enemies, Fraser moved farther back through the wood, crouched low and watched the two imbeciles who thought he was still behind the first tree. One on each side, they leapt around the trunk, swords drawn, and almost stabbed each other.
Fraser barely suppressed a snort, then slipped beneath a generous blaeberry bush near a large hummock. His dull green and blue plaid helped him to blend into his surroundings.
The other guards crashed through the wood in the distance, hunting for Irving and MacNeil. Fraser had great confidence in those two, for Cyrus had deemed them the best in order to bestow upon each of them the bodyguard position.
Fraser watched his two pursuers searching. They scanned the wood in all directions. Muttering curses, Eblin spat on the ground. "Where the blazing hell did he go, Balcot?"
The man shook his bald head. "We have to get at least one of them. His lairdship will string us up if we lose all three." Balcot glared in his general direction. "He's probably behind that mound. Come on." Swords held at the ready, they charged behind the hummock.
Fraser tensed, his muscles flexing and ready for action. Once the men discovered he wasn't hiding where they thought, they lowered their swords, their gazes once again scanning the landscape.
Eblin's eyes grew round. "'Tis as if he vanished like a specter."
Fraser would show them a specter. He leapt out from beneath the bush and sliced the sword arm of the shorter man who was closest to him. Eblin screamed out in pain and struck out with the dagger in his left hand. Fraser dodged aside and using his dirk, stabbed the man in the ribs. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain and squawking like a mad rooster.
The other man, Balcot, charged him with a shout, his yellowish teeth glinting from within his rusty beard. Fraser sliced his blade over the man's left arm. He turned, knocking Fraser's sword aside. He then punched him in the eye driving him back a few paces.
"'Slud!" Fraser growled and, before he could aim his blade again, the enemy punched him in the jaw and tackled him to the ground. His attention had been on the sword, not the man's opposite hand.
The bastard stood on Fraser's sword blade, rendering the weapon useless.
Fraser struck out with his dirk, slicing through the man's thick trews, padded like armor. With a roar of pain, his foe kicked the dirk from Fraser's hand, then fell upon him and wedged a forearm across his throat, cutting off his breath.
"Be still or I'll throttle you now!"
Fraser elbowed the knave in the face, glad to hear the crack of his nose as it broke, then shoved his knee into his groin.
"Over here!" Balcot roared for reinforcements.
Fraser punched him and kicked him off, then leapt to his feet. He headed toward his dirk, lying on the ground a few yards away.
"Capture him alive!" Balcot ordered.
Two men came from behind and tackled him to the ground, face down. He cursed, spitting out moss, leaves and pine needles. His blade still out of reach, he turned over, kicking at their heads. Another man joined in the scuffle.
"Bind his hands and feet!" Balcot ordered, pressing his fingers against his bloody nose as he limped toward them.
Fraser kicked at their knees, sending one howling to the ground. Another smashed a sword hilt against Fraser's head. He roared at the pain that shot through his skull. He was dazed but remained awake. And yet he couldn't free himself from their ropes.
"I'd love naught better than to kill him, but we can't. He's more valuable alive!"
Damnation! They'd overpowered him and bound his hands and feet.
"Is Eblin dead?" one of the men asked.
"Aye, this whoreson stabbed him."
One of the men kicked him hard in the lower back. Pain radiated through his entire body.
