"Where are the other two MacKenzie guards?" Balcot demanded.
"Dead, most likely. I stabbed the tall one after he killed Ickes."
God's teeth, nay! Cyrus's guards couldn't be dead. Fraser roared in outrage and twisted, trying with all is strength to wrest himself from the ropes. The four of them lifted and carried him, then tossed him across MacNeil's horse. Pain blasted through Fraser's stomach and his head.
"Bastards! You'll meet your death over this!" Fraser yelled.
"Nay, we'll be greatly rewarded. Load Ickes and Eblin onto their horses, then check those two vermin," their commander ordered.
Fraser turned his head aside, trying to see MacNeil and Irving. They lay still upon the mossy ground, their clothes bloody.
"Their chests are nay moving. They've both gone to meet their maker."
"Nay!" Fraser snarled between clenched teeth. The two were good, honest men. They were like cousins to him.
Cyrus would be furious about their failure in this skirmish, but he wouldn't bend to the demands of an enemy. When Shamus had been taken hostage, Cyrus hadn't brought any ransom money. Instead, he laid siege to the castle in the dark of night.
"Mount up! We ride to Wingate. We'll see what the Earl of Dalacroy thinks of this mongrel."
