"Now what?" Henry muttered, then took a swig of ale.
Breathing hard, Waldrop stopped before the high table and bowed. "M'laird, two men left Lady Grey's home at dawn, riding hell for leather."
Henry leapt up. "Which direction? Why didn't you follow them?"
"Northwest. I sent a half-dozen men and told them to bring in at least one alive."
"Ah, good!" Pleased, Henry threw down his napkin and strode out to the cobblestone bailey. Finally, he would have some leverage against that whore, Lady Grey.
His guards standing back, waiting, Henry paced for several minutes. The day before, he had talked to Paul MacTarril about helping him find more soldiers to add to his fighting force. The magistrate said he knew of a Highland clan who might be willing to help. Henry grinned at the idea of sending in his own band of Highland barbarians to kill MacKenzie and his guards. They might not arrive for a few days. As for now, he was eager to see if his men had captured the two MacKenzie guards who had left earlier that morn.
Finally, after a quarter-hour, his soldiers rode in. Three men had been tossed across the saddles—two of his guards.
Alarmed, Henry rushed forward. "What the devil happened? Are they dead?"
"Aye." Dried blood under his nose, Balcot gingerly dismounted and limped forward, his face a mask of rage. "The MacKenzie bastards killed Ickes and Eblin in the skirmish. We thought two of the MacKenzies left Darby Hall, but we came upon three. During a skirmish, we killed two of them, but that one yet lives." He nodded to the man on the horse. "He's the whoreson who killed Eblin, stabbed my leg and broke my nose. I was sore tempted to kill the Highland mongrel."
"Not yet. I'll question him first. Get him off the horse." Henry motioned to a lower-ranking guard whose name he hadn't bothered to learn. The guard cut the ropes from the prisoner's ankles, then dragged him from the horse.
The lean man stood tall, his black hair barely brushing his broad shoulders. His hands were bound behind his back, a gash in his lip bleeding and his scowling face banged up. He wore a blood-stained doublet and a belted plaid like the barbarians of the north. He appeared around Henry's age, mid-twenties.
"Bastard!" the ruffian growled behind clenched teeth. "You'll regret this, I vow. You don't ken who you're dealing with."
Determined to ignore his trifling insults, Henry gave a disdainful grin. "Certainly I do. You're one of Chief MacKenzie's henchmen. What shall we call you?"
The man sent him a malicious smirk. "The name's Fraser. Who are you?"
"Do you truly not know?"
With a hint of smugness, the man raised a dark brow.
This Fraser was hard to read. Henry truly would love to know if Lady Grey had figured out he was working on convincing her to return what was rightfully his. "Now, tell me… is Lady Grey your chief's mistress?"
The man's blue eyes gleamed menacingly, though one of them was almost swollen shut. When he remained silent, Henry wondered if one of the guards had hit him over the head too hard.
"Answer!" Henry commanded.
"Nay. Why are you tormenting her?"
"She is a thief. She has something that belongs to me."
Fraser frowned. "What?"
Everything.But he couldn't say that. "'Tis no concern of yours."
"Since you've taken me hostage, 'tis indeed my concern."
Henry scrutinized the Highlander. He had never seen such an arrogant prisoner before. Was his rank higher than Henry had guessed? And this man who called himself Fraser asked the questions as if he already knew the answers. If his surname was Fraser, then he must be a guard that MacKenzie had hired. Unless the whoreson was lying.
"Why did you steal Lady Grey's jewelry? Do you imagine 'tis yours?" the impudent captive asked.
Henry gave a brief laugh. "I didn't steal it, but I wish I had. 'Twas no doubt worth a fortune." He grinned at his own lie. Some of the jewels would bring a goodly sum when he took them south to sell them. "Mayhap 'twas what the jezebel deserved, losing her riches."
"She is no jezebel!" Fraser snarled. "She is a kind lady deserving of respect."
Henry snorted. "You know naught about her."
"You'll regret taking me hostage and killing the other guards." Fraser's eyes narrowed. "Cyrus MacKenzie is not only Chief of the MacKenzies but the Earl of Stornmor. He's much in favor with the king. Our chief is highly skilled at the fire-and-sword method of dealing with rebels or anyone who crosses him. Just ask the MacLeods of Lewis, if any of them yet live."
