"Chief?" 'Twas Reid's voice.
"Aye." His blurry gaze first landed on Fraser. Eyes closed, he was tied up and lying on the floor next to him. His face was battered and bruised. Reid sat bound nearby with Norval. Both struggled against the ropes.
"Is Fraser alive?" Cyrus asked.
"Aye, he's breathing, but I don't think Hubert survived." Reid motioned with his head to the opposite side of the room.
Cyrus could see Hubert's blood-drenched plaid and the pool of blood under him. "Damnation! Dalacroy will pay for this," Cyrus grated, trying to get his rational mind to working better. "What about the others?"
"We have not seen Cecil or Sean. They must be outside. Is your head badly injured?"
"Nay." His head ached terribly but he would survive. Blinking to clear his vision, he glanced around the hall, seeing overturned furniture. No other people. "Where is Elspeth?"
"That bastard took her."
"Hell! I have to go after her." Gritting his teeth, Cyrus tugged against the restraints. The powerful urge to get her to safety and protect her near overwhelmed him. 'Twas even more gut-wrenching than the instinct to protect his clan. "Did Dalacroy leave any of his guards here?"
"Aye, a few, but they're all outside now."
"We must get out of here." Cyrus yanked at his bonds. The ropes cut into his wrists, but the burning pain only made him even more determined. "The ropes are becoming slack. Help me with them. I feel the hilt of mysgian dubhbeneath my arm. If I can get to it, I can cut everyone loose."
After Reid looked at Cyrus's tied hands, they maneuvered until they were back to back. Finally, Reid was able to help Cyrus loosen the ropes enough that he could slip one hand free and then the other.
He flung the rope aside, pulled out the small knife that had been hidden in his armpit sheath and sliced through his ankle bindings, then the ropes restraining Reid. Next, he freed Norval and Fraser, being careful not to jar Fraser's right arm, which the whoresons had already said was broken. Seeing how it was bent at an odd angle, Cyrus wanted to throttle Dalacroy.
"Fraser? Are you awake?" Cyrus knelt near him. When his brother groaned and grimaced, relief surged through Cyrus. "I ken your arm is broken. Where else are you hurt?"
"My head." Grinding his teeth, he cursed. "That's my sword arm."
"I'll set it. You'll be fine," Cyrus assured him.
"I'll strangle the bastard!"
"Have no worries. I'll do it."
Cyrus checked Hubert and saw that indeed the middle-aged guard had been stabbed in the chest and had stopped breathing some time ago. The braw warrior had started out as one of Cyrus's father's guards many years ago. He'd always been loyal and a strong fighter. Cyrus intended to crush Henry and his men, but, with so few soldiers, he would have to use a different tactic than usual.
"Except for yoursgian dubh,they took all our weapons," Reid said.
"Guard Fraser. Keep him still and give him some whisky for pain. Norval, come with me. We'll subdue the knaves outside and take their swords. Then, we'll search for Sean and Cecil. After that, I'll set his arm." He hated to make Fraser wait that long, but if the guards entered before Fraser's arm was set and splinted, they might damage it further. He had to stop them before they killed anyone else.
Cyrus retrieved the iron fire poker from the floor and handed it to Norval, then he sidled up to the window and looked out. Through the rippled, blurry glass, he could see three of Henry's guards in the courtyard, about fifty feet from the exit. They were gathered in a small circle, talking and not paying attention.
"Three in the courtyard." Cyrus kept his voice low, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. "I'll check the exit." He peered through the tiny window in the door, glimpsing the black leather-armored shoulder and long brown hair of a guard as he faced away from the door. A second man, with short red hair and beard, paced a few feet away. No doubt they were supposed to be preventing Cyrus and his men's escape, but their task held little interest for them.
"I see two more. I'll get the one nearest the door," Cyrus told Norval. "You bash the head of the one a few feet away, the ginger. We have to be quick about disabling those two and taking their swords, for the other three will swiftly attack us."
Norval nodded, clenching his jaw. "I'm ready, Chief."
Cyrus quietly opened the door, but when it gave a low squeak, the guard nearest him turned his head. From the top step, Cyrus launched himself onto the man, knocking him to the cobblestones. The guard bellowed and rolled forward, preventing Cyrus from getting his small knife to his throat. Instead, Cyrus stabbed the man's shoulder hard through the leather armor, causing him to howl.
Cyrus leapt up, shoved his foot against the man's back to hold him down, and yanked the broadsword from his scabbard. He then bashed the basket-hilt against the man's head, knocking him out.
He tested the light weight of the unfamiliar sword in his hand. 'Twas flimsy and short compared to his own specially made sword. He hoped this cheap weapon wouldn't shatter with the first strike against it.
Norval's opponent, the guard with red hair and beard, lay upon the ground, his head bleeding. Norval had confiscated the man's weapon.
Swords in hand, the other three enemy guards raced toward them. Two of them eyed Cyrus, one blond and hefty, the other taller with a long gray beard. Motioning them closer, Cyrus gave a fiendish grin, relishing the challenge of defeating two of these Lowland knaves.
