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After changing into the plain gray breeches, doublet, and metal-studded leather armor they'd taken off the enemy guard, Cyrus crouched in the bushes outside the curtain walls of Wingate Castle. Though his head still ached where Dalacroy had thwacked him, he resolved to best the whoreson.
'Twas gloaming and the moon had risen over the horizon. He'd left his borrowed horse hidden a few hundred yards from the castle, behind in a small patch of woods, and he'd been scouting around the castle, studying Dalacroy's guard placement.
Every time he visualized Elspeth at the blackguard's mercy, a searing fury arose in him. He didn't understand how he'd come to care for her so quickly, but the danger she was in tore at him. He had never been more determined to defeat a foe, but he had to go about it in a completely new way. He had no soldiers to rely on but himself.
Through the bushes, he eyed the substantial iron portcullis and the stone gatehouse. Two guards stood at either side. No doubt another guard watched from the gatehouse. The curtain walls were impressive at around twenty feet high, but they were starting to crumble at the top. The entire place had a neglected air about it. The discolored harling on the castle was chipped and flaking off in several places, revealing the gray granite and mortar beneath.
Impatient to get inside and extract Elspeth, Cyrus left the bushes and slipped along the curtain wall, being careful to look up every few yards to see if any guards had spied him from above. He doubted the place even had a decent wall-walk.
On the back side, he found just what he was looking for—a postern gate.
Pausing to listen, he heard no sounds from within. After he crept closer, he peered through the bars but saw no one.
The old iron gate was marred with rust and the masonry around it crumbling. Clearly, Dalacroy was too daft and complacent to worry about the security of his castle. He had many other homes and probably spent very little time here. Cyrus doubted the old earl had either. Too many women to chase to bother with castle repair. Cyrus shook his head and pried at some of the loosened rocks in the gate's frame. A few of the smaller pieces of granite fell to the ground.
Once he'd chipped away all the loose stones, he pulled at the gate. Trying to keep quiet, he put more force behind it. The frame holding the gate within the mortared wall yanked free, dislodging a few more rocks. Doubting he would have an opportunity to use the bow and arrows, he hid them in the nearby brambles. He then squeezed through the narrow space and pulled the gate frame back into place so the guards wouldn't notice right away that it was broken.
Seeing no one, he slipped through the weedy, untended kitchen garden and along the side of the castle. Near the front corner, voices reached him. He ducked behind an overgrown yew shrub and peered out. Dalacroy's guards, wearing their plain gray livery, milled about the bailey in front of the stables.
Lying prone so he could see their faces, Cyrus counted nine. The rest were likely inside the castle or in the barracks. To increase his chances of success in rescuing Elspeth, he would have to covertly confront the men one or two at a time. If he botched this, he could put her life in even more danger.
His gut knotted with concern for Elspeth. Was she all right? Had Henry's solicitor figured out the deeds were forged?
The sky grew darker as night descended. The castle faced west, so the moon was behind it at the moment. Most of the men disappeared into a distant building he assumed was the barracks while several servants carried large platters of food into the same building. Two guards stood at the castle door, while the rest of the courtyard was now empty.
Cyrus pushed himself up into a crouching position.
The guard closest to him turned his head, staring in his direction. "What was that?"
"What?"
The man pointed. "I heard something in that bush."
