Since the weather had turned colder, he knew Dunn enjoyed staying inside with them.
Sometime later, Dunn woofed low, waking Neacal. The dog leapt to his feet, sniffed at the door, then growled.
"Damnation." Neacal jumped up.
"What is it?" Anna whispered.
"Someone is out there. Get dressed." Rushing, he belted his plaid in place at his waist and slipped on his boots, ignoring the rest of his clothing. He grabbed his sword, dirk and targe and hurried to the door. He placed his hand upon Dunn's head, hoping to quiet the animal.
Neacal listened. Hearing footsteps, he muttered a curse. Had the MacCromars come for Anna, or was it some of his own clan, searching for him?
"Release the lady and send her out!" demanded a voice outside the door.
He met Anna's terrified gaze where she stood frozen in place by the fire-pit.
"There is no lady here!" Neacal said in a disguised, elderly voice, hoping they would think him an old shepherd.
Outside, something crashed against the door. Being barred with a wide, strong plank, it didn't budge.
Neacal knelt, lay his sword aside, and pulled a heavy, flat flagstone across the floor, revealing a hidden tunnel. "Hide in here," he whispered to Anna.
"Oh, thanks be to God." She hurried toward it. "Come with me."
"Not yet. I want to off a few of them first."
"What? Nay, you cannot fight so many." Her worried eyes pleaded with him. "Blackburn probably sent his whole garrison."
"Get yourself in there, lass." He pushed at her gently. "You too, Dunn."
The dog growled at those outside and scratched at the door.
He dragged the dog toward the hole in the floor and pushed him inside after Anna. "Go, Dunn," he commanded.
"Please hurry," Anna urged him.
"Aye. Only a few minutes." With the two inside, Neacal replaced the large flat stone, concealing the hole, then picked up his sword. He kicked at the fire, extinguishing most of the flames. He didn't want his enemies to be able to see him should they burst inside.
Something smashed against the door again and part of it splintered. He peered through the crack. In the torchlight outside, he saw that four men were drawing the log back to ram the door again. When they were close enough, Neacal thrust his sword through the opening, jabbing their hands which held the log. One of the men cried out, lost his grip and dodged back. The rest tossed the log at the door, then scuttled back for cover.
"Go in there and drag him out by the hair!" their commander shouted, holding a torch about twenty feet away. "He has Lady MacCromar and we must rescue her."
"Lady MacCromar, my arse," Neacal muttered. He was determined that Anna would be Lady MacDonald before the month was out. All he had to do was kill a murderous brute.
Was Blackburn MacCromar out there?
Neacal hoped the men would come in after him. The door was so narrow only one man at a time could enter, and he could off each one separately.
Outside, the men held several torches aloft. He could easily see when three men charged toward the door of the cottage, their swords drawn. He held the advantage, for he stood in the darkness.
When the first man burst through the door, Neacal aimed to the side of his targe and ran him through. 'Twas too easy. He shoved the screaming man backward into his comrade and that man's blade conveniently stabbed into him, too. Shouts of pain resounded. The second man pushed him aside and raised his weapon, but not in time. Neacal's blade was already slicing the man's throat. The third man suffered a similar fate and staggered back outside before falling.
"Who's next?" Neacal shouted, battle rage surging inside him. Damnation, he was ready for more action.
The men outside were in a tizzy, yelling and arguing amongst themselves. They reminded him of fishwives instead of warriors. He shoved the broken door closed but still watched them through the splintered hole.
"Come on, bastards," he hissed quietly.
Their commander strode forward and flung his torch onto the shieling's thatch roof.
