Page 87 of Devil Black

He could not fail her, but curse him if he knew how he could win.

The gates opened like the doors to hell and he and his small party rode inside. MacNab’s warriors ringed the forecourt, all armed. Dougal knew Rab and his warriors had slain more than a few during the assault on his keep, yet these put on an impressive display.

Hate burned in his heart; it brightened when he saw Randal MacNab strut toward him.

“Welcome, neighbor,” MacNab said. “Kind in you to call.”

“Curse you, MacNab. I am in no mood for games. I ha’ come for my wife.”

“Your wife? Have you lost her, then? And what makes you think I have her? Och, wait. Would that be the lustful, red-haired wench who has been entertaining my warriors? Or her sister, with the swollen belly?”

Beside Dougal, Thomas grunted. Dougal hoped he would not lose his head, and his life. This was Dougal’s battle to fight.

“What do you want?” he asked, looking Randal in the eye. “What price have you set on them?”

“What will you pay? Perhaps you should come in, and we will talk it over.” Randal smiled, a terrible thing to see. “And, lest you have any doubt your wife is the wench in question, I ha’ something inside to show you.”

“I demand to see her!”

“I think not. Part of her, perhaps.”

Dougal’s stomach plummeted. He exchanged looks with Thomas as they dismounted, cautioning the man to contain his ire. If only Dougal could manage the same.

“Leave your army here,” Randal sneered, eyeing the small group of warriors at Dougal’s back. “You will not need them.”

Dougal nodded at his men and, with Thomas at his side, entered his enemy’s walls. The air inside smelled dusky and singed, the way he imagined it might in Hades. Randal led them to the great hall, where the bastard Bertram waited. The man stood in front of the fire, juggling a small object in his hands.

“Ah!” said Bertram with a ghastly grin, “our erstwhile neighbor. Pray tell, MacRae, how went your audience with the King?”

Dougal did not deign to answer Bertram. “Where is my wife—our wives?” he amended with a glance at the silent Thomas. He spoke to Randal, his anger a banked fire. “If you have harmed either of them—”

“Define ‘harm,’ ” Bertram commanded. “It can encompass so much; there are so many ways to inflict pain.”

Thomas gave a strangled growl and started forward. Dougal seized his forearm in a grip of iron. His own anger barely under control, he said, “You cannot just seize a man’s wife. There are laws in this land.”

Randal threw back his head and laughed. “You, to cite the law to me? ’Tis a crime to steal a man’s wife? But no crime to steal his betrothed?” The older man’s face grew hard. “You cost us a fine estate that would have come to my son on the death of the wench’s father. Now you shall make up for it.”

“How?” Dougal’s heart sank. Half distracted, still trying to identify the object with which Bertram played, he scowled at Randal.

Randal smiled again, and this time it looked cold as the north wind. “I am a kind man at heart, MacRae. I will let you ransom your women, and let bygones be bygones. Forget the sins of the past.”

Dougal gritted his teeth. Some things could never be forgotten, yet his heart told him now was no time to assert that truth. He needed Isobel back again. “Name your price.”

MacNab pretended to think about it. He exchanged a look with his son and feigned indecision, even though Dougal knew this scene had been planned weeks ago.

“The price I require is: the whole of your lands.”

Dougal’s mouth went dry and his heart clenched so hard he thought he must fall down.

“Do it,” said Thomas, beside him. “Agree. Get them out of here.”

Aye, it seemed the canny response. But Dougal said, “Wait! Those lands have been in my family for generations. My ancestors bled for them. They are not mine to give.”

“They are.” No uncertainty tainted Thomas’s voice. “Just agree.” Softly, for Dougal’s ears alone, he added, “These men have no honor. You can break the agreement later and fight it out.”

Fight with what? A handful of warriors and no legal right? The old snake would make him sign a paper. That he did not doubt.

“No time to waste,” said Bertram, his eyes gleaming. “Perhaps this will persuade you.”