Page 75 of When the Laird Conquers

The baker lowered her voice and glanced around. “We think we saw an Englishman here just yesterday, but he was gone before we could corner him.”

Another woman nodded. “Me husband said the man was kicked out of the inn.”

“Aye, but I heard about a few lads who’d been seen with him. Conspirin’ with him,” said another.

“Ye cannae blame them too much,” someone else muttered. “I heard the Englishman offered a substantial sum.”

The baker glared at the woman. “Aye, and what’s coin compared to honor and loyalty? These Englishmen want to steal our future Lady’s niece from her and do goodness kens what to our future Lady herself. There is no sum that warrants betrayal of our own people.”

The last part warmed Gordon’s heart. At least Agnes would never have to worry about the clan accepting her, for it seemed they already had. These women, if no one else, had great influence on the clan, and their opinion carried tremendous weight.

“Which lads?” Gordon asked.

The women fell silent.

“I just want to speak to them,” he said, though he did not add that it would not be a pleasant conversation. For them.

The woman who had mentioned the conspiracy seemed to steel herself. “I ken Rodrick Dunbar was one of ‘em. Fat John too. Nae sure about the third, but I do ken there were only three of ‘em.”

“Where can I find them?” Gordon probed, surprised by her willingness to give up the names.

“They’ll be at the smithy at this hour,” the baker interjected, as if she too wanted to be part of the men’s downfall. “Drinkin’ instead of workin’ or sleepin’ off whatever they drank last night. They were supposed to repair me husband’s plough three weeks ago, but it’s still sittin’ there. If ye daenae give ‘em a black eye, me Laird, me husband will.”

“Aye, I was supposed to have a pot fixed a month ago, and it’s still there!” another woman complained, setting off a cacophony of grievances.

Gordon thanked them and gave a nod to Keith. The two of them rode away from the marketplace and back out of the village, to the smithy that sat a short distance by a stream.

They tethered their horses and, looking around to ensure they had not been followed, approached the building. No smoke rose from the chimney, partially corroborating the women’s story.

Gordon didn’t bother to knock, shoving the door open with his shoulder. Inside the gloomy smithy, three men jumped like startled rabbits. The stench of liquor further corroborated what he had been told, as did their bleary eyes and slovenly state.

Evidently, they had been celebrating last night, most likely using the coin they had earned through their treachery.

“Good mornin’, gentlemen,” Gordon said with a cold, menacing smile. “Ye’ll excuse the intrusion. I hear ye’ve been sellin’ information about me bride, so ye can imagine how little patience I have. So, here’s what ye can do: ye can tell me what ye said and who ye said it to, and I willnae leave ye with any broken limbs that ye might need; or ye can pretend ye daenae ken what I’m talkin’ about, and I can spend the mornin’ seein’ how hard I can bend yer bones before they snap.”

The men gawped at him. One paled and hurried off to the corner, where he ejected the contents of his stomach.

“Which is it to be?” Gordon asked, eerily calm.

The first man tried to run for the window—Gordon had known at least one of them would. He didn’t even get to open the window before Gordon grabbed him by the scruff of his dirty shirt and threw him to the ground.

At the same moment, the second man tried to make a dart for the now-empty doorway, only to come face to face, and stomach to fist, with Keith. A grunt and a thud told Gordon that the man was down, leaving the sickly man to make a decision.

With a toad-like gulp, the third man put up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“At least one of ye has some sense, though it willnae help ye much.” Gordon gave an icy smile and dragged his quarry to the nearest chair.

Ten minutes later, the three traitors were sat and bound while Gordon paced back and forth with a heavy iron poker in his hand.

“Which one of ye is goin’ to tell me what ye said and who ye said it to? What does this Englishman ye’ve been talkin’ to ken?” he asked, pausing in front of the first man, Rodrick. “Since ye’re blacksmiths, I doubt ye have to use yer knees much. Ye could do without them.”

Rodrick blanched. “I daenae ken what ye’re talkin’ about, me Laird. I havenae spoken to any Englishman.”

Without hesitation, Gordon brought the poker down in a vicious swing, the iron bar hitting Rodrick square in the kneecap. Not enough to shatter it, not yet, but another swing or two would see that he never used his leg properly again.

Rodrick roared in pain.

The youngest of the three, a man of perhaps Gordon’s age, turned his head and threw up again.