Page 112 of Luthias

“I’ve sent three patrols after them, my lord,” the chieftain said. “We’ll find her.”

“’Tisnae the lad’s fault, my lord, but mine.” The scullery’s sire, a tiller, fell to his knees. “Punish me, I beg you, but let my boy live.”

As Luthias shed his tartan and strapped on the hard leather armor one of the guards had brought to him, he looked at Tom.

“You ken you did wrong by lying to lure Mistress Parker into the woods,” he told the boy. “I ken ’twas to save your Da, and you warned her before you reached him, but that doesnae pardon your act. You betrayed her, and my trust.”

“Aye, my lord.” The boy appeared ready to collapse, but instead straightened his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I’ll pay for what I did. Only please, save my lady. The lowlander, she kept him from ending us both.”

The lowlander.

Luthias went and crouched before the lad, taking hold of his shoulders. “Tell me everything you remember about the man who took her from us. Quickly.”

Tom had a surprising amount of information about Emery’s abductor, who had hidden his face with a hood, but his cloak did not entirely cover the lowlander’s garments he wore. The scullery also claimed he spoke differently, like a highlander. He couldn’t be sure of his identity, but from what Emery had said he believed the man to be Callen, one of the woodcutters, whom he described him as tall and black-haired with vivid blue eyes.

“My lady, she showed no fear of him,” the boy finally said.

Luthias imagined Emery confronting the bastart. Even if she had been terrified, she would have concealed it from the scullery. “Aye, she’s brave.” Try as he might, he could not summon a vision of Emery now. Anything could be happening to her.

“I’ve seen that woodcutter about the barns and storage sheds,” Tom’s father put in. “He’d peer in the windows and doors, as if looking for something to steal, but he never went inside.” He ducked his head. “I’m sorry I never told the patrols. I reckoned him harmless.”

“Go home with your sire, lad,” Luthias told him, and pulled a second blade harness and sheathe over his shoulder before he took the claymore Taveon handed him. “We’ll speak again once I’ve brought back my lady.”

As he strode from the stronghold his chieftain and war master kept pace with him, but as he took the reins of his battle-clad destrier from the stable master he regarded Darach.

“Gather the women, the young and the elders, and move them to the farms,” Luthias ordered. “Arm every man who can fight. Ready the stronghold. Now.”

“Aye, my lord.” The chieftain bowed before he ran back into the castle.

Taveon swung up on his war horse and followed Luthias out of the gate, which the guards closed and barricaded as soon as they rode outside.

“From what the lad said, ’twas Callum himself who took her,” the war master said. “He’ll no’ tarry on our lands or hold her at the camp. He’ll return to Dun Deigh.”

“Then I shall go there,” Luthias said through his teeth, “And get her.”

The war master wheeled his horse into his path, forcing him to stop.

“Why should the Carack laird pose as a woodcutter and poke about the barns?” Taveon sounded cold, but anger burned in his black eyes. “He’s been searching for something, and no’ the lass. Now he’s taken her as bait to lure you onto his lands. The moment you cross his boundaries thus armed, you’ll shatter the truce between the clans––a truce we’ve held for centuries. Why should he do thus over a wench?”

“Get out of my way,” Luthias told him.

“No.” Taveon caught his fist before he could punch him in the face. “Beat me to death if you wish, Brother, but you ken I speak truth. Dinnae walk into his trap blind. ’Twas set for a reason––and ’tisnae about Emery.”

Luthias dismounted and went to the nearest tree, driving his fist into the trunk over and over. Bark exploded from every impact, and leaves rained down on him. Finally he threw back his head and shouted, “Gods facking damn him.”

Wood cracked, and the tree slowly toppled over, landing with a crash. Bird took to wing, and hares and voles scattered in every direction. The war master came to stand beside him.

“She’s no helpless, our lass,” Taveon said softly. “She’ll bide her time, and watch for her chance. She’s clever and quick. I vow she’ll find her way back to us.”

“If he touches her, I’ll geld him. If he ends her...” He couldn’t complete that thought. “I gave Darach the succession scroll when our sire died. You’ll become the next laird.”

“You hate me that much. Mayhap I should go to Éire and join the gallóglach. Camdyn can become laird.” The war master kicked some earth at the uprooted tree. “Why do we hire woodcutters? We but need send you out in a murderous temper.”

“I love her, Tav.” Saying it freed him, for he had battled against his feelings long enough. “I cannae do without her.” He thought of the towering Carack laird, who could easily brutalize Emery, and likely would. “She’s so small. Like a wee bird.”

“Aye, and yet she escaped two armed guards, tamed Camdyn, pulled you from a loch and wrapped the rest of the clan around her smallest finger.” Taveon put a hand on his shoulder. “And the lass loves you.”

“You ken the place where that bastart took her?” When he nodded Luthias strode back to his mount. “Show me.”