Part 55 (1/2)

Again her heart began a painful hammering in her chest. If Holden Mackay had already reached his chambers, he would discover Rowena in her place. And if he were to call out now, these two riders would seize her and return her to certain death.

She nudged her horse into a run. As she pa.s.sed the two riders, she kept her face averted.

The two, intent upon their mission, barely noticed the old hunched crone who pa.s.sed them in the courtyard.

Chapter Nineteen

As the hunched woman approached on her horse, Brice felt a p.r.i.c.kly feeling at the base of his neck. Something was very wrong. Something he couldn't quite place. Then, as horse and rider drew nearer, a name came into his mind.

Rowena. Of course. The young hunchbacked seamstress who had been cruelly banished by Catherine de' Medici had been from the Mackay clan.

He had accompanied her from France to her home in the Highlands, where Holden Mackay had promised to see to her care. Brice felt a momentary stab of regret. He had been too busy to see if Mackay had lived up to his promise.

Rowena had always been an open, friendly woman. That would explain her warm reception by the guards in the courtyard. The soldiers, if they were a decent sort, would take the time to chat with her, a.s.sist her.

With hasty movements he pulled the plumed hat low on his head and kept his gaze downcast. If she was familiar with all the soldiers at Mackay's fortress, she might recognize that he and Angus were imposters. Worse, if she were to recognize him from their days at the French Court, she would call out his name. All their carefully laid plans would be for naught.

From the corner of his eye he watched as horse and rider galloped past. She had ”not even given him so much as a glance.

For another moment he continued to feel that tingling sensation, as though something was not quite right. He shrugged it off. The worst thing a warrior could do before going into battle was to allow himself to be distracted.

He and Angus approached the guards. He experienced the rush of energy he always felt just before battle. Their plan was going to work. He knew it. He felt it.

As their horses drew near, one of the guards called out to a servant inside the house, announcing their arrival. The Umber bracing the doors was thrown aside and the doors swung open. Even as a stable boy was reaching for the reins of their horses, Brice and Angus, heads lowered, hats pulled low, were swinging from the saddle and striding toward the open doors.

Once inside they waited as the servant greeted them and began to close the heavy doors. A movement in the shadows of the courtyard alerted Brice and Angus that their men were in place and already overpowering the unsuspecting guards outside.

Drawing a dirk from his waist Angus held the blade to the servant's throat.

”Step away from the door,” he ordered.

The wide-eyed servant obeyed.

”Where is your master?” At the man's momentary silence Brice pulled his sword from the scabbard.

The servant stammered,

”My lord Mackay has gone to his chambers.”

”Where?”

The servant pointed up the wide stone stairs.

”And the woman?”

The servant blinked, then stared transfixed at the sword in Brice's hand.

”With my lord Mackay.”

Brice's hand tightened about the sword. He would kill Mackay. With his bare hands if necessary.