Page 90 of The Warrior
Tonight, Duncan would take it from Erik and be made keeper in his place.
Though it was dark, Duncan recognized the familiar shapes of Connor, Ian, and Alex as they came through the gate at the front of the men. Connor clasped Duncan’s arm in greeting.
“I don’t know if he still is, but Hugh was here,” Duncan said to him in a low voice.
“Hugh?” Connor said. “Catching him here would be good luck. ’Tis past time I settled matters with my uncle.”
“The MacLeods are bound to hear us soon,” Duncan said. “We should go quickly into the keep.”
“Lead the way,” Connor whispered back. “You deserve the honor.”
Duncan raised his claymore high and waved it for the men to see in the darkness, then started running for the keep. As planned, they did not shout their battle cry. Surprise and cunning would win this night.
Duncan burst into the keep and through the doors of the hall. Some of the MacLeod warriors, who were sleeping on the floor and benches, sprang to their feet with their weapons in their hands, while others seemed slow to recognize the invasion for what it was. In moments Duncan’s clansmen had encircled the room.
“Put down your weapons and ye won’t be harmed!” Duncan shouted.
The clank of swords and shouts of alarm filled the air as some of the MacLeods began to fight. A few recognized that too many of their warriors had been caught off guard for them to prevail and relinquished their weapons. Others charged the doors to escape. Duncan knew that the MacDonalds would not capture them all, but holding too many captives had its own risks and was generally more trouble than it was worth.
After fighting a short time, Duncan could see that victory was close at hand. He clenched the hilt of his claymore in frustrated fury as he scanned the room.Where is Erik?
Connor appeared at his side and shouted over the noise. “Have ye seen Hugh?”
“I don’t see him or Erik,” Duncan said. “Hugh could have left the castle before tonight, but Erik is here somewhere. I’m going to find him.”
* * *
The devil take me, this is a disaster.
One glimpse into the hall and Erik could tell that the castle would be lost. Though he knew he must get out quickly, he stood for a long moment staring at Duncan MacDonald. How could he have been fooled into believing this powerful warrior was a piper? Erik’s men were falling before the man’s sword like oats to a scythe.
Yet the captain of the MacDonald guard was not as tough as he ought to be. Any MacLeod warrior who gave up his sword to him, Duncan spared. He had a weakness for honor that could be used against him.
Erik remembered the lad.
A hostage would increase his chances of escape—and what better hostage could he hope for than the MacDonald chieftain’s heir. If he held a blade to the lad’s throat, they would let him out the gate. Later, he would decide whether to give the boy to Hugh Dubh or slit his throat himself. He would enjoy telling Duncan MacDonald how he did it the next time they met.
And Erik would make certain that they did meet again.
* * *
Erik must have been asleep when the attack began, but Duncan wondered why he had not come down when he heard the fighting. Well, Duncan would bring the fight to him.
As keeper, Erik should have the bedchamber right above the hall. Duncan pushed men aside as he ran to the arched doorway that led to the stairs. After racing up the circular stone steps, he paused outside the bedchamber on the next floor. Unlike the keeper, the men who guarded his bedchamber door had left their post to join the battle downstairs.
Battle lust pulsed through Duncan as he slowly lifted the latch. At long last, he would have his revenge for the shame Erik MacLeod had brought upon him and his mother. All the years of fighting to prove himself worthy and to raise himself to a position of respect within his clan would come to an end in this room with Erik’s death.
Duncan eased the door open. His sword made a softwhooshas he swung it in front of him and stepped inside. No one was waiting on the other side. With his heart pounding, Duncan waited until his eyes adjusted and he could make out the curtained bed.
As much as Erik deserved an ignoble death, Duncan would not kill him in his bed. It was not Duncan’s own honor that held him back as much as his pride. Duncan wanted to do battle with his enemy, fight him warrior-to-warrior, and crush him.
When he heard the rustle of bedclothes, he tensed. He held his claymore at the ready, waiting for Erik to emerge through the bed curtains with a blade in his hand.
But nothing happened.
“I’ll give ye time to get your sword,” Duncan said, “and then I’m going to kill ye.”
“I don’t have a sword!”
