Page 33 of The Highland Curse
“I will —” she started to say, but the urgency in his voice stopped her. His lips were tightly compressed as he stared at her intently. He then shifted his eyes overhead. Turning her head, what she saw made the blood in her veins turn to ice. There, on the tree branch, was a large raven spying on them.
Raising his voice, Duncan said, “Nay matter how long it takes tae brew, ‘tis important that I return for another vial. Ye stay here by this shack while I return tae Tancraig Castle. Do ye think ye can do that, lass?”
“Aye, I think —” She stopped abruptly, and a scream tore through her lips as she watched Duncan slumping to the ground. Looking up quickly, she met frigid eyes. “Please, dinnae hurt him!”
CHAPTER 15
Even before Duncan opened his eyes, the smell of dark earth permeated his senses, and he was aware that he sprawled on the ground. His mouth felt as dry as old peat, and he could barely form a groan to protest the ache that thrummed at the back of his head. But a voice reached his ears, and he stilled his body.
“Why did ye hit him sae hard?”a reedy voice hissed, his tone laced with annoyance.“When he wakes, he’ll wonder why we assaulted him.”
“Ye didnae say that we shouldnae hit him, master,”another man responded, his voice quavering. The leader made a sound of disgust, and walked over to where Duncan lay. Sensing the other man’s scrutiny, Duncan forced himself to remain motionless, to ignore the throbbing pain which radiated to his brain. After a moment, he heard the rustling of parchment, and then the thin voice began to chant. He recognized a few of the Gaelic words, but through the hammering in his head, the rest of the incantation sounded like gibberish. A few minutes more the song finished, and he heard a soft thud, like a book closing.
The man moved away from him, and Duncan felt that it was safe enough for him to assess his situation.
He didn’t know what was happening, but he needed to evaluate the conditions before he could determine a sensible stratagem. It was his keen sense of observation and cunning that allowed him to get out of scrapes, and which kept him alive all these years. At this moment, his instincts told him that he was outnumbered, and the unusual lightness of his sword belt indicated that he was disarmed. The rational side of him understood that he had little chance in fighting the guards without becoming seriously maimed or butchered.
Still, the fog that surrounded his brain began to finally lift. But how long was he unconscious? Seconds? Minutes?Hours?He recalled seeing the raven surveying them, but he hadn’t anticipated that he would be attacked from behind.
His ears perked at the sound of the murmuring conversation off to the side. Watching through the slit of his eyes, he observed two pairs of worn leather boots, and the hem of a woman’s kirtle. At least there weren’t a dozen combatants waiting to fight him.
Fortunately no one paid him any heed, and he took the opportunity to shift slightly in order to study his captors. Gauging the circumstance, he noted that two armed men flanked Adrina. And while she appeared dispirited, she was unharmed.
Standing in front of the lass was an older man, who he guessed was the infamous Fingal MacNauld. A tuft of hair grew at the side of his head, leaving the middle section bare. It appeared that whatever hair he had lost on his crown was growing out from his narrow chin. Tucked underneath his arm was a leather-bound book that appeared old and worn from use. While he didn’t appear physically intimidating, the guards were strangely frightened of him.
But Fingal wasn’t what Duncan had expected at all. From what Adrina described, he had imagined a horribly disfigured man who was evil to the core. But Fingal looked nothing out of the ordinary. If anything, he had the appearance of a harmless, ordinary clergyman. If Duncan had come across him at a smallkirk, he would have thought nothing of him.
However a cleric normally didn’t command armed warriors, he reasoned. Adrina’s warning of the advisor’s supernatural powers echoed in his mind. If her counsel was to be considered, he needed to move with caution.
A slight movement on Fingal’s right shoulder drew Duncan’s notice, and when he peered at the black mass, he discovered a raven perched there. While his logical mind couldn’t fully accept it, he instinctively knew that this bird wasn’t a typical one. It sat quietly at its roost, listening to the muted conversation as if it understood every word. Was it possible that everything that Adrina had told him about the raven was factual, that Fingal had an unearthly connection to the animal? If this was accurate, then the creature had trailed them this entire journey, and reported its findings to its master. That was how the guards knew about the campsite, and where to find them.
“I have tae see that he’s all right,” Adrina said, breaking away from one of the guards.
She managed to take a step toward Duncan when Fingal barked, “Stop her.”
The Highlander snaked his hand on her arm and jerked her back.
“Well, well,” Fingal said, shoving the book into his belt. He walked around Adrina, circling her as if she was coveted prey. “What do we have here?” Moving to stand in front of her, he reached for her gold pin.
Even before he touched her, Adrina flinched.
Duncan’s body immediately tensed, but he forced himself to relax, and allowed the interplay to continue. If the man showed any intentions of hurting Adrina, Duncan would rise to her defense. It didn’t matter whether he was unarmed and outnumbered. However, Fingal didn’t appear to do anything threatening other than scrutinizing Adrina’s brooch. Duncan had seen the jewelry before and wondered why it held so much fascination for the other man. To be certain, it was a pretty object, but his sisters possessed pieces that were far more beautiful.
For long minutes, Fingal continued to study the gold clasp, his lips pursed in concentration. He lifted his hand, comparing the gem set in the middle of the ornament, and the stone anchored on the signet ring that he wore.
“This bloodstone is raw and unpolished,” he said finally, his tone hushed. “Where did ye get this?”
“It has been in my family for centuries,” Adrina said, her soft voice wavering. Unconsciously, she raised her hand to cover the bauble, protecting it.
But Fingal would have none of it. He pried her fingers away from the clip.
Adrina batted at his hand, and took a retreating step. But then she stopped, and she squared her shoulders as the expression on her face turned defiant. “’Tis mine, and ye cannae have it.”
“Och, sae that’s what ye think?” Fingal said, flashing his teeth.
Duncan’s hand on the ground curled, and he realized that he clutched at a clump of grass. He slowly unfurled his fist. It wasn’t time yet.
But then it happened so quickly that Duncan almost gave himself away too soon. Fingal’s fingers closed over the brooch, and ripped it off her plaid.
