Page 54 of Bride of the Mad Laird
Tòrr rose to his feet in alarm. “What is it lad?”
The man hauled in a breath and puffed it out before he could speak.
“I am afeared the enemy is here.” He took another moment to gather himself. “Now that all the guests and their men are abed, it seems there are four lads here at the castle who shouldnae be here.”
“The devil there are?” Tòrr scrabbled a hand through his hair. “How could this happen. Bayard, ‘twas yer job to guard who entered!”
The man hung his head. “I dinnae ken how they snuck in, me laird. We watched with care who entered. I can only deduce they came in wi’ one of the men. There were horses and men milling in the courtyard and mayhap me men didnae ken they were nae meant. They swore all the lads wore MacKinnon plaid.
“’Twas only when all were abed and we tallied our numbers wi’ Claray that we kent four more had entered than our logs showed.”
Tòrr was on his feet and running, his claymore already in his hands.
“Get the guard tae the Lady Lyra’s bedchamber. I’ll wager these are MacDougall’s men, here fer the purpose of capturing the lass.”
Edmund joined him as Bayard rushed off to get his men.
All was quiet when they reached the dimly lit passage where both Tòrr’s and Lyra’s bedchambers were located.
“I think we’re in time. But we must let the Lady Lyra ken there may be danger.” Tòrr’s voice was thin and anxious as he whispered.
They paused, but there was no sound, no movement.
He tapped lightly on Lyra’s door. It took some time for her to open, during which he tapped his foot impatiently while Edmund kept watch on the passageway.
“Lass, it’s me, Tòrr. Please open the door.”
A sleepy face appeared.
Seeing Lyra was already clad in her robe, Tòrr seized her arm. “Hasten, ye must stay in me chamber. There may be danger here.”
She hurried behind him to his chamber where he opened the door and she slipped inside.
“Hush lass, nae time fer questions. Stay safe. Dinnae open the door unless ye hear me voice.”
He waited a few seconds after she’d disappeared inside his chamber until he heard the inside latch descend.
Edmund was beside him. “Ye take that end of the passage, I’ll take the one by the stairs,” Tòrr directed. “We wait, out of sight tae welcome them wi’ an unpleasant surprise.”
Concealed in the shadows, and with Lyra locked in his bedchamber, there was a slight lessening of the tight knot around his shoulders.
It was not long before four of the Bayard’s guard arrived, stout men in their hauberks and chainmail shirt, eager to confront the enemies. He sent two of them to keep company with Edmund and the remaining pair by his side.
They kept their vigil into the small hours of the morning when the castle had grown silent and all, save for their six, slept quietly.
Then it came, the faintest hint of sound on the stairs, a light footfall, a rustling, an indrawn breath.
As the sounds grew closer, the ice-cold mantle of impending battle fell over Tòrr. His breathing steadied, his heartbeat slowed, his already alert senses sharpened.
A finger to his lips he gently nudged the men at his side, indicating with his head that there was someone approaching. He felt the men stiffen, their hands on their claymores tightening.
No doubt, at the other end of the corridor, three lads were already preparing themselves for what was to come. Surely enough, in a matter of minutes, four dark shapes appeared at the top of the stairs. One by one they darted past the shadowed alcove where Tòrr and his men stood, silent as statues.
At the door of Lyra’s bedchamber, the four men paused and tried the door. It swung open with a loud creak. They hesitated again at the entrance and then filed quickly inside.
It was then that Tòrr and his men made their move.
The skirmish was short, sharp, and deadly. The intruders were taken by surprise and outnumbered. Two of them turned, their swords at the ready, and made a foolish dash toward Tòrr ’s guards.
