Page 39 of The Son of a Highland Witch
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Finn tried hard to hold back his mother when he saw her turn to answer the name call, but it was too late. He looked up to the castle crenellations and saw the outline of two heads silhouetted against the blue sky.
“Faither, ye are yet too weak to regain control o’ things. Ye must ask for counsel from Erica’s faither, Laird O’ Donnell. Mither, would ye be so kind as to lead Laird Buchanan to the O’Donnell’s chambers?”
He gave Brigette a tiny shove in the small of her back, and she understood the urgency of the situation immediately.
“Aye, Alastair, let us consult Laird Stuart on the matter. He will have a better idea on how we must go forward. It cannae be easy for a meek-minded person to hear news of a potential usurper or heir added to the succession, never mind someone like Jamie hearing about it.”
Finn cast his mind back to the defensibility of Laird O’Donnell’s chambers. Wherever he stayed, he always toured the structure inside and out before relaxing his guard. He already knew every inch of Buchanan Castle like the back of his hand.
“There’s a small parlor given over for the O’Donnell’s use on the same side as his chambers. The only door connecting it to the passageway can be found in the dressing room. I will meet ye there.”
He left them there abruptly. There was no time to escort them to the place of safety; he must fetch Erica and get her to her father’s rooms as soon as he could. She must not get caught up in the middle of this.
He glanced up at her bedchamber window and saw her looking down at the scene. Finn did not want to make his awareness obvious, so he ignored her.
The great hall had six passages leading off from it. Only one of these gave him access to Erica’s rooms, but it crossed the entrance to the lower eastern battlements where he had seen the outline of Jamie’s and Robert’s heads.
It should nae be a problem taking on the two o’ them. One drunkard an’ one auld man past his prime.
Finn loosened his sword in its sheath hanging down the middle of his back. Then he stopped and thought about the strategy he would use.
The castle was defensibly built, so I will have to fight left-handed.
All defensive castles had narrow spiral staircases that curved left so that defenders fighting from the top steps could use their right hands to hold their swords while the attackers would have to hold their swords in their left hands as they climbed up to fight.
If I wait at the bottom of the stairs, it will lure Jamie and Robert into a wider area, but still not wide enough for me to swing a sword. I will have to use dirks.
Finn bent down to remove the two sharply pointed knives from the top of his boots, then he took out a shorter knife from inside his sporran. He tucked two of them into his belt and pulled his short coat over them to hide the weapons’ glint. The third dirk he hid up his sleeve.
Now, I’m ready for whatever those Buchanan busterts try on me. Och, I suppose I better stop callin’ them that, seeing as I’m a Buchanan now too.
Finn was not like other men as they walked into a situation that might result in their death. He sauntered past the dark gaping tower entrance as if it were a field of flowers. But to anyone looking carefully, they would have seen that every one of his senses was straining to read the signs of imminent attack; his muscles were as taut as a well-strung bow.
Two dark shapes loomed up at the top of the spiral staircase…and two lurking shadows sprang out of the eastern passage. Four men! And none of them were Jamie or Robert. Since Finn and Brigette had returned to nurse Alastair, there must have been a plot to handle matters before they could come to a point. All the Buchanans needed was confirmation, which Brigette had just given them in the courtyard, before giving a sign to their soldiers.
Finn palmed the dirk hidden up his sleeve and waited for the two soldiers standing in front of him to come closer. If he moved in to fight them, that would leave his back exposed for the men at the top of the staircase to sneak behind him. Encouraged by the sign he had neither reached for the sword hanging behind his back or bent to take the dirk from his boot, the two men on the same level as Finn approached him.
One of them looked up at the two soldiers lurking on the spiral staircase as they walked past the tower entrance and said, “Dinnae fash, lads. He’s big, but he’s too slow to fetch his weapons to hand.”
“Put up yer hands, Finn,” the other soldier ordered.
Both men had their swords out in front of them, pointed toward Finn like spearheads. They were already dead but did not know it yet.
When Finn did nothing, one of the soldiers grew tired of waiting and lunged at him with his sword. Finn stepped to one side, pressing his back against the wall, and when the movement put the soldier slightly off balance so he stumbled forward a pace or two, Finn calmly stuck his dirk into the side of the man’s neck. He slid it out again before the man fell, clutching his neck and panting.
It was dark in the passage, so the other soldier did not immediately cry out for his two comrades on the stairs to help him. All the man could think about was that his partner had fallen and left a nice sharp sword on the floor for Finn to pick up and use. He tried to move his sword from a pointing, stabbing position to a swinging one, but there was no space to maneuver it…and he had run out of time. Within that split moment of dithering and disbelief, Finn reached inside the lunging arc of the sword and stabbed the soldier in his stomach.
“What’s going on down there?” one of the two men at the top of the stairs shouted down.
No torches were lit in the wall sconces. All they could hear was panting and grunting. Before the second fallen soldier could scream, Finn stuck his knife into the man’s throat.
Giving a fair impersonation of one of the soldiers, Finn grunted, “He’s down. Come and help me drag this big lummox to the charnel house.”
One of the benefits of growing up so close to Buchanan Castle was Finn’s ability to mimic the region’s accent.
The two soldiers pattered downstairs, with one of them saying happily, “Didnae even hear him fall, lad. Well done.”
