Large, hooded eyes dominated a rugged face. Everything about the man was dark, his hair, his brows, dramatic, against his pale skin. That mouth was too sensuous for a man, and suddenly it broke into a broad smile, right at her, and the villain winked. Giselle could scarcely believe it.
She smiled back hesitantly, for it seemed impolite not to. The impulse was gone as quickly as it had come, but her face burned at her stupidity.
The man turned his attention back to Hugh and continued speaking as if nothing had happened. ‘As I said, it is in your best interests to surrender this castle, so do you want to hear terms, or shall we send you all to hell? All but that bonnie redhead up there,’ he said, pointing at her. ‘I may just spare her.’
‘You insolent dog, you…’
‘Surrender now, Sir Hugh, and my Lord will show mercy. He will let you crawl away south with your tail between your legs.’
‘On my honour, I will never let you take my castle.’
‘Honour you say. What honour did you English ever show when you ravaged Scotland, when you put innocent women and children to the sword, when you came into our country and set it to burning? Don’t hide behind your honour and your grand name. Think of your own women and children. You have a choice, and it is simple, for we want no needless bloodshed here. Give up, before the damage is done, and you will have your life, if not your precious honour.’
Giselle felt her legs go from under her and pressed back against the tower wall. She should never have come up here, and now that man had seen her. What kind of fool was she to smile at an enemy? She heard the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs behind her.
Suddenly there was a whooshing sound, and Giselle looked up to see a cloud of arrows flying through the air. She peered over the stone walls to see the Scot, unharmed, with several arrows in the ground just a few feet short of his horse. He rode up and down insolently, just out of range of the archers, and then turned around and sped back to the trees as the archers reloaded.
Edric burst from the stairway and grabbed hold of her arm. He pulled back his forearm and lashed her across the face, sending Giselle reeling. Her cheek burned as Edric dragged her back down into the stairway. The Scot was shouting from far away. His voice was still menacing as it carried over the walls.
‘Resist, and we will storm your battlements and kill every fighting man in the castle, and then we will burn it to ashes, and you with it. This is a promise.’
***
Lyall rode back to Lord Douglas with a big grin on his face.
‘Lord, it is as I said. Range is three hundred, give or take.’
Lord Douglas laughed and shook his head. ‘I have said this before, and I will say it again, you have a death wish Buchanan, you mad bastard. Just like your brother, Cormac, he’s a mad bastard too.’
‘The gates aren’t as firm as I first thought, Lord, we can ram them, but we will have to be quick about it.’
‘And the woman on the tower wall, the red-head?’
‘Not Queen Isabella, too young.’
‘Got a good look at her did you, Buchanan, while you were flirting?’
‘Aye, I did, and she’s bonnie enough up close, but she’s not what we’re after.’
‘Is it today? Will we fight, Lord?’ said Banan MacGregor.
‘Aye, we’ll fight soon enough. But not today. Let de Mawpas sweat a while,’ said Lord Douglas.
‘But we should not give them time to prepare a defence. We should strike now before…’
Lyall sighed in irritation. Must they always suffer this fool’s opinions? ‘They’ve no real defence, MacGregor, for we’ve killed all the men Sir Hugh sent out to fight us, and I’ll wager they were his best fighters. Sir Hugh is bluffing, holding out for help that won’t come. All we have to do is sit around and watch their resolve crumble and save our strength.’
‘But we can’t stay here, are we not vulnerable to attack out in the open?’
‘Attack by whom?’ said Lord Douglas. ‘We’ve slaughtered our way here, did you notice much resistance? All the clever men will have fled south to join forces with English garrisons at York. You haven’t been with us long, or you would see the reason behind waiting, like Buchanan.’
‘And what, pray, is that?’ asked Banan.
‘That you can accomplish far more by fear, than by force,’ said Lord Douglas. ‘From what I’ve seen of you so far, Banan, I would have thought you already knew that. My reputation is such that they will already fear me, and I want that fear to spread through the castle, like a plague, into the heart of every man, woman and child. It will weaken them when we go for their throat, so they will roll over and show their belly.’
Lyall narrowed his eyes at Banan Macgregor. Always itching for a fight that one. Always wanting to spill blood. There was something of the animal about him, no matter his fine lineage as the son of one of Scotland’s most powerful lairds. Banan brought to mind slithering, creeping things, and Lyall could only ever look on him with revulsion deep in his belly, without really knowing why.
He clutched his horse’s reins hard, to quell the shaking in his hands. It was getting worse, as were the terrible nightmares which fractured his sleep, and it wouldn’t do for his men to see it, or Lord Douglas, for that matter. He had to keep going, be strong, no matter what.