Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (10 page)

“Another whisky, lass.”

Her eyes shimmered at the coin, not at all offended. He paid her more than any of the other bastards in the tavern.

“Why, aren’t ye a right gentleman? Ye can have all the whisky ye want.”

She skipped away to do his bidding, and Gregor peeled off a piece of meat, listening to the conversations going on around him. The drunkard at the other table had been satisfied with his free drink, and the other four men huddled closer, lowering their voices to keep anyone else from overhearing their conversation.

Gregor had to listen intently.

Ginger-Beard, licked his lips, and rubbed his hands together. “There’s a reward for anyone willing to capture and bring Wallace’s enemies to Berwick. A trade—coin for Wallace supporters. And not a little bit of coin either. A whole sack of it. Enough to live like a baron for a year at least.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

“And ye’d be willing to switch sides for coin?” Eyebrow said, while the other two remained silent. At least two of the men seemed incredulous.

Gregor’s blood boiled, his hand moving to the sword at his hip. If the tavern emptied just a little more, he’d take all four of these bastard’s heads, maybe give Eyebrow a chance to redeem himself and then present them to the Bruce in the morning.

“Did ye not hear me, ye bloody fool? I said a man could live like a baron for a year. I, however, dinna need to live like a noble. The coin could help me live the life of a drifter, give me a good bed and a willing wench to suck my cock for five years. I’d not have to lift my blade, only the one between my thighs.”

One of the men grunted, and while the other man was nodding his agreement, Eyebrow looked on the verge of toppling the table and murdering the fool.

“Do ye truly think the English will give ye a reward? They probably want ye to do their dirty work. Then, they’ll kill ye, too.” Eyebrow shook his head. “Ye’re a Scot, they dinna want ye to live.”

Ginger-Beard shook his head. “I heard the Scot who turned in Wallace was rewarded with enough coin to make him live like a king for the rest of his days.”

“Who did ye hear that from?”

“Doesna matter.” The man sat back, arms crossed over his chest.

Gregor’s stomach soured. Clearly, he needed to have a more intimate conversation with that fellow. The cur knew too much. Even more than Gregor had been privy to.

Gregor nodded to Molly, and she rushed forward pouring whisky into his glass, simpering at him and wiggling her hips.

“Do me a favor, lass?” Gregor asked, using his most persuasive tone and slipping another coin into her hand.

“Anything.” She licked her lips, still clearly not catching the hint that he wasn’t going to bed her.

“See that man? The one with the braided beard?”

She glanced discreetly behind her. “Aye.”

“Entice him out back for me. Tell him ye’ve been watching him all night, and this tupping is for free.”

Molly’s eyes widened, and she looked at him oddly, biting her lip.

“Ye’ll not be tupping him, lass, and the coin I gave ye is for the task of luring him out, aye?”

She nodded emphatically, took a shot of whisky from his table, then sauntered over to the man with the braid and whispered in his ear. Ginger-Beard let out a whoop of excitement and slapped Molly on the arse. He downed his beer, then stood, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder, before heading to the back door of the tavern.

The mongrel was bigger than he’d looked, but that only made the challenge all the sweeter. Slowly standing, he kept his eyes on the three friends as he slipped from the tavern, no one the wiser.

Chapter Eleven

’Twas dark out back of the tavern. The buildings were close together, hiding the light of the moon. Gregor waited a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness then glanced up and down the alleyway.

He could hear the grunts of the man, soft, pretend whimpers from the tavern wench and the sounds of sloppy kissing. Gregor ground his teeth in disgust. The lout worked fast. Hopefully, not too fast.

Rounding the corner, Gregor spied their writhing shapes against the wall. The man, so intent on his purpose, did not hear Gregor approach. He had his mouth all over Molly’s breasts. She, however, did hear him, and looked at him wide-eyed as she was molested. Thank goodness, the man was so interested in her breasts that it kept him from tupping her just yet as Gregor had promised.

Pulling his sword from his scabbard, Gregor tiptoed forward and held the tip at the man’s neck.

“What the—” Ginger-Beard rounded on him, tossing the wench aside, who caught herself against the wall before falling.

“Back inside, lass,” Gregor said with a grin. “Dinna let his friends see ye.”

Even in the dim light coming from the windows of the tavern he could make out the fear on her face. She nodded and rushed around the building, disappearing from view.

“Who are ye?” Ginger-Beard asked, indignation ripe in his tone, and not an ounce of fear. He’d reached for the sword at his side, but Gregor had already disarmed him.

“Looking for this?” He tossed the sword aside, ignoring his question. “I need to ask ye a few questions.”

“I got no answers for ye, only the tip of my sword.” He stared past Gregor where his sword lay on the ground.

“Only the tip?” Gregor goaded. “My, that is a sad thing to hear from a warrior. Ye, see, if ye dinna answer my questions, I’m going to run ye through with the entire length of my blade. And little good your
tip
is going to do way over there.”

“I’d like to see ye try, ye bloody fucking fool.”

Gregor laughed. The man’s bluster truly was entertaining. The lout could barely stand, and he grappled with swollen fingers toward his lifted leg and the
sgian dubh
tucked into his hose. Gregor let him try to grab it, but only to give the man some hope before he jabbed the point of his sword against the knot at Ginger-Beard’s throat, nicking the skin at his neck when he resisted.

Gregor tsked. “Afraid that’s not going to work for ye, mate.” Gregor forced the man to back up against the wall.

Ginger-Beard frantically swiped at the small trickle of blood. “Ye cut me! Ye’ll pay for this.”

Gregor rolled his eyes. “Answer my questions, and ye might walk away from this.”

“I’m not answering a damn thing!” Spittle flew from Ginger’s mouth, landing in the thick hairs of his beard.

“What is your name?” Gregor asked.

“None of your damned business!”

“What clan is embarrassed to call ye their own?”

“Fuck ye.”

“I see we are making progress,” Gregor said sarcastically. “Let me try something else.”

Gregor slammed his knees into the man’s ballocks, feeling the crush of the man’s precious jewels.

Ginger doubled over, his eyes bulging, veins in his neck pulsing, a groan that could wake the dead on his lips.

Taking a deep breath, Gregor tried once more, “Again, your name and clan?”

“Fuc—”

Gregor didn’t let him finish his insult, but instead slammed his forearm against the man’s neck, pressing him back against the wall, cutting off his air.

“While ye were in there wetting your throat with whisky after whisky, I remained sober. A fight between the two of us will only end up one way—me winning. So ye’d better answer my fucking questions, else I drain the life from ye.”

Ginger nodded, making gurgling noises. “Name’s… Alan.”

“Clan?”

“Was MacLeod.”

“And now?”

“I’m without one.”

“Why?”

Alan shrugged. “Laird died, and his bitch wife remarried a man who kicked me and my friends out.”

“Interesting.” Gregor pursed his lips in thought. “Takes a lot for a laird to displace a member of his clan.”

“What would ye know of it?”

Gregor shrugged, not seeing any sense in telling this man his business. “What do ye know of Wallace?”

“Nothing.”

Gregor chuckled menacingly, then pressed hard on the man’s neck again, coming within an inch of the bastard’s face. “I dinna want to play any more games with ye, Alan. I need my answers now.”

“I’ve never met Wallace.”

“But ye’ve heard rumors.”

Alan’s eyes frantically searched the back alley, perhaps thinking his friends would soon come to his aid.

“Ah, do ye think your friends are coming? They aren’t. They watched ye leave with a willing wench over your shoulder. Doubt they’ll come looking for ye until dawn. And if ye think they’ll come when they see the wench return to work, they might, but I doubt it given they are just as drunk as ye are. They’d not know one wench from another.”

Alan grunted, his hands wrestling with Gregor’s arm, but realizing that he wasn’t going to break free of Gregor’s grip, or be saved by his friends, he stilled.

“What do ye want to know?” he asked reluctantly.

Gregor stared the man in the eye, not showing any signs of wavering. “Tell me what ye know of Wallace.”

“Just what ye heard me tell my friends.”

“Repeat it.” Gregor loosened his hold on the man’s neck.

Alan repeated what he’d said about Wallace being taken by one of their own.
Betrayed
. For coin! That the Scotsman guilty of treason had accepted a hefty reward from the English for his service to them, and that a new bounty was on the head of every one of Wallace’s allies.

“Have ye told anyone other than your friends?”

Alan shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t telling Gregor the truth.

He was definitely hiding something.

“Ye lie. Who did ye tell?”

“No one…” He coughed as Gregor’s arm tightened on his neck. “I swear.”

Gregor punched him in the ribs, satisfied with the man’s pain-filled grunt. “Wrong answer, Alan, and ye’re wasting my time. What good are ye to me alive if ye canna tell me what I need to know?”

“Please, dinna kill me. I’ll tell ye. I’ve only told one other.”

“Who?”

His words came quick now, filled with fear. “There was a man, he was standing near me when I heard it for the first time. He overheard and questioned me about it.”

“Do ye know the man’s identity?”

Alan shook his head, and this time, Gregor believed him.

“Who did ye hear the rumors from? Where were ye?”

“From a mercenary last week. We’d just finished a stint with a laird near the border.”

“What laird?”

“MacLellan.”

Gregor didn’t know much about MacLellan other than he held a small holding that bordered the southern lines of the Maxwell, Gordon and McGie clans, and the north of England. “What did he need a bunch of wastrels like ye for?”

“There’d been a lot of raids by the English, and since they are right on the border, he needed help securing his lands. We fought off raiders and guarded the entry points while laborers built a high fence.”

“Where is the man who told ye the rumors about Wallace?”

“Dead.” Something dark came into Alan’s eyes.

Gregor’s stomach soured. He’d caught himself a real devil. “Ye killed him.”

Alan didn’t answer.

“Ye killed him, and the man who witnessed ye murdering the bastard is the one who ye told about the reward. Payment for keeping your secret. Ye should be hanged.”

Hatred flared in the man’s eyes, and he bared his teeth. Pushing his neck against Gregor’s arm, he growled, “What business is it of yours?”

Gregor laughed and shook his head. “If only I could tell ye. We’d get a good chuckle out of your reaction. But I canna. So I’ll just have to laugh to myself. But, bad news, jackhole, ye’re coming with me.”

Gregor rammed the hilt of his sword against Alan’s head, knocking him out. Thankful for the dark, he tied the man up easy enough, and then carried the heavy burden to his horse, making apologies to the animal for the extra weight.

Alan never stirred on the ride back to the abbey. When his men and the Warriors of God who were on sentry, saw him return, they headed toward him, brows raised in question.

“This can’t be good,” Owen, John’s second-in-command of the Warriors of God said.

“A prisoner, my laird?” Fingall asked, lifting the flop of hair to see Alan’s face.

“Aye. A traitor to Scotland.”

“Shall we watch him for ye?” Collin asked, grinning. “Be happy to question him if ye like?” Collin was always looking for a fight, and happened to be one of the best at interrogating prisoners.

“Sacrifice him?” Owen asked.

Did the Warriors of God sacrifice people? Gregor looked at the man, studying him, only to see there was a slight twinge of humor in his gaze. “Nay. I need him inside. But I’ll be returning in a few minutes, and I’ll need the two of ye to come with me,” he said to Fingall and Collin. “We’ve got a few more to round up.”

True to his word, the young stable hand was waiting for him, opening the gates. His eyes turned as wide as a full moon upon spying the unconscious man draped over the horse.

“Does the abbey have…” Gregor started, then thought better of it. They wouldn’t have a dungeon. “Where does the abbess keep those who need to be quarantined?”

The stable lad glanced at the knocked out mercenary then back at Gregor, eyes wide.

“There is a room, but only the abbess has the keys.”

Lauds would have ended long before now, and the abbess was likely sleeping already. “I’ll keep him contained in my chamber then until dawn.”

The stable hand nodded, gripping onto the horse’s reins. “Do ye need me to help, sir?”

Gregor dismounted, and hauled the large mercenary off the horse, bearing his weight over his shoulder.

“Nay, lad, ye’ve helped me much already.” Momentarily balancing the man on his shoulder with only one hand to steady him, Gregor gave the lad another coin.

“Thank ye, my laird.”

“On second thought, I need ye to guard my chamber.”

“Aye, my laird.”

“After ye tend my horse, and give him an apple, come to my chamber.”

“Aye, my laird.” The lad led his horse toward the stable, a spring in his young step.

Gregor headed toward his chamber with his prisoner. The Bruce would not be pleased to know men were already spreading word of Wallace’s demise, nor would he be happy that they were conspiring to round up Wallace’s allies.

He deposited Alan on his chamber floor, and checked the man’s unconscious form for any hidden weapons. Then he removed his sporran, and boots. A man was weakened with no boots. He even took the pin holding his plaid in place, not willing to risk what a prick from that pin could do.

Satisfied he’d thoroughly disarmed the cur, he gathered all of his own personal items and shoved everything into a satchel. Alan was still out cold on the floor, and probably would be for at least another hour. Gregor locked the door behind him, pleased to see the stable lad had returned.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Peter.”

“Dinna let anyone in, Peter, and most certainly dinna let the man out.”

Peter nodded. “On my honor, my laird.”

Gregor roused Samuel, giving him an overview of his night, leaving out the part that he’d wanted to get over his feelings for Kirstin in the arms of another. That was a moot point now. He’d learned it was impossible. Leaving his personal items, and those he’d gathered off of Alan, in Samuel’s chamber, they returned to the main gate. Gregor tasked Owen, though he was not under his command, to man the gate until they returned, and to apprehend the prisoner should he escape. And should his friends come looking for him, they were to be arrested in the name of treason.