“This bastard’s friends are the ones who stole our horses.”
Fiona cocked her head to the side, studying the man Brogan still held up by his hair. “Why only two?”
That was a damn good question, and one he’d not thought of before.
Narrowing his eyes, Brogan thrust the man onto the bench and backed up a step, arms crossed, hoping that if he let go, the bloke would be more open to talking.
“Answer the lady,” Brogan demanded.
But before the man said a damn thing, with dawning dread Brogan understood exactly why. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and prickles covered his skin. This was a trap.
Fiona seemed to sense the same thing at the exact moment.
She whirled around as a man came up behind her. The lass was quick to grab the dagger from her sleeve, but her attacker’s knife was longer, reaching to her belly, while she could not extend far enough. The tip of the arse’s blade brushed the fabric of her gown, but quick-thinking Fiona held her dagger at the man’s thumb. She’d cut off a finger if he tried to run her through. The odds didn’t seem to scare her, though, and she glowered at the man, as fierce as any warrior.
Brogan was making ready to jump the bastard when two men at the table with the whoreson he’d roughed up leapt from their places and immediately attacked, punching Fin in the gut and attempting to do the same to Brogan.
Rounding on the man, Brogan kicked him in the groin. The bloke fell to his knees, but he wasn’t done yet. Brandishing a knife toward Brogan, he tried to slice Brogan’s legs. Brogan grabbed an empty mug from the table and hit him over the head, knocking him out. Fin dispatched the second man at the same time. The rest of those in the traitor’s camp had backed up toward the walls, their hands held up in surrender.
Brogan faced the only man who still had a death wish, for he continued holding his knife at Fiona’s belly, eyes skittering around the room.
“Get away from my wife,” Brogan warned.
Fiona backed away slowly, but the man followed, confident that his weapon could do more damage. But then Fiona did something the outlaw had not expected. She tapped her dagger’s blade against the traitor’s, shoving it aside. The man narrowed his eyes, obviously having assumed she would just allow him his control. That was a laugh. If the man had known Fiona even a fraction better, he wouldn’t even have attempted that.
The man licked his lips nervously. “Ye think to sword fight with that puny dagger?”
“I think ye’re a fool,” Fiona said nonchalantly. “For ye do realize ye’re outmatched, aye? Even if ye were to dispatch me, the rest of my family would leap onto ye with their blades sinking into your flesh. This is a losing battle for ye no matter what. So I might as well have a wee bit of fun before ye kill me.”
“Ye’re no’ afraid to die,” the man said with a strange cock to his head as if surprised.
“I am no’ afraid of ye.” And she didn’t look it anymore either. Her face was placid, bored even, and she didn’t tremble a bit as she flicked his blade away again.
The man brandishing the knife finally figured out that he had little recourse but to drop his weapon and hold his hands up in the air, else he would die, there was no question.
As he did that, the dagger clattering to the floor, Fiona kicked it away. The door to the tavern flung open, and Keith and Sorley burst through, red-faced from exertion.
“We got them. We got the horses back.”
“Where are my friends?” asked the original traitor Brogan had fought with from his place on the floor, waking.
“Ye’ll no’ be seeing them for a long time,” said Sorley. “The lot of ye should’ve known better than to steal our horses. We dinna take kindly to thieves and especially no’ thieves of our dearly beloved horses.”
The man who’d held his knife to Fiona’s belly started to quake, his knees buckling as he fell and then turned, searching out Brogan as the leader of the pack.
“I swear ’twas no’ my idea. ’Twas his.” He pointed to the man still lying on the floor. “We were stealing the horses as a distraction, and then going to rob ye. Saw your coin purse looked mighty full. We’re hungry, and there’s nowhere for us to go. Our houses have all been burned out by dragoons. My fields destroyed. We have nothing left.” The poor sod sounded sincere, his eyes pleading for mercy.
As convincing as the man seemed, if Brogan thought he could trust this person to tell the truth when he had plotted to steal their horses and rob them of their coin purses, he’d be a fool. If they were so desperate, they could have asked for help, and considering how much the men had been imbibing in ale for days without being thrown out by the innkeeper, Brogan had his doubts about just how needy they were. Not to mention the bastard had threatened to kill Fiona.
How was Brogan to know whether to trust anyone with the entire country turning on its ear? Hell, his own father had turned against the Jacobites. If blood couldn’t instill trust, no one could.
He wished that Fiona would go upstairs, disappear like the phantom she was, but deep down he knew she wouldn’t. The lass was as invested in this fight as he was. Brogan scanned the rest of the tavern, taking in the owner, his wife, and the rest of the patrons. Which one of them was going to turn on them next? Was it cynical that he believed someone would?
So many in Scotland were going through hard times. Many had turned to crime and violence in order to survive. Brogan wasn’t naive enough to believe that wasn’t happening.
Which was also why he was looking at those left and wondering which one of them would try to make them victims again.
“Tie them up,” Brogan instructed his men, and his gaze fell on the tavern owner who was quietly seething in the corner. “Were ye in on this, man?”
“I knew nothing of it.”
“And yet the perpetrators were regulars of yours.”
“Aye, they were, but if I’d known what they were up to, I’d no’ have allowed them to remain.”
“Ye harbor thieves and criminals.” Brogan glanced at everyone else. “Which else of ye belong to this lot?”
Several shook their heads, hands held up in surrender.
“Ye willingly allowed these men to stay with potential victims.” Brogan moved slowly toward the tavern owner until he stood right in front of the man. He held out his palm. “I’ll be taking back the coin we gave ye for our stay, since your friends, and likely ye, thought it fine to rob us.”
* * *
Fiona stood at the base of the stairs watching the exchange. The air in the tavern had shifted from one menacing feeling to another, and still she felt danger tingling at the base of her spine. Was the innkeeper going to whip out a pistol and shoot Brogan for demanding the return of his coin? Given what happened, it seemed like a valid request.