He opened the door and ran out into the hall, closing the door behind him. Where is the front door? He shouted in his head. It wasn’t completely dark in the halls. A quarter of the torches along the walls were lit. His eyes searched until he finally found the doors. He ran to them while the lass continued to scream, alerting the servants and, likely, the garrison.
He opened the doors to his companions and their swords. “Only kill if ye must,” Tristan told them, not because he was suddenly possessed of mercy, but because he believed Richard Callanach had little to do with any of this, except for mayhap being the governor who’d paid Tristan to kill him. “No women. No children.”
Harper and Jones agreed and spread through the manor house like the plague that was ravaging Europe. The governor’s men were running from the attached garrison to fight.
Tristan drew his claymore and prepared himself. There were at least thirty men. Ten men for him, Jones, and Harper each. It shouldn’t be impossible. He’d seen Jones fight and Jones admired Harper, so they should be fine.
There was no point in trying to know which man was Richard Callanach, if he was even here.
Tristan lifted his claymore to take his first man down.
“Stop!” came a thunderous voice at the top of the stairs. “Who is your leader?”
“I am,” Tristan called out by habit while slicing his blade across a man’s hairy throat. The man disobeyed his lord and had come at Tristan with his blade out. If there was one, there might be others. Tristan held his sword ready for the next man.
“If I am disobeyed again, there will be dire consequences,” the governor roared.
Tristan hoped Captain Harper stood with him.
“I call off my men,” the older man cried out. “Tell me why you are attacking my home in the darkness of night!”
It wasn’t good that he sounded so sincere about knowing nothing.
Tristan saw the lass from the bed peeking down the stairs at the crowded foyer. She started to scream again but the governor hurried to her and put his arms around her. “There now. There now. No one else is fighting.”
“Where is the earl, Callanach?” the captain demanded.
“What earl?” The governor narrowed his eyes in the dimly lit hall. “Captain Harper?”
Tristan’s doubts about Richard Callanach…and about Thomas began to grow. Whose side was de Caleone on?
“The Earl of Dumfries,” Jones blurted out, “your brother, whom you took whilst he was taking a piss tonight.”
The governor scrunched up his face and looked sincerely astonished. “What on earth are you talking about? Did someone kidnap Thomas?” He didn’t look or sound troubled.
“Aye, someone kidnapped him,” said Tristan. “So tell us where he is, and we might let ye live.”
“I was asleep!” the governor shouted. “Do I look like I was out of bed absconding my brother?”
Tristan didn’t blame him for shouting. Even as his threat left his own lips, Tristan’s didn’t believe it. Why should the governor? Tristan’s threat didn’t hold up because he believed this man. He hadn’t been the one who’d taken the earl.
“We know about your association with the killer—” Jones again, but this time the governor held up his hand to cut him off.
“I confess to hiring MacPherson to…to…kill my brother—”
Tristan stared at him. Aye, he thought so. The earl’s brother was the man who’d paid four hundred pounds to have the earl killed. Why?
“But you must understand,” the governor continued. “Thomas is a murderous madman. He had his servant burn down his house to try to kill his wife. The plan went awry though, and poor Rose was the only one burned in Neill’s blaze. Six years later, he enlisted Neill’s help to kill his wife again. This time, he succeeded.”
Aye, Tristan thought, this explanation made more sense than the others. Had Neill been trying to tell them?
“How could you, Uncle Richard?”
They all turned at the sound of Rose’s voice coming from the doorway.
When he saw her, her uncle turned pale white for a moment and then his eyes filled up with tears. “You lived. I’m so happy that you lived, Niece.”
“Rose!” the girl from the bed shouted with joy in her voice.
Rose entered the manor house like royalty, in her breeches and dirty léine. Her dark hair tumbled loose over her shoulder, with a rebellious lock falling over her eye.
Her uncle’s gaze returned to Tristan. “Who are you?”
“I’m Tristan MacPherson.”
The full weight of comprehension rattled the governor’s knees and he had to back up and sit on a step with his daughter.
“So,” he finally managed, “you saved the life of the daughter of the man I sent you to kill.”
Tristan nodded. “I have taken her as my wife.” Just saying it made him want to go to her and hold her, shield her ears from hearing anything more.
Her uncle smiled or sneered. It was difficult to tell with the light farther above him now that he was sitting. “My brother will never allow it.”
“He already knows and gave his blessin’,” Tristan let him know.
“He will kill you.” The governor set his gaze on Rose. “You are a fool to believe anything else.”
She said nothing. She didn’t argue with him but looked down at her dirty boots.
“You know ’tis true, Niece.”
“Leave her be,” Tristan warned. There was nothing worse than this truth for her. Tristan was filled with empathy for her. Waves of it for her. Perhaps all the compassion and empathy he had built up over the years was coming out now. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to learn her father was a madman who had his wife killed and his house set on fire. Her father was guilty. Guilty of it all. Tristan believed it. It all rang true, but even if it wasn’t, it was devastating for Rose to hear.
“Why should I believe a word you say?” she demanded. “You sent a killer after my father.”
“Aye, to get you away from him. I knew he would
