Highland Barbarian Part 27

The crowd murmured its approval.

"Aye," said the ruddy-cheeked man.

"And from what I've heard, something will be done."

"What have you heard, man?"

"Gareth MacKenzie is planning to lead an army against the man who would murder even children in his l.u.s.t for power."

"The filthy, murdering coward," someone in the crowd spat.

"Aye. Brice Campbell must be stopped before he manages to kill the entire MacAlpin clan."

At that the shabby old man stopped in his tracks. Then, keeping his head bowed, he plodded slowly along with the others. When they reached the manor house he studied the faces of the crowd, nodding occasionally when his gaze met that of someone familiar, partially hidden beneath similarly shabby attire.

As they pa.s.sed the simple wooden casket, the old man paused to study the lad who was being mourned. Young William, grandson of Duncan and Mary MacAlpin, dead at the tender age of ten and five. On either side of the casket stood the parents and grandparents, as well as the three pretty granddaughters who were openly sobbing.

Beside them were two young la.s.ses who stood together, heads high, hands linked. The old man paused to study them carefully. Though their coloring was distinctly different, he knew them to be sisters.

The younger sisters of Meredith MacAlpin.

The older of the two, with coal-black hair and eyes more violet than blue, stared above the crowd, drawing into herself to keep from feeling the pain. The other, with hair the color of the sun, eagerly scanned the faces in the crowd as though expecting at any moment to see the one she sought.

Meredith, the old man thought, noting the intensity of the gaze. The younger one had not yet accepted what the older one knew to be fact: that Meredith was not free to return to them in their time of need.

The old man's eyes narrowed as he noted Gareth MacKenzie standing just behind the two la.s.ses. Around him were a dozen or more of his most trusted men, all of them bearing arms.

As always, Gareth set himself up in a position of importance and made certain that the crowd of mourners heard every lurid detail of the lad's murder.

""Twas Brice Campbell," he said loudly.

"And at least two dozen of his cowardly men. I saw and heard everything. They asked the lad's name, then began beating him with their fists."

"Dear G.o.d, stop." Duncan dropped an arm about his wife's shoulders as she started to cry.

"When was this?" the shabbily dressed old man asked in a voice that quavered with age.

"On the day before last," Gareth said.

"I leaped from my horse and tried to go to the lad's aid, but one of the cowards plunged his dirk into my arm while another held me down and took my knife."

'"Twas Gareth's weapon they used on my William,"

Duncan said through trembling lips.

"It was found, caked with dried blood, beside his body."

Gareth continued his story, eager to feed the crowd's appet.i.te for gossip.

"When the lad was no more than a b.l.o.o.d.y heap, they let me go."

"Odd they did not kill you as well," the shabby old man said haltingly.

"Why would you suppose they let you live?"

Gareth shot a cold stare in the direction of the speaker, then shrugged off his comment as being unworthy of a response. The shabby old stranger was probably just another of the MacAlpin clan. Gareth's voice rose.

"I call on all men of goodwill, be they MacKenzie or MacAlpin clan. It is time to show the Highland Barbarian, Brice Campbell, that he can no longer murder our young and helpless and then hide in the forests yonder. He captured your leader, Meredith MacAlpin, and holds her captive in his Highland fortress. Who knows what unspeakable things are being done to her this very day."

Out of the corner of his eye the old man saw the two la.s.ses tighten their grips on each other's hands. Neither made a sound. Neither showed any sign of emotion, except for a tightening of their mouths.

In the corner of the room a woman began sobbing.

Still other women gasped before turning into their men's arms and crying silently.

Gareth waited, judging the mood of the crowd. With a voice of triumph he shouted,

"And Brice Campbell has murdered another MacAlpin. What say you?"

Gareth looked around as a hush fell upon the crowd.

"Who will join me in putting an end to his reign of terror?"

For a moment there was only silence. Every man here was aware of the reputation of the man they called the Highland Barbarian. There were none eager to risk their lives at the end of his sword. Still, the sight of the young lad in the casket and his grieving family left them too outraged to dwell on the risk.

"With enough force we can storm Campbell's fortress and save the woman who was to wed my brother. With Meredith MacAlpin at my side, I vow to unite the Border clans and stand against any attack."

The room was rocked with shouts and calls as the men hurried forward to shake Gareth's hand and offer their arms.

"In the days to come," Gareth shouted above the din, "I will raise up an army of men. And we will ride to the Highlands and rid ourselves of this sc.u.m."

"Aye. Here's to the death of Brice Campbell." Fists were raised in a salute as the men, their blood hot for revenge, surged forward.

"And just to tempt you further," Gareth MacKenzie shouted,

"I will offer a price of one hundred pounds sterling to any man who brings me the body of Brice Camp- bell."

While the rooms of the manor house rocked with the fury of the crowd, the shabby old man nodded to several others before making his way slowly from the house. In the lane he continued hobbling until he came to a stand of trees. He glanced around, and seeing no one behind him, stepped into the shelter offered by the trees. Several hors.e.m.e.n greeted him. He pulled off the shabby cloak, and with an agility that belied his stooped appearance, pulled himself into the saddle.

"Well, Brice," one of the men said softly.

"What news have you?"

He nodded to the others who had accompanied him to the house. Once they reached the safety of the trees they also shed their shabby cloaks and pulled themselves onto their waiting horses.

Brice's tone was as grim as their faces.

"By all accounts I have lived up to the name these Borderers have given me." His eyes narrowed fractionally.

"I have just discovered that on the very day I was dancing with the queen, I was also here in the Lowlands murdering young William MacAlpin."