With a loud splintering sound, the door gave way and flew inwards, smacking into the wall on the other side as Balfour rushed in, David on his heels.The two occupants of the room jerked round to look at the invaders, the flash of shock across each face for a moment identical. There was half an instant of perfect stillness when David’s mind struggled to take in the picture before him. It was all wrong. Euan was no victim here. He was standing tall and aiming a pistol at the other man, who was kneeling some distance away. The kneeling man—as large and powerfully built as Balfour—wore only a nightshirt, his hands interlaced behind his head. There was a cut at his temple that oozed blood and the early bloom of several bruises on his face.David’s gaze shifted to Euan. He looked almost as bad as he had a few hours ago as he’d stood at David’s door. His coat was filthy from sleeping on the ground, his face shadowed with weariness, but something held him upright—the same thing that made his eyes burn with conviction as he considered David and Balfour.“Murdo—”This was from the captive.
