Warlord’s Prize
Highlander’s Honor ~ Book 3
Avery Maitland
Copyright © 2019 by FireHive Media
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
More from Avery Maitland
Prologue
“I’ll not have ye in harm’s way. Ye’re safe here.”
Cat gripped the reins tighter and gritted her teeth. She might have been safer at Narris. But there was only one way to be sure that her sister would be rescued safely, and that wouldn’t happen if she was waiting by the window for her husband to return home empty handed.
Lachlann had promised to ride south to put down the bastard who had taken Morag and bear her to Inveraray… But Cat could not bear the thought of not being there when her sister was rescued, and, no matter how hard she tried, she could not rid herself of the need to plunge her knife into Manus Camran’s throat for what he had done.
Soon after she had ridden out of the keep, dark gray clouds had gathered and she had scowled up at them as rain began to fall upon the dry road. She pushed her mount faster, and pulled up the hood of her cloak. The rain was light, but the shadow of the trees set a chill over her shoulders. The fear of being lost so far from anything she knew haunted the edge of her mind and only added to the prickling in her spine.
The maids that had been assigned to have a care for her while Lachlann was gone would have come into her chamber with washing water and a meal by now… She smiled just a little to imagine the uproar as they searched Narris’ stone corridors for any sign of their mistress.
Cat leaned forward, set her heels down in the stirrups, and tightened her grip on the reins. She would have to move quickly—Lachlann and his men were ahead of her, and even if the stable boys had kept their promises, it was likely that the captain of the guards who had been left behind to guard Narris would send some of his men in search of her. Lachlann would be riding hard, and she would have to catch up.
The forest closed around her and she tried to focus on the road that lay ahead.
South.
To Morag.
And to take her revenge.
Chapter One
The name of Manus Camran had been on too many lips for Lachlann to ignore the fact that the unrest he represented had been easily spread. He had not expected it to travel as far north as Narris, but no matter how sure he was of his men’s loyalty, they would have to be cautious.
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and led his men onward through the trees. He had been reluctant to leave Narris, and his wife, but whether he liked to admit it or not, putting down this rebellion was his duty to Nathan MacArthur.
“Where d’we go?”
The question was more of a growl than anything and Lachlann gritted his teeth. “South,” he replied.
“As y’said hours ago.”
The riders around him were grim. Summer was edging closer, but the rain, however light it was, had put them all in sour moods.
“What would y’have me say?” he barked.
“Something other than south!” someone called out.
The men laughed and Lachlann shook his head and chuckled with them. “Aye.”
Silence descended on them, it was still early in the day, but it was too soon to stop for food, though he would have been glad of a chance to get out of the saddle.
“A fire.”
The harsh whisper cut through the relative quiet murmur of conversation. They had slowed their pace through the forest to give their horses a chance to rest and Lachlann cursed himself for agreeing to take a shorter road. If they had avoided the forest road their party would have come upon one of his father’s oldest allies, and they would have been able to stop for food and drink and a warm keep instead of trudging through the darkness of the trees.
“Are y’sure?” someone whispered, “I cannae smell anythin’.”
But Lachlann could. A faint tang of green wood in the air. The smoke would be thick, and whoever had lit it would be swearing over a faltering flame.
“Aye,” he said softly. “It’s there.”
Graham Eliott nodded sharply and gestured to the two men beside him. They dismounted quickly and disappeared into the brush. The big man shifted in his saddle and Lachlann bent his head to focus on the sounds of the forest. The smell of smoke wasn’t a good sign. These woods were part of his lands, and no one should have business there that he was not aware of.
“Poachers most like,” Eliott grunted.
Lachlann shook his head. “Poachers know better.”
One of the men chuckled, but he quieted as Lachlann glared in his direction. Eliott’s men were taking their time, and the horses stamped impatiently.
Lachlann was about to send more men after the scouts when the underbrush parted and Eliott’s men game through the trees with grim expressions on their faces.
“Well?”
“Ten men, maybe more we couldnae see,” one of them replied.
Eliott’s face was red. “Who are they?”
The man shrugged. “Couldnae say.”
“They’re rough, looks as though they’ve been on the road for days.”
Lachlann dismounted and threw the reins to Eliott who caught them with some surprise. “Horses?” he asked.
The man shook his head. “None that I could see.”
“Weapons?”
“Aye,” the second man said. “Stolen steel, some longbows—”
“Did y’recognize any of them,” Eliott cut in.
Both men shook their heads and Lachlann did not know whether he was reassured. If they were loyal to the Mackays, they would have no business in these woods.
Lachlann pulled his sword from his saddle and held the scabbard tightly. “Take me to them,” he said.
Four of his men dismounted and concealed their weapons under their cloaks. It was impossible to hide their affiliation, but Lachlann needed to find out where they were going.
The two men nodded and Eliott waved them off with a grunt. Lachlann followed them through the underbrush and into the trees. His men spread out behind them to minimize the noise as they moved through the forest, following the smell of smoke.
Voices and muffled laughter floated through the air and Lachlann’s shoulders tensed. The man in front of him paused, and Lachlann could see the outline of men sitting and standing around a fire through the branches that obscured them from view. But Lachlann did not want to wait, he pushed past Eliott’s man and stepped into the clearing.
The group of men leapt to their feet in an instant and Lachlann’s grip tightened on his sword.
“Well met, friend” one of them called out. He was not the leader, that man had stayed seated by the fire. A joint of venison had been suspended over the fire and a quick glance around the clearing and the carcass of the deer that had been killed to provide their meal told him that these men were not poachers. The animal had been killed cleanly enough, but had been butchered b
adly with weapons not suited for the task.
These men were warriors.
“What business d’ye have here?” the man at the fire growled.
“Travelers,” Lachlann replied. “On our way south. Might we share the spoils of your hunt? Ye’ve been fortunate today.”
The men around the fire shifted uncomfortably and looked to each other, suspicious of the new arrivals. Eight men. Not the ten the scout had mentioned… they would have to be on their guard.
The leader spat into the grass and stood up from his seat by the fire. “We havenae anythin’ tae spare,” he said softly. Lachlann glanced at the deer carcass briefly but did not argue.
“Headin’ south?” the man asked.
Lachlann nodded and shifted his stance slightly as the man approached. He was dirty from travel, and there were bloodstains on his tunic. “Aye.”
The man spat again and Lachlann gritted his teeth. “South is a very general direction, friend. Where are y’goin’?”
Lachlann smiled grimly. “Same place as you,” he said. It was worth the gamble. He didn’t recognize any of these men, or the colors they wore. Their dark tartan was splashed with mud, and it was impossible to know where their allegiance lay.
“More men for Manus!” one of the others called out. Lachlann glanced over, but the man who had shouted was pushed aside by one of his fellows, and their leader glared back at them over his shoulder with a deadly expression upon his face.
“I’ll hear it from you,” the man said.
Lachlann looked back at his men and then met the leader’s eyes. “Aye, we’re headin’ south to join Manus.”
“Where are y’comin’ from?”
“North of Narris,” he replied. “Had to take the long road to get past that Mackay bastard’s lines.”
“Lachlann Mackay is loyal to Argyll,” the leader said. His hand moved slowly to his hip and his palm rested upon the hilt of his sword. One of his men snorted in surprise, and the leader glanced at him. “And yer men? They’ll follow ye tae Manus?”
“Aye,” Lachlann said.
“D’ye have horses?”
Lachlann shook his head. “No. On foot. Couldnae take horses for fear of bein’ caught.”
The man nodded, but Lachlann did not relax his guard. The other men around the fire had risen from their places and their hands were on their weapons.
“Y’can join us at the fire,” he said and turned to walk away, but then he paused. “Where are ye’re packs?” he asked.
“In the trees,” one of Lachlann’s men said quickly. “We didnae know—”
“Aye,” the man interrupted him. “Trust. A precious thing, especially now. We’re still on Mackay lands here…”
Lachlann nodded tersely. This was taking too long, and he had not planned on having to keep up an extended act to find out the truth behind these men’s intentions and movements. They were on the road to Manus—but where they were going was still a mystery.
The leader nodded sharply at his men, and two of them ran through the clearing toward the forest in the direction Lachlann and his men had come from. “They’ll see tae yer packs,” the leader said and Lachlann caught a hint of a smug smile upon his face.
It would take only a moment for his men to discover that there were no packs hidden in the underbrush.
“We’ve had no word from our scouts,” Lachlann said quickly. “Manus seems to have disappeared from sight. Can ye give us some direction? South, as ye said, is a very general route…”
The leader chuckled and clapped Lachlann on the back with a broad hand just as a shout came up from the two men who had plunged into the trees at the edge of the clearing. His eyes narrowed and his hand was heavy on Lachlann’s shoulder. “I’ll not be givin’ away Manus’ position tae the likes of you,” he said darkly.
Lachlann was prepared to move, and he turned away from the man to draw his sword to parry the blow that he knew was coming. His men leapt into action, and a roar from the direction of the fire as the other men joined the fray.
The ring of swords echoed in the clearing and Lachlann knocked aside another wild stab from the leader with his scabbard before he drew his sword and faced his attacker.
“I know yer face, Lachlann Mackay,” the man growled. “If you think tae challenge Manus Camran, ye’ll find yerself outmatched.”
“What d’ye care for Manus’ complaints?”
The man let out a cry and swung his sword at Lachlann’s head. He dodged easily and pushed the man aside. All around him, his men fought with sword and fists. It was impossible to tell who was winning, and Lachlann did not dare take his eyes off the man in front of him.
“It doesnae matter,” he said. “Argyll will be the one to bear the brunt of his anger. Y’should join us, take some of those southern spoils for yerself. But ye’ve got yerself a southern wife now—”
Lachlann charged in and struck with as much force as he could muster, but the man blocked his attack and they crashed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, their blades crossed.
“The men say ye’re Agryll’s dog now,” the leader chuckled. “He bought you with a pretty piece of horseflesh. Has marriage made ye soft?”
Lachlann let out a roar and punched the man squarely in the face. The crunch of his nose breaking under his fist was a satisfying sound, and the leader of the rebel band staggered back, holding his nose as blood poured down his face.
More shouts echoed through the trees, and the thundering of hooves as the men Lachlann had left on the road crashed through the underbrush and burst into the clearing with their swords drawn.
They cut down the rebels with quick strokes, and Lachlann smiled as his opponent raced toward him with his sword drawn and his face stained with dark blood. He evaded the wild charge easily and kicked the man’s feet out from under him. The leader tumbled into the grass and Lachlann leapt upon him and knocked the sword from his hand before driving the pommel of his sword into the man’s head, knocking him senseless.
Lachlann’s men cheered as they put down the last of the rebels and Lachlann planted his foot between the shoulderblades of their leader as he sheathed his sword and pulled a knife from his belt. He reached down and took hold of the man’s hair. The leader groaned and rose to his knees and Lachlann held his knife against the man’s throat.
Graham Eliott jumped down from his horse and kicked one of the men who lay groaning on the ground. “Bastards!” he spat. “What of this one?”
“Where is Manus hiding?” Lachlann hissed in the man’s ear. “Where is his rat hole?”
The man winced and tried to pull away, but Lachlann held him tightly. Eliott’s grin was deadly and he placed another well-aimed kick into the rebel leader’s gut.
The man grunted and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “Have ye killed all my men?”
“The ones who were not quick enough to rabbit away into the woods,” Eliott grunted. He looked toward the edge of the forest where three of his men dragged their quarry into the clearing and chuckled. “But my men know how to set snares for such pests.”
“All of your men lie dead and bloodied in the grass,” Lachlann said. “You have no one to ride with you to Manus’ side. Where is he hiding. What shithole allows him to squat behind their walls.”
Lachlann’s blade pressed against the man’s throat, and a thin line of blood snaked down his neck and disappeared beneath the edge of his tunic. The rebel’s shoulders slumped. “Oban,” he said. “Manus is in Oban.”
Lachlann exchanged a look with Graham Eliott. His spies had not been certain of their information, but now they had confirmed it.
The rebel chuckled and spat out another mouthful of blood. “I hope you have more men in the forest, Lachlann Mackay. You will need them to ride against Manus Camran.”
“He talks too much,” Eliott grunted.
“Aye,” Lachlann agreed.
“Ye cannae let him live. He’ll go straight tae Manus.”
The rebel chuckled a
gain, a wet and bitter sound. “I will. Kill me and let me die a martyr to a better cause than what you go tae fight.”
Eliott grabbed the man’s chin and looked into his face. “I dinnae know ye, and no one will mourn yer corpse. There willnae be any martyrin’ in yer death.” Quick enough that Lachlann did not have time to react, Eliott pulled the knife from Lachlann’s hand and plunged it between the man’s ribs in a quick motion.
The rebel stiffened, choked, and lurched forward. Eliott stepped out of the way as he fell face-first into the grass and law still. Eliott bent to wipe the knife on the dead man’s tunic and handed it back to Lachlann. “On to Oban,” he said.
Lachlann took the knife and shoved it back into its sheath.
“Aye. To Oban.”
Chapter Two
The closeness of the trees made Cat nervous. It was darker, quieter, but at the same time it was overpoweringly loud. Every noise set her teeth on edge, and her horse seemed to sense the change in her mood.
Cat stroked the mare’s neck absently, but she was focused on the sounds of the forest. The birds, the horse’s hooves upon the forest road… it all echoed strangely in her ears.
All at once, the horse shied and lurched to the left, almost throwing Cat from the saddle.
“Whoa, what’s the matter wi’ye?”
Cat spoke soothingly to the horse, but the mare would not quiet. She slid down from the saddle and took hold of the reins. “Come now,” she said. “What is it?”
The mare’s eyes rolled, and she reared up, but Cat held her firmly. She knew horses, and Rose, well enough to know that something was very wrong…
She calmed the horse as best she could and then tied the reins to a branch of a nearby tree. There was no sense in getting back into the saddle while the horse was acting so strangely.
A Warlord's Prize: A Medieval Highland Romance (Highlander's Honor Book 3) Page 1