by Tarah Scott
* * *
Hooves approached in the night. Despite knowing the watch would allow no one save Edwin to get near their camp, Victoria tensed. Edwin broke from the trees and she glanced across the fire at Liam and Thomas when he came to a halt a few feet from them. She stood as Edwin dismounted.
“They agreed to ask Robertson for a meeting,” he said.
One of his men approached, but Edwin waved him off, flipping up the stirrup on his saddle to begin unbuckling the cinch himself.
“What of my lord?” Victoria asked.
“They would reveal nothing of where
MacPherson is.”
Edwin pulled the saddle from his horse. He handed the saddle to the man who still stood nearby, then ran the palm of his hand along his horse’s neck and down its back.
Victoria exhaled. “We are no closer than we were this morning.”
“Calm yourself.” Edwin gave a final caress to his horse and tossed the reins to another man awaiting his command. “We expected no less.”
“He is right,” Thomas said. “They are not about to trust anyone so easily, especially an Englishman.”
Thomas looked to Edwin. “You understand.” Edwin angled his head in acknowledgment.
“And,” Thomas added, “it is not important they trust him, only that they think he is fool enough to meet them with naught but his own forces. The messengers will already have reported that the
English lord rides with only fifty men.”
“You are sure they are so confident?” Victoria said.
“If they were not,” Liam interjected, “they would not have taken Iain to begin with.”
“What do they require of us now?” she asked.
“I was instructed to come to the same place tomorrow. If Robertson is agreeable, he will be there.
If not…” Edwin shrugged.
“Did it seem they believed you wished to ransom him?”
Edwin strode to the fire. “The men I met with were curious.” He lowered himself to the ground.
“Your men will fight,” Victoria said. “You promised.”
“Aye,” he said. “Nothing has changed.” He hadn’t looked at her for confirmation, yet
Victoria knew he was reminding her of their bargain.
* * *
Morning grew late before Edwin’s men were given the order to break camp. Victoria sat astride her gelding watching Thomas and Edwin as they spoke just out of earshot. Liam drew his horse up alongside her, yet she kept her attention on the two men ahead of her.
“I do not intend to stand around and wait while my daughter-in-law rides into battle,” he said under his breath.
“Just as I do not intend to leave your son in the hands of those animals,” Victoria said.
“You are not leaving him there.”
“It is my deeds that must be undone.”
Leather creaked as Liam shifted in the saddle.
“What do you mean?”
“Jillian.”
He frowned. “It is not your fault what they did to the lass.”
“Had I not taken her to Fauldun Castle, Iain would not now be at the mercy of David Robertson.”
“You cannot believe he would have had you leave the lass?”
She shook her head. “He was furious. It would seem he knew better than I.”
“I do not think you mean that.” Liam’s voice softened. “’Tis not in you to have left her there.”
“Nay?” She regarded him with a callous eye.
“Mayhap there are some things better left alone.”
Liam regarded her in silence for a moment before saying, “Like you and Iain for example?”
Victoria yanked on the reins of her horse, wheeling away from him.
Two hours later they parted company. Although Victoria hung back from Edwin, Liam’s voice could be heard above the noise as orders were given and Highlanders separated from English.
“If one hair on her head is harmed, you will be looking over your shoulder at me, Sassenach.” Liam wheeled his horse around. In the next instant, he was beside Victoria. “You remember what I said, lass.” With that, he spurred his stallion to the Highlander side.
Thomas nudged his horse up alongside her. “You will also remember what I said?” Victoria nodded.
“Oh, and, my lady,” he said, a cool smile on his face, “do not keep any secrets in the future.” A jolt went through her.
“Liam may have been surprised when you announced you would be going with the earl, but I was not.”
“It was a logical course of action,” she replied.
“Mayhap. But your perception of logic may not coincide with your husband’s. It is dangerous to keep secrets.”
Victoria fixed a hard stare on him. “Indeed, sir, you know well enough the pitfalls of hiding something, do you not?”
A flicker of surprise flashed across his face, then was gone. “Iain is not my husband,” he replied, a fine edge in his voice. “Our forces will be some ways behind, but someone will always be close at hand. If you need anything, you know what to do.”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Good. Our lives are in your hands.” She blinked, and he gave her a familiar smile. “If anything happens to you, it will not only be Liam who will seek recompense, and Edwin will not be the only one to pay. Iain is a fair man, but he is also a hard man.” With a final look, Thomas was gone.
* * *
When the sun began its descent into the west, Victoria started to worry in earnest. “What can be wrong?” she demanded of Edwin.
He looked up from where he sat on the ground.
“It is no more than a ploy, Victoria.”
“You are sure?”
“An educated guess.” He glanced at the sun and said what she was thinking. “I do not think you wish to entertain any other theory.”
She was saved from a reply when one of his men appeared on horseback. Edwin stood.
“There are two men approaching from the north,” the man said.
“Good.” Edwin strode to where she stood. “Remember, if you act anything but the frightened and obedient female, the game is up.”
“Aye.”
“And please, whatever spirit possesses you, keep quiet.”
She started to open her mouth, but Edwin grasped her by the shoulders. “No matter what, keep silent. If you voice a single opinion, ask any question, it could mean the end of us all.” He released her, then, to her surprise, added as he pushed her aside, “No matter how many of your husband’s kinsmen prowl nearby.”
Edwin motioned for the men to place themselves between him and Victoria. He stepped forward in readiness for the strangers who entered their company. Victoria recognized the lead man as David Robertson and lowered her gaze.
“What have we here?” David asked in an exaggerated accent.
Edwin widened his stance, and Victoria recognized the shift in his manner from calculated to bored as he waited for David to finish his perusal of the group.
“I see you took back what was yours,” David said.
Victoria looked up to find him staring at her. Their eyes met, and her cheeks burned as his gaze traveled in languid motion down her body.
“You have finished your business,” he went on, giving Victoria a final study before turning to Edwin.
“What do you want with me?” “Not quite finished,” Edwin replied.
David swung his leg over his horse’s croup and stepped down. “You have what you came for, is that not enough?”
“Would it be for you?”
Robertson laughed. “Nay, I suppose not. But I do not see how that concerns me.”
“Gold is always a man’s business.”
Edwin’s tone was such that Victoria wondered if he cared at all about finding Iain. Mayhap that was closer to the truth than he had let on.
David’s expression turned speculative. “What has gold to do with it?”
“Last I heard, it was still the best form
of payment.”
Edwin reached for the pouch of gold one of his men held out for him. The money filled his hand for no more than an instant before a flick of his wrist sent the small pouch through the air. David caught it with one hand, regarded Edwin for a moment, then pulled the string and emptied the contents into his hand.
He turned a shrewd gaze on Edwin. “Fair amount of gold for one man’s life.”
“Too much?” Edwin asked.
David shoved the gold back into the pouch.
“What makes you think I need this?” Edwin raised a brow.
“What do you want?” Robertson demanded.
“I am certain that is obvious.”
Another toss, and the pouch flew through the air and was caught in the greedy hand of a Robertson warrior. David nodded. “You want the same thing I do.”
“We have a bargain, then?” Edwin asked when David stepped into his saddle.
“I will have to think on that one.”
Victoria gave a little cry when it appeared David would leave, but she was stayed from further action by Edwin’s warning glance.
“Is something bothering the lass?” David asked.
“She fears MacPherson will come for her,” Edwin answered so smoothly Victoria realized Edwin knew it to be the truth. “But I have assured her she need not worry on that account.”
“Aye,” David said. “She need never worry again.”
* * *
Victoria rode in the darkness surrounded by Edwin’s men, but felt little comfort by that fact considering they were surrounded by Robertson warriors. Though it seemed eons, she knew they had ridden no more than two hours. The clouds parted and moonlight lit the stark hills. Edwin looked her way, and the warning his eyes held squelched any desire to look over her shoulder for signs of those who followed.
They crested a barren hill where before them lay a modest village. As they rode through the streets, not a single light flickered to life in response to the noise of riders in the dead of night. The band wound down a side street and stopped in front of an insignificant cottage. David dismounted and was joined by Edwin.
A man approached her horse. He clamped strong hands around her waist and pulled her from her mount She braced her feet for meeting solid ground, but he threw her over his shoulder and, an instant
later, tossed her into the darkness of the cottage. The door slammed shut behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
David Robertson had a penchant for eyes. Iain peered through the slit of the eye not yet swollen shut. He kept his gaze fixed on the shadowy progress of a rat making a stealthy approach along the wall toward where he sat on the dirt floor. Iain’s jaw worked in tandem with the brutal kick that sent the rat flying backward with a squeal. Eight of the rodents lay dead. One more would bring him nearer the dozen he aimed for before the night was finished.
“Cowards,” he muttered. “No true Highlander uses such methods of torture.”
Iain canted his head, his attention centered on sounds outside his prison. “Well now, come back to replenish the hungry beasties, eh?”
He squinted against the light of a torch that flooded his cell, silhouetting the figure that entered the room. Before Iain could identify the intruder, the door closed and he found himself once again in darkness, but this time, not alone.
“So, you are still among the living.”
Iain sprang to his feet, the heavy chain that shackled his leg to the wall rattling.
“Hockley,” he said in a harsh whisper.
Memory of Victoria’s limp body as she fell, dying, into his arms, sprang to life. Had he been wrong in believing she had ridden back to the castle before David captured him? Or was Hockley’s presence proof he hadn’t escaped the past after all? Was this moment a dream as the other had been? Had Victoria’s death been a dream? Iain gave his head a hard shake and ran a palm along the bridge of his nose and forehead. His head swam, but he squinted in the earl’s direction.
“You would do well to kill me for I will come for her.” Only this time, your bloody sword will not touch her.
Iain slowly bent and reached for the chain shackling his foot to the wall. “Did she tell you she carries my child?” Silence followed, and Iain prayed Hockley believed the fabrication. “Aye.” Iain winced when the chain clinked as he carefully lifted it from the floor. “My child.” The earl shifted, but still, no sound of steel leaving the scabbard. “Do you think she will give up the babe?” Iain took several stealthy steps backward, stopping when shoulders touched the wall.
Hockley broke the silence. “When I return, be ready.”
“Aye,” Iain agreed. “I will be ready.”
“If you wish to live, do as you are told.” Edwin’s voice hardened.
“I will not let her go,” Iain said.
“Beware, MacPherson,” Edwin said, his tone blunt, “no man finds revenge beyond the grave.” Iain’s heart pounded. So, too, would I have said before I awoke in that meadow.
* * *
Shouts shattered the silence of night. Iain sprang up from the floor, heart pounding at the faint but unmistakable sound of swords clashing. Gathering the chain at his side, he crouched.
Moments later, the door eased open. Pale moonlight shone outside, and Iain’s eyes shifted in painful motion from the huge Robertson warrior standing in the doorway to the men darting between cottages across the way. Sword before him, the warrior approached. Iain tightened his grip on the chain.
The man stopped just out of reach of Iain’s chain.
“Iain MacPherson?” Iain remained quiet.
“It will not do either of us any good if you brain me with that chain.” He cocked his head so that moonlight revealed the face of a young man, eighteen, maybe nineteen.
Iain rose to his feet. The chain rattled as he let it fall full length at his side.
“You want me to release you?” the young man asked.
“How do you plan on accomplishing that?” Iain asked. “Even that sword of yours will not cut this iron.” He tensed when the man shifted, turning the blade in front of him.
“I had not thought of that. If I swung it wide enough I might be able to do it.”
Iain swung the chain so that it jangled. “I would not swing that sword in my direction, lad, if you want to stay in one piece.”
The young man sheathed his sword, then reached into his boot and produced a dirk. “I did not plan on
using my sword, but my hands.”
Iain observed massive hands as the young man extended the dirk, hilt first, to Iain. Iain took the blade.
“I believe you know my sister,” the boy said, kneeling before him. “Jillian.”
Iain started. “Bran Robertson?”
“Aye.” Bran gripped the chain with both hands and pulled. A link shuddered open.
“Christ,” Iain murmured.
Bran grunted and dropped the chain.
Iain gave his leg a shake, rattling the chain still attached to the shackle. “No way to rid me of this?”
Bran shook his head. “Even I cannot break the steel of a shackle. But do not worry.” He stood. “Your man is waiting close by. By the time we reach him, the battle will be nigh over and we will be able to better deal with the shackle.” Bran pulled out the large battle-axe tucked into his belt. “Take this.” He handed the axe to Iain.
Iain grasped the handle. Weight of the weapon in his hand sent a surge of strength through him. He strode to the door and examined the blade of the dirk in the moonlight. “Nearly razor sharp, but,” Iain ran the blade across the head of the axe, “I cannot chance any burrs.” He brought the dirk down in a final quick stroke along the axe head. “Bran, do you have a strong stomach?”
“Aye,” the boy answered.
Iain looked at him. “And a steady hand?”
“Of course,” he replied, his voice laced with the indignation of youth.
“Come here, lad.”
Bran crossed to his side and halted.
&nbs
p; “You see this swollen eyelid?” Iain pointed to his eye with the tip of the dirk.
The young warrior nodded.
Iain tucked the axe into his belt. “I need the sight of this eye. Here,” he pulled his eyelid taut, “just beneath the hair of my brow. Slice the swollen lid to allow blood flow.” Iain thrust the dirk into his hand.
Bran hesitated, then reached up, hands shaking.
Iain grasped his hand. “Easy now. A single misstep and you cut my eyeball.”
Bran took a breath and, with one swift movement, slit the eyelid.
Iain staunched the flow of blood with the edge of his sash. “Have you any black powder to seal the wound?” he asked.
“Nay,” Bran replied, “but I have allium.”
“Fine.”
“What awaits us out there?” Iain asked as Bran dug through his pouch.
Bran snorted. “A wily bunch of dogs. We estimated thirty, but ’tis more like forty.” His voice hardened. “How they managed such a force William will be wanting to know.” “MacPhersons?”
“Thirty,” Bran said, pulling out the bag of allium.
“Uneven odds,” Iain said.
“Nay,” Bran said, “there are also thirty Frasers and thirty Englishmen.”
“Englishmen—Hockley,” Iain rasped. “Since when are they friends?”
“I would imagine since your wife enlisted their help.”
Christ, what sort of pact did Victoria make to enlist the aid of that bastard? “I will strangle her with my bare hands.”
Bran poured the allium on Iain’s eyelid. Iain packed it down, halting the flow of blood almost immediately. Another instant, and he blinked the swollen eye.
“Where are we to meet Thomas?”
“A cottage on the east side of the village. You are on the outskirts of the village. Strange,” Bran said, “you would think they would keep you under closer guard.”
“Arrogance,” Iain replied. He peered cautiously out the door and found the lane their cottage occupied deserted. “We had best get there.”
Iain reached for his axe as Bran unsheathed his sword, and together they stepped outside. They hurried across the open lane and stopped at the cottage Iain had seen the men hurrying past earlier.