HIS HIGHLAND LOVE: His Highland Heart Series Book 2

by Blair, Willa

  Chapter 14

  Kenneth didn’t wait to watch Cat’s horse run away. Instead, he broke for the undergrowth, running with his mount in a different direction, then he swatted his and sent it running ahead while he changed directions again, making as much noise as he was able to in the process. He might be caught. The gallowglass might get his horse, or they might chase Cat’s and round hers up. But in none of those scenarios would they find Cat and harm her. He would see to that if it cost him a wound, his life, or both.

  He made it farther than he thought he might before they caught up with him. Three of the Irish warriors faced him, grinning. Right now, he couldn’t think about Cat. He had to survive.

  “Well, then, laddie,” the dark-haired one taunted. “Ya gave us a merry chase, but your fate was never in doubt, was it lads?” He glanced at his two red-headed companions as they moved in on Kenneth. He must be the leader of this merry little band. The other two looked enough alike to be brothers.

  “How did ye ken to chase me instead of rounding up the mounts?” Kenneth asked, backing away to give himself plenty of room to fight. The nearest red-headed man carried a halberd, which had probably been quite useful against Mar’s mounted cavalry at Harlaw. It gave him a longer reach than Kenneth could claim, but it was awkward to use in close quarters. Kenneth was confident of his abilities with a claymore and dirk. The attacker would try to use the reach of his weapon, but they would quickly come to close-quarters fighting, where Kenneth would get inside his defenses.

  The first man feinted, thrusting the halberd toward Kenneth.

  Kenneth leapt back and warned him off with a swing of his claymore, two-handed, that connected with the halberd’s steel with a clang. The shock ran up both his arms, but he didn’t care. As long as the men thought he needed both hands for his weapon, they’d underestimate his fighting ability.

  The second red-haired man moved in from the side with a dirk. That told Kenneth they were used to fighting paired—the man with the halberd to pull a knight from his mount, then the man with a sword or dirk to finish him off if the first man couldn’t get close enough to gut or behead his victim. They wanted to kill him, but he was not going to let them. Cat depended on him, and Sutherland, wherever he was, would not end up with her if Kenneth could help it.

  The dark-haired leader stood aside, watching, as the two moved in a macabre dance around Kenneth.

  He let it go on for a while, careful with these two and conscious the leader could ambush him at any moment. Their tactics never changed, only the direction they came from and the sequence of who attacked first. The halberd’s long pole soon sported deep cuts from Kenneth’s blade, which, though it looked undamaged, must have been dulled at Harlaw. It should have cut completely through the oak the first time Kenneth attacked. But if the man swung the halberd too hard, the pole might break apart in his hands, leaving him with nothing more than a wooden spear. If he moved quickly, he might mange to retrieve the battle axe with a long point on top before Kenneth gutted him. But he’d have to be quick.

  When the pair realized the battle wouldn’t immediately go their way, they backed off, but kept circling Kenneth. Tired of their hesitation, when the man with the dirk next moved closer, Kenneth finished him off, cutting his head cleanly from his shoulders, despite the dull edge to his claymore. The other red-head shrieked and charged. Kenneth spun to meet him and knocked the halberd from his hands. It tumbled a short distance and the pole broke when it slammed into a nearby tree.

  His opponent eyed it, but must have decided it was too much trouble to retrieve. He backed away. His gaze darted to the leader and back to Kenneth too quickly for Kenneth to move in on him. Then he pulled a dirk.

  “You could join us,” the leader taunted, drawing Kenneth’s attention. He pulled a short sword and brandished it.

  “There willna be an us to join,” Kenneth boasted as the other man’s gaze strayed again to the leader. Kenneth slashed his shoulder, taking him out the fight without sending him to hell the same way he’d send his partner. The man fell and lay moaning, gripping his wound as blood seeped through his fingers, then he passed out. Kenneth spared a moment’s thought that he should have killed him outright, but likely he’d bleed to death soon enough.

  The leader moved in for the kill, but too slowly. His skill was little better than his followers.

  Kenneth faced him. He had seen better tactics from the gallowglass men in France. “How did the three of ye survive Harlaw?” Kenneth asked, genuinely perplexed. “Did ye avoid the battle altogether? Did ye stay at the rear with the camp followers?” His taunts must have hit home.

  The leader growled and charged with a battle cry that did little to impress Kenneth, and did nothing to save the Irishman.

  Kenneth sidestepped and knocked the blade from his hand. It landed with a dull thud in the loam just out of the man’s reach. “If ye are wise, ye’ll take yer life and yer other man and go home,” Kenneth warned him. “For yer support of Domnhall, I’ll give ye that chance. Ye dinna need to end up like yer friend.”

  Instead, the man pulled a throwing knife and cocked back his arm.

  Kenneth flexed his knees, prepared to dodge the blade.

  Before the gallowglass could release it, Cat came out of the woods behind him and struck him over the head with a stout branch. He went down like a stone dropped from a tower.

  “Well done,” Kenneth congratulated her tightly as he moved to the man and checked to see if he still lived. He did, but he’d be out for a long time, judging by the blood streaming from the back of his head. He stepped clear and turned back to Cat. “But I told ye to stay put.” Now his battle lust was fading, anger replaced it. “Instead, ye disobeyed me and put yerself in danger.”

  Cat’s hands landed on her hips, a familiar gesture that boded ill. “So ye canna thank me for saving yer life?”

  “I wouldha finished him soon enough.” Kenneth had fought too many battles to cede this one to a lass.

  “Ye might have,” Cat allowed. “Or ye might have had his dirk stuck in yer throat.”

  “No’ likely.”

  She huffed out a breath. “Ye have saved me enough times. It was my turn to return the favor.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So we are keeping score, aye?”

  Cat crossed her arms and sniffed.

  “No matter. We have to find the horses and go. This man will wake up sooner than we like and be after us again.”

  “The solution to that problem is easy enough,” Sutherland announced, leading their three horses into the clearing. He put a hand on the hilt of his dirk. “Cut his throat.”

  “Nay! He’s unarmed and unable to defend himself,” Cat objected.

  Sutherland handed her the reins and leaned over the man. “Still breathing.” He pulled his dirk and glanced at Kenneth. “Are ye certain ye dinna want me to finish him?”

  Kenneth approached and crouched down. “If we had some rope, I’d tie him up and leave him for his friends to find. It appears they’ve spread out through these hills, rather than following meekly behind Domnhall as we’d hoped.” He twisted around to find Cat. “Can ye manage without those laces at the top of yer dress?”

  Sutherland grinned and Cat blushed. “If I must. The dress is in the pack on my horse…” she waved a hand toward their mounts.

  Kenneth nodded then stood. “As ye said, he’s unarmed and unable to defend himself. I’ll fetch it,” he announced, then turned to Sutherland, “if ye can keep him quiet without cutting his throat.”

  Suddenly, their prisoner bolted upright and pulled a dirk from his boot. It caught the light and silvered as he drew it back to throw it. Not at Kenneth. At Cat. Kenneth dove for her and knocked her out of the way as Sutherland tackled their prisoner and pulled his own blade.

  The scuffle lasted mere moments and was over before Kenneth could be sure Cat was all right and join Sutherland in subduing the man.

  Sutherland pushed himself up with a groan. Sutherland’s dirk was buried in
the man’s chest. He looked up at Kenneth, who was helping Cat to her feet, and shrugged. “Well, I didna cut his throat.” Then he sank to his knees, suddenly pale and grasping his side.

  The prisoner stirred and pawed at the blade in his chest.

  Kenneth saw his arm shift and ran from Cat toward their prisoner. How could he be alive?

  Kenneth reached him as the gallowglass pulled the dirk from his own chest. Blood welled as he rolled to his side. He should be dead, yet he still fought. Somehow he found the strength to swing the steel toward Sutherland. Kenneth kicked it out of his hand before Sutherland had time to react and dodge the blade. He buried his own dirk in the man’s throat.

  “I did cut his throat,” Kenneth said, answering Sutherland’s comment before the attack. He straightened, eyeing the man as his blood seeped into the forest loam around him. “He’s dead this time.”

  Sutherland nodded weakly, a line of red quickly spreading to darken his shirt. “Thanks for that. Now, if ye would be so kind as to bind my wound with something, I’ll do my best no’ to bleed to death along with him.”

  Cat rushed forward and tugged his shirt free to check his wound. “Not too bad,” she informed him, bunching the cloth and pressing it against his side. “But it needs tending. Hold this.” She ran for their supplies and returned with a spare shirt.

  Kenneth didn’t want to watch Cat touching Sutherland so familiarly. His heart still pounded from the fight and the surprise attempt on Cat’s life. Even though she was only tending Sutherland’s wound, their nearness made his jaw clench. Sutherland had flirted with Cat the entire trip. Yet she had chosen him, not Sutherland. He took a deep breath and told himself to grow up and do something useful, as Cat was, until his blood cooled.

  Instead of watching Cat minister to Sutherland, he rolled the gallowglass man over with his boot, having learned from Sutherland’s mistake not to bend too close until he was certain his quarry was dead. There could be no doubt the man was dead. Kenneth bent and retrieved his dirk, then stabbed it into the dirt to clean off the Irishman’s blood. “We need to go. These three may have friends in the area.”

  “The news is no’ bad, no’ good,” Sutherland announced, then hissed when Cat padded the gash in his side with cloth she tore from the spare shirt.

  She grabbed his hand and pushed it in place over the padding. “Hold it tight,” she ordered, then tore a long strip of cloth and reached around Sutherland’s body.

  Kenneth’s eyes narrowed at her nearness to the northerner’s bare torso.

  Sutherland saw and tensed, looking like a cornered animal watching the approach of a wolf. His gaze flicked between her hair just below his chin and Kenneth.

  Kenneth presumed Sutherland saw the muscle jumping in his jaw. Good. If Sutherland dared even one sharp inhale of her scent, Kenneth might give into the temptation to tear Cat away from him and finish the job the gallowglass had started. Her body aligned entirely too closely with Sutherland’s for Kenneth’s comfort. Then Cat got the makeshift bandage where she wanted it, pulled Sutherland’s hand free, and tightened the bandage in place. When she nodded and moved away from Sutherland to rinse his blood from her hands, Kenneth took a breath.

  Sutherland did, too. Cat’s nearness might have aroused him, but bleeding and pain had made him pale. As he leaned to the side to tuck his shirt into his breeks, he lost even more color.

  Kenneth had to be satisfied with that.

  “’Tis what I returned to tell ye before we were so rudely interrupted.” Sutherland said after a moment in which he regained some color. He gestured at the bodies on the ground around them. “I presume those are why I found yer mounts running loose nearby. Ye set them free as a distraction? Good thing I was able to round them up. We canna get to Brodie—there are more men like these in the way.”

  Kenneth nodded. “Then we must ride for Rose. If more in Domnhall’s army are pillaging the countryside, the safest place for Cat is behind her father’s walls.”

  “Unless Rose is in danger, too,” she interjected. “Brodie is closer.”

  Sutherland shook his head. “We willna get near the keep. I fear yer men coming behind may no’, either. But there are more of them, so perhaps they’ll prevail over what we must avoid.”

  “I should ride back and warn Iain, but I canna leave Cat with ye, wounded. Ye canna defend her.”

  “Sadly, ye speak truth.” Sutherland glanced at Cat, then dropped his gaze.

  Cat spoke up then. “But Iain, and the wounded he brings…we could wait for them, go to Brodie with them.”

  Kenneth took Cat’s hand. “’Tis no’ up for argument. I ken ye are reluctant to face yer da, but I am reluctant to see ye harmed—or killed. We’ll go to Rose.”

  “And…”

  “And we’ll deal with the rest when ye are safe.”

  * * *

  Night had long since fallen by the time they arrived at Rose. From their vantage point in the trees, the closed gates loomed massive and forbidding in the deep darkness. They did not appear to be damaged, so despite the lack of torches to light the battlements, Sutherland agreed with Kenneth’s assessment. Domnhall’s army must not have had the chance—yet—to molest the keep. The two men rode forward, leaving Cat in concealment for the moment.

  “Ho there,” Kenneth called, then added his name. “Open the gate.”

  “Brodie, ye said?” The gate guard’s voice rang out firmly in the night. A torch suddenly flamed over the top of the wall and a man peered down at them.

  “Aye,” Kenneth answered. “With a Sutherland, and one other.”

  “I see only two of ye.”

  “God’s bones, Fergus, it’s me, Catherine,” Cat called as she broke from the cover of the woods and rode up to join Kenneth and Sutherland.

  Kenneth gave her a fierce frown and hissed, “Have ye nay sense?”

  Sutherland merely raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s Fergus,” Cat replied, unimpressed. “I’ve heard his voice every day since I was in swaddling.”

  “Lady Cat…Catherine!”

  Cat waved.

  A grin split the man’s bearded face. Then he looked aside and waved his hand, palm up, gesturing for someone to raise the portcullis. “Someone fetch the Rose and Lady Mary. Lady Catherine is back.”

  With that, the gates opened and Cat rode forward, not giving her escort a chance to make sure the keep was truly in Rose hands before she raced inside its walls.

  Kenneth traded a disgusted glance with Sutherland and took off after her, Sutherland bringing up the rear.

  Inside the bailey, only the night watchmen on the walls were visible. Fergus slid down a ladder’s rails, the fastest way off the wall, as Kenneth helped Cat dismount. In seconds, he’d stepped between them and gave her a hearty hug.

  “Where have ye been, ye wicked lass? And what are ye wearing?”

  James Rose rushed out of the keep’s heavy doorway as they dismounted. He paused on the steps, hands on hips, his head turning to survey the bailey. “Mary Catherine, where are ye? Who said she is here?”

  Kenneth realized Fergus and her horse hid Cat from her father. “Cat!” he hissed. “Yer da.”

  Cat peered around her horse’s head, then patted Fergus on the shoulder and ran to her father. “Da! I’m sorry.”

  The Rose’s expression changed in an instant, from annoyed to smiling, to frowning.

  Kenneth dropped the reins he’d been about to hand to a stable boy. He didn’t think the Rose would harm his daughter, but he would do anything necessary to protect her, including fighting her father. Much to his relief, Rose enveloped his daughter in his arms and hugged her tightly. “Ye daft lass. Ye’ve given us weeks of worry.”

  Cat nodded. “I ken it. But I dared no’ write. I needed time…”

  Rose set her away from him with a grunt. “Let’s no’ discuss this out here. Who brought ye…” He trailed off as Kenneth stepped forward, Sutherland a pace behind, at his shoulder. “Brodie,” Rose said, his tone suddenly
cold and flat.

  “Aye, Laird Rose, with Cameron Sutherland. I…we rescued Cat…Catherine from St. Andrews when news reached us…”

  “Rescued? St. Andrews?” Rose tugged Catherine’s arm. “Come inside.” He glanced at the men. “Ye two as well. This bodes to be too long a tale to be heard while standing in the night air.”

  Kenneth nodded but didn’t move as Rose led his daughter inside the heavy door. Nerves suddenly held him in thrall. The reality of where they were—and what he’d done—consumed him. Would Cat confess she’d lain with him? If she did, what would Rose do? Suddenly Kenneth doubted even that would convince the Rose to allow the wedding Cat wanted. Now he’d brought her safely home, he was suddenly unsure what he wanted, as well. “I’m a dishonorable cur,” he muttered.

  “Mayhap.” Sutherland nudged his shoulder. “’Tis time to face what ye have done. If his daughter still wants ye, will the laird agree?”

  Kenneth shook his head. “He refused me two years ago. Why would he agree now?”

  “Perhaps because ye have now bedded the lass, aye?”

  “That’s what Cat is counting on.” He forced his feet to move. “The bottle dungeon at St. Andrews might have been a better fate than what the Rose will do when he finds out.”

  Sutherland paused on the steps, breathing harder than he should have to. “She loves ye. Ye ken it, aye? She’ll convince her da. She’s no’ the same lass she was two years ago.”

  Kenneth looked over his shoulder and met Sutherland’s gaze. “And how would ye ken that?”

  Sutherland quirked an eyebrow. A corner of his mouth lifted in a pale reflection of his usual grin. “She told me so. Ye had to leave us alone every now and again. The lass needed to unburden herself.”

  Kenneth clenched his fists. “To ye? I wasna aware ye are a priest.”

  Regret shone briefly in Sutherland’s eyes, surprising Kenneth.

  “Nay, I am no’.” He held up a hand. “And I never touched yer lass. She merely told me about losing ye the first time. She seemed quite determined no’ to allow ye to slip away again.”