What he saw next hit him like a punch to the gut. At the last possible moment, Warren reined in his horse to prevent from trampling her. He then threw himself off his horse’s back and closed the remaining distance between himself and Jossalyn, towering over her. She kept her head down as he appeared to shout at her, waving his hands and leaning toward her, despite being in the middle of not only the crowded village square, but also the procession that was escorting him home.
Jossalyn simply stood there, head bowed, shoulders hunched, taking the barrage of shouted insults that Warren threw at her. Her lack of response seemed to infuriate him even more, for he gripped her arms and shook her, hard enough that her head whipped back and forth on her neck several times.
Garrick hadn’t realized it, but he had taken several steps toward the scene in front of him. He was now well clear of the forest line, and was nearly halfway to Jossalyn before Burke’s hand shook his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?” Burke said frantically.
“Jossalyn is in trouble. Warren is hurting—”
Suddenly something clicked into place in his head. The memories of moments that hadn’t seemed quite right flooded back to him.
Jossalyn stuttering over both her own last name and her brother’s first and last names.
Jossalyn being called “lady” in the village, though she had brushed it off uncomfortably.
Jossalyn being unable to practice her healing art because of her brother’s controlling and manipulative ways.
Jossalyn being hurt by her brother.
Jossalyn Williams was actually Jossalyn Warren. Her brother, “Ranald Williams,” was Lord Raef Warren.
His mind tried to grasp all the implications of this, but he couldn’t seem to get his thoughts in order. He turned back to the scene in front of him, and all thought drained from his mind.
It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. Warren was drawing back one of his hands from Jossalyn’s arm. He was raising his palm higher and higher, his hand straight and rigid. Jossalyn tilted her head up, her eyes wide, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks in the slanting sunlight.
Warren was going to hit her. Right across her perfect, innocent face.
Garrick saw red, but at the same time, everything seemed to fade around him and grow quiet. In one fluid movement, he dropped to one knee and drew an arrow from his quiver. His bow was already in his hand somehow, the wood warm and smooth. He nocked the arrow and drew back, his eyes locked on Warren’s raised hand. Without thinking, he adjusted for the whisper of evening breeze and calculated how far Warren’s hand would travel in the time it took his arrow to reach him.
He exhaled and let his arrow fly. Warren’s hand was now descending toward Jossalyn’s face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she didn’t flinch away from him.
Just as Warren’s palm was fully exposed in the space between him and Jossalyn, Garrick’s arrow found its mark. It sunk all the way through his hand, half of the wooden shaft on either side of his palm. His hand froze in the air, a stunned look on his face. Then slowly, Warren turned to look in the direction from which the arrow had flown. Suddenly, everything seemed to speed up again.
Garrick realized he was sprinting straight for Jossalyn. He threw his bow over his shoulder and drew the sword at his hip as he ran. He faintly registered Burke running just behind him, but he couldn’t give the man any of his attention. He was solely focused on Jossalyn, who had also turned in his direction. Now her eyes locked on him and widened in disbelief and he barreled toward her.
Chaos was erupting all around. Warren screamed something, a combination of a pained wail and a command to his men-at-arms marching up the road several dozen yards behind him. A few of the men noticed the arrow protruding from their Lord’s hand and broke rank, struggling to draw their swords and face the attack. Even as his men-at-arms advanced, Warren faded backward, scrambling away from the two armed men coming straight at him.
They all seemed to collide right where Jossalyn and Warren had been standing, though Warren had squeezed himself behind his men-at-arms, and Jossalyn had flung herself out of the road.
Garrick brought his sword down on one of Warren’s men, landing a fatal blow. He spun just in time to block the swing of a sword aiming to separate his head from his shoulders. The impact of the blow reverberated down his arms, but he held fast to his sword and managed to thrust his enemy’s blade away. The man swung again, but this time Garrick was ready for it. He ducked and thrust upward, piercing the soldier through the stomach. The man screamed and fell, his body toppling onto a fellow soldier Burke had just run through.
In a matter of seconds, Garrick and Burke had dispatched half a dozen of Warren’s men, but a score more surged toward them. Blessedly, the road on which they fought was creating a bottleneck that allowed only a few soldiers at a time to step up to the deadly swing of the two men’s large blades.
But Garrick was more comfortable fighting from a distance with his bow. He realized as he drew his sword across the flesh of an oncoming man that they couldn’t hold their position for much longer. The quarters were too close, and there were too many of Warren’s men surging toward them. He threw a glance at Burke, who met his eyes quickly before turning back to the soldier he was squaring off against.
“Get the lass! I’ll cover you!” Burke panted.
Garrick’s eyes flew to the side of the road where Jossalyn had flung herself out of the way. She was pressing herself as flat as she could against a stone wall that lined the road, but she was dangerously close to the sword-wielding men-at-arms who were trying to squeeze their way toward Burke and him.
He hacked through another soldier as he fought against the tide of them pressing down on him. He was almost in reach of her.
“Jossalyn!” he shouted over the near-deafening noise of battle. Her terrified eyes found him, but just as they did, one of the soldiers was shoved by his comrade and went careening toward her, his blade raised in front of him.
Garrick dove forward, putting his body between her and the stumbling soldier. He threw his arms against the wall on either side of her small form, creating a shield with his body. He felt a burning slice on his back, but it barely registered. She was safe.
He turned so that she was at his back and he could face the soldier. With one block and thrust, he had ended another life. He swung his sword with his right hand and used his left to push her along the wall behind him toward where Burke held off three English soldiers at once.
“Go!” Burke shouted as he cut down another man. He took a blow to the leg which sent him staggering backward, but he righted himself and blocked another swing.
“You’d better be behind us!” Garrick shouted back.
Without waiting longer, he wrapped a hand around Jossalyn’s wrist and pulled her into a run with him toward the forest where their horses waited. He could feel her stumbling and struggling to keep up behind him, so he turned and lowered his shoulder into her middle, hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He could hear a whoosh of air from her as he took off running again, but she didn’t scream or resist. She was likely too stunned, Garrick thought somewhere in the back of his mind.
When he reached the horses that stood nervously at the edge of the forest, he set her down on her feet again and sheathed his sword. He launched himself onto Fletch’s back, then reached down and pulled her up also, but this time behind him. He would need to have unobstructed access to the reins if they were going to make it out of this alive. He leaned over and grabbed Burke’s horse’s reins and spurred them both back toward the battle. Burke was disengaging himself, backing up rapidly away from the onslaught of soldiers, who were now starting to overpower him.
Garrick whistled as he charged toward Burke, giving him enough warning to take one last swing before bolting toward the forest. Burke only had to take a few hobbling strides before Garrick reached him. He flung himself atop his horse, and Garrick tossed him the reins. They wheeled the animals aro
und hard and sent them flying into the forest once more. Behind them, Garrick could hear Warren’s enraged screams.
“To the stables! Every man on a horse! After them!”
Chapter Fourteen
Jossalyn clung for dear life to Garrick’s back as they plowed through the dense forest as fast as the horses could take them. She vaguely registered that they were headed northeast, even though Burke and Garrick had traveled northwest the day before to get to their home.
But that was a foolish thought, for these men clearly weren’t who they had pretended to be. She had barely recognized him when he had come charging toward her. He moved with the same lightning speed and deadly grace she had noticed in him before, but his face had been twisted in rage and bloodlust, and the way he wielded his sword—she swallowed and tried to push the images out of her mind, for she feared she would be sick if she recalled the blood, the limbs, the blades cutting through flesh like butter.
The forest blurred and spun as it rushed by, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Why was she clinging to this man—this stranger? He was a killer and a liar. Despite all their conversations, their stolen kiss, and the silent glances she thought spoke volumes, she didn’t know him at all.
But she realized as she forced her eyes open again, she was trapped now. If she flung herself from his horse’s back, she would likely break her neck on landing. And she couldn’t command him to stop. He was in complete control of the horse, steering it through trees and bushes with lightning-fast reflexes. There was no chance that she could simply wrest the reins from him.
So she held on, praying she would live to see the sun rise again even as darkness seeped into the forest and night fell.
What must have been hours later, Garrick—if that was even his name—whistled to Burke and reined in his horse. Every bone in Jossalyn’s body ached. The riding had been merciless. They had kept up their grueling pace, navigating through the dense forest in the dark without stopping. She felt like her limbs had turned to wood from the tension of holding onto Garrick’s back and gripping the horse with her legs.
Garrick threw a leg over the horse’s neck and swung down, though he stumbled slightly when his feet hit the ground. He reached up toward her, but she instinctively withdrew, trying not to let this killer’s hands grab her. Evasion was impossible, though. He took her by the waist and pulled her down to the ground next to him. Before he could do more, though, she jerked out of his hands.
“Who are you? Where are you taking me?” Her voice came out higher and more frantic than she had intended, but she didn’t care. She was not too exhausted to feel a surge of fear spike through her now that they had stopped.
“Christ,” he said, his eyes locked on the front of her dress.
She looked down and nearly screamed. She was covered in blood, which was dark against the fabric of her gown in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees.
“Are you hurt, lass?” Garrick’s voice was nearly unrecognizable. Instead of the soft Scottish lilt she had picked up on earlier, he spoke with a thick brogue.
Without waiting for her to answer, he began running his hands over her, looking for the source of the blood. His callused fingers brushed her neck, ran down her arms, then skimmed across her chest and waist. She inhaled sharply at the contact, but not in pain.
“I…I don’t think I’ve been cut…” The shock of first seeing Garrick turn from a blacksmith to a warrior, then being whisked away, and now having Garrick’s hands all over her was too much. She couldn’t straighten out her thoughts or even form words.
Suddenly, a dim memory came back and tugged at the corner of her brain. “Your back…”
“What?”
“Your back. That soldier with his sword…” She took a step past him so that she could look around his shoulder. She inhaled sharply at the sight. A gash ran down the middle of his back, and the fabric of both the leather vest and shirt he wore were cut clean through and covered in dark blood. She had been plastered to his back, clinging on for dear life, and had gotten his blood on her dress.
“I need to treat this.” Suddenly, she shifted from scared and confused girl to skilled healer. It didn’t matter that Garrick and Burke might very well be her enemies. She had to help.
Just as she reached for his vest to pull it off, she heard a thump and a groan. Several yards away, Burke had reined in and dismounted, but was now crumpled in a pile at his horse’s feet.
“Burke! Are you all right?” Brushing past her, Garrick moved to Burke’s side and knelt down.
“Ach, just a little stiff is all. This damn cut is bothering me.” He was gripping his right leg, and as Jossalyn approached, she saw that his breeches were dark with blood. Burke tried to stand, but winced and groaned again, and would have fallen if it weren’t for Garrick’s support.
“Burke, you mustn’t push yourself. Let me see to your leg.” Jossalyn knelt and put her face close to where the blood seemed to be coming from so she could see better in the moonlight. Gently, she prodded the area, which drew a sharp inhale from Burke. She could see a deep gash running down the outside of his thigh, and though it was a clean cut, the wound still bled.
“Do you mind if I…remove the fabric from this area?” she said, looking up at Burke, who still leaned heavily on Garrick.
“I’ve never said no to a pretty lass asking to take my pants off before,” he said with a chuckle, but his voice was tight with pain.
Garrick produced a short dagger from his boot, and she went to work cutting some of the fabric off Burke’s breeches. When the blood-soaked material was out of the way, she could see the long, deep cut even clearer. She frowned, but tried to keep the worry from her voice for Burke’s sake.
“I need to clean the wound, and then stitch it and wrap it with yarrow to help stop the bleeding. Then you’ll need to rest and stay off the leg for several days.”
Garrick and Burke exchanged a look, then Garrick said flatly, “That’s not going to happen.”
She felt her ire rising. “Then you risk continued bleeding, infection, and fever. Burke, you could die if this goes untreated.”
“And the three of us are guaranteed to be dead if we stay here much longer,” Garrick said coldly.
His eyes were locked on hers, and in the darkness, they looked almost black. She shivered, reminding herself that she didn’t know these men in front of her. And she had already witnessed just how dangerous and deadly they could be.
“What could we do quickly, lass? Just for the short-term,” Burke said, breaking the tense silence.
Her eyes shifted back to his leg. “We could wrap the wound tightly and hope that it stops bleeding on its own until I can stitch it and get a proper poultice on it,” she replied reluctantly. She hated the idea of being so sloppy in her work, especially if it meant endangering a patient’s life.
“Use the material of his breeches,” Garrick said, then turned to Burke. “We should have changed earlier outside of Dunbraes anyway. It would have been…entertaining to see Warren’s face as he recognized the Sinclair plaid.”
This brought a chuckle from Burke and a wry smile from Garrick. At first Jossalyn let the words pass over her head, assuming it was some inside joke meant to lighten Burke’s spirits. But something tickled her mind, and as the gears ground together, Jossalyn’s mouth fell open.
“Are you saying…How do you know my brother? And what do you mean by ‘Sinclair plaid’?”
Garrick sobered and gave her a long look, but then started to turn away. “You’ll see soon enough about the plaid, lass. And as for your brother, we can discuss that later.” He reached first into Burke’s saddlebag and pulled a bundle of cloth from it, then strode to his horse and withdrew a similar-looking dark fabric from his own bag.
Burke, standing with all his weight on his left leg, began undoing the ties to his breeches. Jossalyn spun on her heels, not wanting to see these men disrobe in front of her. Several minutes elapsed, and she felt a blush creep up her neck as she though
t about the fact that Garrick might be naked behind her.
“It’s all right now, lass.”
She jumped at Garrick’s voice. He was standing right behind her. As she turned, she was met with the staggering sight that confirmed what she had suspected. Both men were now dressed in kilts. The fabric was the same dark shade of red as the blood on their clothes had appeared in the moonlight.
She shivered unconsciously and took a step back. These weren’t English-sympathizing Lowlanders. These men were Highlanders. Suddenly all the pieces fit into place—Garrick’s abruptly thickening accent, the enormous swords both men had wielded back at Dunbraes, and now these kilts.
She had met many Scotsmen over the years living in the Borderlands, but they were almost all Lowlanders who were sympathetic enough to the English to at least do business with them.
From what she had always been told by her brother, though, Highlanders were a different sort. He had always said Highlanders were proud, stubborn, and hell-bent on not being controlled. He had called them barbarians, savages, and animals. She could recognize the vehemence and hatred in her brother’s voice whenever he spoke of Highlanders, and she normally didn’t trust his word or opinion, but without any other information to go on, she had always been apprehensive when it came to the people who lived in the far north of Scotland. And now she found herself alone in the middle of the wilderness with two Highland warriors.
Her face must have clearly shown her unease, for Garrick gave her a wolfish grin that held no mirth, only a raw warning.
She broke their stare, unnerved and unsure of herself. She still needed to see to Burke’s leg as best as she could, given the circumstances, so she skirted Garrick’s large form and walked toward Burke. When she reached him, he handed her a few strips of what used to be his breeches. Taking them, she knelt next to his right leg once more, and after he shifted his kilt out of the way, wrapped the bandages tightly around the wound. He winced and let a few muffled curses slip but didn’t complain. When she was done, she turned and found Garrick watching her closely.
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