by Baker, Katy
Something cold slid down Eleanor's spine. Turning to look at the flotilla, her eyes were drawn to the cannons filling the decks. In the rain the black iron gleamed slickly, making them seem ominous and forbidding.
An image formed in her mind of those cannons belching out fire and death, ripping through the MacAuley and MacConnell forces. Ripping through Finn's people. His clan. His family. And she knew with a certainty that she could not let this happen. If she didn't act, if men like Alasdair and Balloch Stewart were allowed to triumph, then thousands of innocents would die. The Highlands would become a bloodbath.
"No," she found herself saying. And then again, stronger this time. "No. This will not happen." She looked at Finn. "We can't let those cannon reach their destination. We have to sink those boats."
FINN LOOKED AT ELEANOR. Her eyes blazed, her cheeks were flushed and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. But she didn't look afraid. She looked angry.
The boats were almost level with where Finn and Eleanor were hiding. A few more moments and they would be gone, the chance to act lost.
Still he hesitated. Every fibre in his being wanted to stop those ships, to stop Balloch and his guns from reaching the battlefield. But he'd made a vow. A vow to protect Eleanor and see her safely home. How could he ask her to become involved in this?
But she took the decision out of his hands. She grabbed his arm and almost snarled, "We have to do something! I know what you're thinking and Brigid's Hollow can wait! It will still be there when this is over. Do you really think I'm going to run away and let that bastard destroy your clan?"
Her eyes were alight with fury and fervour. Lord, but she was fierce. As fierce and brave as a hunting hawk.
He nodded. "Let’s go."
They scrambled to their feet and pelted back to where the horse was tethered.
"I need cloth soaked in alcohol," he called to her. "And my flint and tinder."
She nodded, pulled the items he asked for from the saddlebags whilst he fetched his bow. They hurried back to the spot on the river bank and Eleanor tore strips from the hem of her dress and quickly poured whisky all over them. Finn risked a glance at the river. The first of the boats was passing, Balloch standing in the prow like some grotesque figurehead. They were moving slowly, against the current, for which Finn was profoundly grateful, otherwise they would have been moving too fast for him to hit.
He took the alcohol soaked rag Eleanor offered him and wrapped it around the bronze tip of his arrow. Seeing what he intended, Eleanor took his flint and tinder and carefully began striking it. The sparks flew into the soaked cloth and it began to burn with a fierce blue fire.
Rising to his knees, Finn slotted the burning arrow into place, pulled the string back to his cheek and sighted along the shaft, picking his target. In his head he calculated the distance, the angle, the breeze, just as his father had taught him. It was a difficult shot, almost out of his range. He cleared his mind. There was just him and his target. Him and his target. He let everything else fade away until he could see the trajectory of the arrow in his mind's eye, knew exactly where it would fly and what it would hit.
Then he released the string.
The burning arrow sped straight and true, plunging into one of the barrels of gunpowder with an audible ‘thunk’. For a moment there was silence. Then, as the flame burned through the barrel, the gunpowder ignited with an explosion that tore the air and echoed down the valley like thunder. The boat disappeared behind a curtain of smoke.
Eleanor handed Finn another flaming arrow and he took aim again, swearing as the smoke from the first boat obscured his shot, sending the arrow hissing into the river instead. He fired a third, this one hitting a barrel on the trailing ship and sending another explosion ripping through the air. A fourth arrow, another hit, another explosion.
On the river all was confusion. The gray curtains of smoke obscured the view but Finlay heard the panicked shouting of the crew and the groan of timbers. He pulled Eleanor back from their hiding place in case the soldiers located their position and began firing, but no counter attack came.
He and Eleanor crouched in tense silence behind a large boulder, peering around the edges, trying to see through the murk. Finally, the wind shredded the smoke and Finn swore under his breath. Four of the boats were little more than splintered bits of wood, their crews swimming for shore, their cannons sinking into the depths of the river. But it was only four. The two leading boats, undamaged, were rounding a bend in the river. He could see Balloch striding up and down, bellowing orders.
"Damn it!" he growled.
They climbed to their feet and they hurried back to the horse. The men in the river would reach the bank soon and it would be wise not to be here when they did.
"What now?" Eleanor asked. "Balloch got away. Maybe we should chase the boats down?"
Finn shook his head. "Nay. They’re warned and will be on the watch for any attack. We'd never get close enough for a shot before they loosed their muskets on us."
Eleanor's expression hardened. "Then we have to ride to the MacAuley camp. Balloch still has six cannons. How many do the MacAuleys have? None?” She could see from Finn’s expression that she was right. “We have to warn them!"
Ride to the MacAuley camp? Find his brothers? Even a few days ago such a thing would have been impossible. His curse would never have allowed it. But now? His eyes strayed to the velvet bag containing his brand. Now anything was possible. Because of this woman. This woman who'd exploded into his life and changed everything.
He smiled, reached out a hand and ran his thumb across her cheek. "Ah, my brave warrior maiden. Aye, I reckon we need to even those odds."
She smiled. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Finn lifted Eleanor into the saddle then swung up behind her. Pulling the horse around in a tight circle he set his heels to the beast’s flanks and sent him galloping away from the river, heading north. Towards his brothers.
Chapter 16
The going was slow and tedious. The only path left for them if they wanted to reach the MacAuley camp before the boats did was to cross the marshes—a path that Finn had hoped to avoid. As they came to yet another dead end and had to backtrack, Eleanor could see why. It was only Finn's tracking skills that had kept them from getting hopelessly lost in this labyrinth of soggy ground, stagnant pools and thick tufts of marsh grass.
They’d left the river behind and had seen not another soul since they'd entered the marshes. The river lay somewhere to the northeast, circling the marshes to come round behind the site where battle would be joined tomorrow.
Eleanor stared in that direction. Where was Balloch now? Had she and Finn managed to stay ahead of him by cutting through the marshes? The thought of that man sent a tingle of fury through her veins. She would stop him, if it was the last thing she ever did.
She glanced over her shoulder at Finn. He didn't notice, engrossed as he was in picking them a safe path through the teeming ponds and brackish water. Tension was written in every line of his body, from the hunch of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, the vein that throbbed in his temple.
Eleanor longed to say something, anything, to ease his foreboding but knew there was nothing she could say. He was riding towards the family he'd not seen since his curse turned him into a traitor. The family he'd betrayed. How would they react to seeing him again after all this time?
A waterfowl winged into the air ahead of them, squawking raucously and the horse shied suddenly, forcing Eleanor to grab the pommel to keep her seat.
"Easy, boy," Finn said in a soothing voice. "Easy."
He got the horse under control and then bade him to stand whilst he rose in the stirrups, looking around with a troubled expression on his face.
"What is it?" Eleanor asked. "What's wrong?"
"These waterways," he replied. "They’re swollen. Some of them are wider and deeper than I remember. Maybe navigable for a boat."
Eleanor's eyes widened. "You mean Balloch?
You think he'll come this way?"
Finn shook his head. "I dinna know. But it would make sense. If he knows a route through the marshes, it would be much quicker than the river and still bring him out behind the MacAuley lines."
Eleanor looked around, suddenly nervous, but all that met her eyes were the glistening pools and narrow trails they'd been traveling through for the last few hours, their only company the waterfowl that made the place their home.
"Then we'd best make sure we get there before he does."
"Aye."
They continued on their way along a high bank between a row of huge weeping willow trees. The rain had abated and the sun was beginning to cut through the clouds making the pools and waterways shimmer like mirrors. On another day Eleanor would have taken the time to appreciate its beauty but not today. Today she had no time for such niceties. An urgency was beginning to burn through her, an inexplicable sense that they had to hurry.
Finally the ground began to dry out, the waterways to narrow, and the marsh grass to be replaced by scraggly hawthorn. Finn pulled the horse to a halt then leant down to examine the ground for tracks.
“Damn it,” he breathed. “There are fresh tracks here. They’re further south than I expected. We have to get out before—”
“Dinna move,” a voice suddenly said from the trees. “There are five arrows pointed right at ye. Make any sudden moves and we’ll turn ye into pincushions."
Eleanor gasped as shapes materialized out of the trees, five men in long gray cloaks and hoods drawn over their faces. They held bows trained on her and Finn. Finn dropped the horse's reins and held his arms wide to either side, showing he held no weapons.
"We aren't a threat," Finn said calmly. "We bring urgent news for Laird MacAuley."
A sixth man ducked under a branch and into the clearing. He was tall, as tall as Finn, with broad shoulders and blond hair that fell onto his shoulders in waves. Ice-blue eyes the color of a winter pond raked over them.
As his eyes settled on Finn, the man suddenly paled, one hand going to the hilt of the sword hanging at his waist. "Nay," he breathed. "This canna be. It isnae possible."
Finn stared back at him, unblinking, that vein in his temple throbbing double-time. Then he spoke into the thick, heavy silence.
"Hello, Camdan."
FINN STARED, UNABLE to take his eyes off the man before him. It was like seeing a ghost. Or a memory come to life. The blond hair, so unlike his own, was the same as Finn remembered. The icy blue eyes were the same. The confident stance and penetrating gaze hadn’t changed.
But his middle brother, always the most hot-headed of the three of them, looked at Finlay with a steadiness in his gaze that had not been there the last time they’d met. He studied Finn, his look calm and assessing, his hand on his sword-hilt, a slight flare of the nostrils the only thing that gave away his unease.
Camdan hadn't called his men off and five arrows were still trained on Finn’s heart. The silence held for a long, heavy moment, the air between him and his brother thick with tension. Then slowly Camdan raised his hand and gave the signal for his men to stand down. Finn heard the rustle of clothing as the men put away their bows.
Without taking his eyes from Finn, Camdan said to one of his men, "Go and fetch the laird. Tell him to get his arse here right now."
The man nodded and melted silently into the trees.
"Dismount," Camdan barked. "Slowly." He pointed a finger at Eleanor. "Ye first."
Eleanor glanced at Finn and he nodded. She clambered down from the horse ungracefully and stood facing Camdan.
"Step away from him," Camdan instructed.
"Who do you think you're ordering around—"
"Do as he says," Finn cut in.
Eleanor glanced up, gave Finn a scowl, but then stepped away. One of Camdan's men darted forward and seized her, quickly checking her for weapons.
"She's unarmed," the man confirmed.
Camdan nodded. "Hold her." The man grabbed Eleanor's shoulder in a firm grip and Camdan turned his attention back to Finn. "Now ye. Get down slowly."
Finn gritted his teeth. He glanced at Eleanor then slowly swung his leg over the horse's back and jumped to the ground.
"Take off yer cloak and turn around."
Finn unclasped his cloak, slung it over the saddle, and then turned in a slow circle. "Should I dance as well?" he growled.
There was the sudden thud of running footsteps and more men burst into the clearing. This time they were led by a bear of a man with the same jet black hair as Finn's and deep, serious eyes. The man skidded to a halt by Camdan's side, his men spreading out in a circle around them.
The man's commanding gaze fell on Finlay and Finn’s breath caught. It had been a long time since he’d seen his eldest brother, Logan, laird of Clan MacAuley, but he was still as serious and imposing a figure as he remembered. His eyes widened at the sight of Finn and for a moment his composure slipped and a rush of emotions crossed his face. Then the cool mask of the laird returned and he looked Finn up and down, his deep eyes appraising.
Finn couldn't tell what Logan was thinking. Did he know about Finn's allegiance to Alasdair Stewart? Did he know about all the ways in which Finn had betrayed him?
Logan and Camdan moved closer, halting less than three steps away. Finn lifted his chin, meeting their gazes. If they despised him so be it, but he’d face his elder brothers like a man, not some chastened child.
"Finlay?" Logan said at last. "It canna be. Is this another Fae trick? I willnae be fooled again! Take off yer shirt."
Finn held his brother's gaze for a moment, then yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it atop the saddle with his cloak. "Is that enough for ye?" he snapped. "Or would ye like me to remove my plaid as well so ye can see my bare arse?"
"Turn around," Logan commanded.
Gritting his teeth, Finn did as he was bid. As he turned, exposing his back, he heard an intake of breath. He glanced over his shoulder to see his brothers staring at his tattoo.
"Finlay?" Camdan whispered. "Is that really ye? After all these years?"
Then all the breath was knocked from his lungs as Camdan cannoned into him, folding him into a bone-crunching embrace.
"Little brother," Camdan whispered by Finn's ear, his voice thick with emotion. "The Lord has answered my prayers."
Finn went rigid, unsure how to respond to his brother's unexpected show of emotion. Then something inside him cracked and tears sprang into his eyes. With a sob, he threw his arms around his brother and buried his face in his shoulder as Camdan held him tight, like he'd done when they were children.
Finally Camdan released Finn and Logan took his place. There were tears shining in Laird MacAuley’s eyes, a rare show of emotion. He laid his hands on Finn’s shoulders and stared at him long and hard.
"I canna believe it," he breathed. "I never thought this day would come. Oh, my brother, I canna tell ye how it lifts my heart to see ye."
Finn nodded. He pulled his shirt back on while he gathered his thoughts. "And I ye. But I havenae come for a reunion. I've come to warn ye of danger. A portion of Alasdair Stewart's men are coming upriver on barges."
"Ha!" Camdan cried. "Ye think we havenae thought of that? Dinna worry, little brother, we have a rear-guard in place in case the sneaky bastard did such a thing."
"Ye dinna understand, Cam," Finn said, shaking his head. "He has cannon."
"Cannon?" Logan said, his eyebrows rising in alarm. "Alasdair Stewart is naught but a renegade lord, little better than an outlaw. Where would he have gotten cannon?"
"From a deal with the border barons at a guess," Finn replied. "They willnae be pleased if ye roust Stewart from his position in case ye turn yer attentions to them next."
Logan rubbed his chin, assessing. "How many cannon?"
"Six remaining. We managed to sink the rest of them."
"Six cannon," Logan breathed. "He could tear through our lines with those."
"Aye," Finn replied. "T
hat's why ye must pull back yer lines, stop those boats from landing."
Camdan and Logan shared a long look. Then Camdan fixed his piercing eyes on Finn. "What I am wondering, little brother, is how ye know all this? How would ye have access to Stewart's battle plans?"
Here it was then. How would they react when they discovered the truth? He glanced at Eleanor who was standing next to her guard, watching with interest. She nodded slightly.
Finn drew in a deep breath. "Because I’m an officer in Alasdair Stewart's army. I lead his tracking units and have been privy to his councils."
The words dropped like stones into a well of silence. Logan and Camdan stared at him.
"Ye work for Stewart?" Camdan growled. "For the enemy?"
Finn opened his mouth to respond but before he could utter a word, Eleanor stormed over.
"Oh for God's sake!" she cried, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the three of them. "Are you all just going to dance around it? Why don't you ask the questions that really matter? Why don't you ask him where he's been all these years? Why don’t you ask him what your curse did to him?"
"Eleanor," Finn murmured, holding out a hand. "That's enough."
"Enough?" she growled. "Not even close! We haven't risked our lives just to stand around whilst these two decide if they can trust you!" She turned her glare on his brothers. "Yes he works for Alasdair Stewart. But do you know why? Because he has no choice! That's what your damned curse did to him! Made him a slave to a man he hates!"
Logan watched Eleanor steadily. His eyes narrowed as if assessing her words.
"Is this true?" he asked Finn. "Is that how the curse took ye?"
Finn ground his teeth. He hated the pity in his brother's eyes almost as much as he'd hated the suspicion.