The Guardian (Highland Heroes Book 1)

by Maeve Greyson

  Cook’s gaze shifted to Mercy and Graham. “The girl and me, too?”

  “Aye,” Graham ordered. “Now.”

  One by one, the wagons lined up on the road. Mercy watched them until they disappeared around the bend, the rattling of Cook’s pots and pans still echoing back to her through the trees.

  Guilt and frustration filled her, sending the nauseating burn of bile into the back of her throat. How could things have come to this? Tossing innocent people to those who would do them harm. Struggling to tamp down the doubt Graham’s decision triggered, Mercy turned and faced him. “I assume it’s safe to speak openly now? What is your plan?”

  Graham nodded. “Higher ground for us. A better view of the glen that way, ye ken?”

  “The wagons are bait.” Mercy wound her horse’s reins around one hand and started toward the far side of the road, the injustice of what they’d done choking her. What if they had judged them all wrong?

  “Aye.” Graham took his place beside her, pulling his mount behind him. He took hold of her arm and stopped her. “But dinna fash yourself, lass. If my instincts are right, those wagons will get through the glen unscathed. We didna feed your people to the wolves—we returned them to their own kind.”

  “You feel certain they all conspired against me?”

  Graham gave her a sympathetic look and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “I believe so.”

  Lifting her chin, Mercy swallowed and stared ahead. She’d been snubbed and cast aside all her life, but the disloyalty still stung, especially from Janie. But she knew Graham, or thought she did after all these days together. He wouldn’t make such a decision without reason. “How are you so certain?”

  Jaw tightening as he scowled at the difficult route ahead of them, Graham paused and faced her. “Those men that took ye lashed me, Duncan, and Marsden to the wagon wheels of the flatbeds. Gagged us as well. The Marches, Cook, and Janie were put inside Cook’s wagon with a bar across the outside of the rear door. The one called Gobs made out like they’d run out of rope.”

  “Locked in a wagon with food and water,” she observed. The burden of Mercy’s guilt grew lighter. It disappeared completely when revelation hit. “Janie or Doughal, either one, could have shimmied out the front door behind the driver’s seat. Janie did it to escape Cook the day the woman lost her temper and threatened to boot her out the back of the wagon.”

  “Exactly.” Graham marched onward, huffing and grimacing as he strode across the rough ground. “I dinna ken if they were instructed to wait until we were dead to seek out the horses and leave or what. All I know for certain was they were well accommodated by their captors.”

  Mercy stomped forward, more determined than ever to overcome her father’s vile plan.

  Marsden took his post on the other side of Graham, but Duncan moved to take lead of the group. “Pardon me. ’Tis my hope to get within arrow range of the enemy, m’lady,” he said as he pushed past Mercy. He looked over at Graham. “Three of them. Four of us. The odds are with us, brother.”

  Mercy held up a hand and brought them all to a standstill before they continued the arduous climb of the rough hillside. “Please. Let me have the spare bow you found.” Akio had taught her to shoot, even said her accuracy had to be a gift from the ancestors. Her brother was a critical tutor. He never would have said such if he didn’t feel it was true. “I promise you, I can shoot.”

  Duncan glanced at Graham before answering, then rounded his horse and pulled free one of the longbows tied to the side of his saddle. With it, he handed her a dorlach, a quiver full of arrows. “Betwixt the two of us, m’lady, perhaps we can better our odds still.”

  Mercy pulled the strap of the dorlach over her head and slung the longbow over one shoulder. She felt better with a weapon. Empowered.

  “I dinna care much for that plan,” Graham said as they resumed their journey, trudging through the rugged terrain.

  Mercy didn’t answer, just concentrated on picking her way up the side of the mountain and leading Ryū across the dangerous ground. Once they reached the peak of the ridge, they continued leading the horses rather than riding due to the hazardous footing.

  As the sun slipped below the horizon, Graham held up a hand. “We’ll bed down here ’til sunrise.”

  Mercy glanced around, doubt filling her. Few trees grew at this elevation. Whatever shelter they hoped to find would be in the form of boulders and the land. What if Tracker and his men discovered them?

  “Marsden and I will stand watch. We can sleep when we reach Tor Ruadh,” Duncan said. He nodded to the north. “The wagons will have reached the glen by now, so the bastards might risk a search for us through the night.”

  “But they won’t know we’re here.” Mercy clenched her horse’s reins so tight her nails bit into her palms.

  “They’ll know we’re close,” Graham said as he walked a slow circle around the plateau and scanned their surroundings. “We canna be certain how much information the others gave them once they caught up with them.”

  Mercy glanced up at the darkening sky. A faint winking of stars already spattered the blue-black curtain of night falling. The dark of the moon. That would help. Mercy stumbled across the loose rocks in her path.

  “Easy there, lass.” Graham’s comforting voice wrapped around her and held her steady. His hand slid down her arm and he took the reins. “Wait here. I’ll tie the horses to that bit of scrub over there and then we’ll bed ourselves down, aye?”

  Bed ourselves down. The ability to speak escaped her, so she released the reins without comment. She wet her lips and clenched her hands together. She’d never lain with a man. In fact, Graham was the only man she’d ever kissed, the only man she’d ever embraced. The memory of their swim together flashed hot through her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

  Pressing her legs tight together, she rubbed one against the other, remembering the slick feel of Graham’s skin against hers when she’d brushed against him in the water. She looked around, squinting to make out shapes in the darkness. But here? While chased by murdering thieves? With Marsden and Duncan standing watch but a few feet away? And what should she do? Mama had given her little advice other than to say Mercy would know what to do when the time came.

  “Come, lass.” Graham tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to a horseshoe-shaped outcropping of stones. The massive boulders, bleached white by nature’s harsh kiss, seemed to give off an eerie, blue-white glow in the darkness. Graham motioned to a darker patch of ground abutted to the stones. “The moss willna cushion us much, but ’twill be softer than bedding down on hard-packed dirt or stone.”

  “It’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Mercy moved to sit. A faint, hitching gasp escaped her. A bruised stiffness had set in, a painful reminder of her brutal escape.

  Graham took hold of her hands. “Lass?”

  Whilst she couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, she heard the concern in his voice. “I’m quite all right,” she said as she settled atop the spongy moss. “Just a little sore from where I jumped from the horse.”

  “Jumped from a horse,” Graham repeated.

  “It was my only means of escape.”

  Sitting down beside her, Graham scooted them both back until he sat with his back leaned against the stone, reclining but partially upright. He held out his arm and waited. “Come, lass. I ken it’s no’ proper for a lady to do such, but let me hold ye whilst ye sleep. I swear I’ll do nothing to dishonor ye.”

  Mercy found his words mildly disappointing. Hadn’t Graham professed his feelings for her? Hadn’t he as good as asked her to be his wife? She touched the cut on her throat, then her bruised cheek and sore mouth. Her fingers found cuts, scratches, a split lip, and even a lump the size of a goose’s egg just above her temple. Had she become so hideous he didn’t want her anymore? Or was it because she’d brought nothing but ill-luck to him ever since stepping into her presence?

  Snuggling up against him, Merc
y curled into his side and rested her head upon his chest. “Have I become too much trouble to you? Do you no longer wish to have me?” She clenched his shirt in her fist and pressed it close to her mouth, holding her breath until he answered.

  Graham kissed the top of her head and hugged her closer. His steady heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. “Ye’re my heart, Mercy, and I want ye with a fierceness that scares me.” He shifted with a deep breath, then groaned it out. “But I willna have the first time I love ye be on a patch of rock in the wilderness and rushed for fear murderers are nearly upon us.”

  Mercy lifted her head and looked up at him, thanking God for sending her such a man. “I haven’t frightened you then? Driven you away by all the trials that follow me?”

  Graham softly traced the curve of her jaw as he peered down at her for a long, breathless moment. Lacing his fingers into her hair, he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her with a tenderness that threatened to make her sob. He drew back and brushed a kiss to her forehead, then cuddled her back to his chest. “The only thing I fear in this world, m’love, is losing ye. I swear upon every breath I draw, m’heart is ever yours.”

  “I love you,” Mercy whispered, hot tears of joy and relief wetting her face.

  “And I love ye as well,” Graham brushed the back of his fingers across her face, wiping her tears away. “Rest now, love. When we reach Tor Ruadh, I’ll make ye mine good and proper. I swear it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her soft, regular breathing shifted against Graham’s chest, and he thanked God for it. He’d feared her lost. Tortured. Murdered. He’d feared never seeing her again. A weary smile overtook him. Holding her like this was a tender blessing of which he’d never tire. He yearned for an even greater closeness but not now. Not until he had her safe and true happiness shone in her eyes. He wanted the shadows of worry and fear gone. He would make this woman happy. She deserved such.

  He pulled in another deep breath and let it out with just as much care. His side pained him some as he eased out from under her. He held his breath to keep from grunting against the aching twinge and waking her. Mercy gave a soft whimper and curled into a ball on her side on the moss. Graham held fast, frozen in place until she relaxed back into sleep.

  Where the sky joined the earth had taken on a softer coloring, the yellow-white hue of the sun about to peer above the horizon. ’Twas time to make short work of Tracker and his men and clear the path to Tor Ruadh. A few steps away from where Mercy slept, Duncan and Marsden joined him. Graham put a finger to his lips, pointed toward her, then motioned for them to keep their voices low.

  “Ye were right. The wagons went into the glen with no trouble. We found Tracker and his men. They set up camp inside the tree line beside the road at the mouth of the pass, but there’s no sign of the wagons anywhere. They had to have gone ahead.” Duncan scrubbed a hand across the stubble covering his jaw, then stifled a yawn.

  “Do you think they’ve already arrived at Tor Ruadh?” Marsden asked.

  Graham snorted at having allowed the handful of traitors escape without a good horsewhipping for the lot of them. “If they go to Tor Ruadh, I’ll be more than a little surprised. My guess is they’ve gone to Fort William to send a report to Edsbury.”

  Marsden turned and scowled at the glen below. “I find it considerably disturbing to think Lady Mercy traveled with not a single ally from her own household. Even her lady’s maid turned traitor and deceived her.” Marsden shook his head, his fierce feelings painting his cheeks with patches of scarlet visible even in the soft gloaming light of early morning. “Without a doubt, it is utterly reprehensible.”

  Graham agreed—but in much stronger terms. Now, however, was not the time to go into it. He nodded toward the exit of the pass located just below them. “By Mercy’s count, there’s but three of them now. God willing, we’ll make short work of this and be at Tor Ruadh in time for the midday meal. I’ll no’ have those rabid curs nipping at our heels any longer.”

  “Aye,” Duncan raised his longbow as though toasting their success. “Let’s be about this then. Catriona found a new cook from the village, and the woman makes damn fine meat pies.”

  “I say,” Marsden said with an excited bob of his head and a pat to his belly. “That does sound tempting.”

  Graham rolled his eyes and shook his head at the two and their distractions. They sounded like two old women. He waved them forward, creeping down the rugged terrain of the steep hillside with as little noise as possible. Boulders assisted in their descent, providing welcomed shadows. He made use of anything for cover to keep Tracker and his men unaware.

  Graham moved with raw, burning determination, rage fueling every move. There was no telling what the Marches or the two women had reported to Tracker, and it wouldn’t take a stretch of the imagination for the murdering thieves to figure out that Graham and the others had taken to high ground.

  He paused behind the muddy, tangled mass of an uprooted tree. Crouching low, he looked back and checked the progress of Marsden and Duncan. A fluttering of movement among some bushes higher to the right caught his eye. He squinted and blinked, staring at the spot, willing whatever had moved to make itself known, but nothing moved again. Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing the corners of his eyes, Graham sent up a silent prayer. Now is no’ the time for me to fail. Please clear my sight and make my aim true. He glanced heavenward and crossed himself, then waved Marsden and Duncan forward.

  Marsden and Duncan scrabbled to his side and pressed up against the trunk of the fallen tree.

  “Did ye see movement above us?” Duncan asked, frowning back at the same spot that had concerned Graham.

  Graham studied the spot again but still saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dawn was almost full upon them. Mayhap that was it. Shadow and light could play tricks on a man’s eyes, especially when fraught with weariness and hunger for revenge. If someone lurked above them, they’d surely see them now since the higher ground had the sun full upon it. “I thought I had.” He wouldn’t lie to his brother, and it made him feel some better that Duncan had experienced the same. “It must ha’ been the play of shadows.”

  “I think not, gentlemen,” Marsden whispered, peering up, his attention focused on something farther down the hillside. He pointed. “Look just there.”

  Graham crawled to Marsden’s side. Resting both hands atop the rough bark of the fallen tree, he stretched and looked over the log. A raging flood of emotions slammed into him at the sight of Mercy with an arrow nocked and ready to release, inching ever closer to the men camped below. “What the hell is she doing?”

  “I think that’s obvious, brother,” Duncan remarked in a tone that tempted Graham to turn around and knock the man on his arse. “I thought she was still asleep,” he added.

  “So, did I!” Graham pulled his pistol from his belt and readied it to fire. “Damned, stubborn woman!” He sprang up and charged down the hillside. He had to get to the men before Mercy caught their attention and drew fire. Duncan and Marsden followed close behind.

  As he reached the soft, loamy ground of the forest and entered the trees, shouts shattered the morning’s silence. Graham ran toward the noise, ducking and dodging around the trees. Gunfire split the air. He spotted the white smoke of spent powder filtering up through the leaves and veered toward it.

  The one called Gobs teetered into view, two arrows embedded deep in his chest and his side. Something hissed past Graham and another arrow, one from Duncan’s bow, drove deep into Gobs’s neck and took the monstrosity of a man down.

  “Kill that bitch, now!” A raspy voice Graham had never heard before came from just up ahead. “Kill her, Flynn! No gold worth this!”

  It had to be the one Mercy had called Tracker. She’d mentioned the man’s unusual voice. Graham spotted him dressed all in black, crouching behind the trunk of an ancient oak. He leveled his pistol, took aim, then sent Tracker to the hell he deserved.

  One left. Graham tucked his spent weapon
back in his belt and readied his second pistol, watching his surroundings as he eased around the outcropping of limestone marking the clearing. The woods were quiet, but they’d yet to find the bald-headed man with the earrings, the one called Flynn.

  Leaves crunched and twigs snapped to his left. Graham spun about, relief almost taking him to his knees as Mercy eased out from behind a tree, an arrow nocked and ready. Jaw locked and body tensed, Mercy made a single nod toward another mound of limestone boulders across the clearing. “My aim is rusty,” she whispered as she joined Graham. “I aimed for between his shoulder blades but missed.” She smiled as she leaned up against the rocks. “But sitting a horse will be most impossible for him until he rips out that arrow.”

  Graham didn’t know whether to laugh because she’d shot Flynn in the arse or shake her because she had joined the fray. “What the hell are ye doing here, woman?”

  Fine, dark brows arched to her hairline, she looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Revenge,” she said in a cold, hard tone. “I am not a helpless lady born to cower and wait to be saved. Society never accepted me by their standards, so I decided to create my own—in Mama and Akio’s memory.” Her look softened. “I hope that doesn’t diminish your opinion of me. If it does, Graham, then I am sorry—because this is who I am.”

  With a shake of his head, Graham stared at Mercy, struggling to find the words to tell her all he felt. He reached out and touched her arm. “Ye could do nothing to lower yourself in my sight, but I must admit, ye’ve found many a way to scare the living hell out of me.” He ground his teeth, doing his best not to sound like a scolding bastard. “I need ye safe, love. I canna have ye joining me in battle, especially no’ sneaking about and mixing in when I think ye safe elsewhere.”

  “But—”

  He held up a hand. “Ye no longer fight in this world alone, Mercy. Do ye understand me? Ye’re no’ alone.”

  Mercy stared at him, then bowed her head as she removed the arrow from her bow and returned it the quiver. She smiled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a bullet ricocheting off the rocks in front in them.