Bethia

by Keira Montclair

  “You’ll never bring Uncle Logan to his knees. He’s the best swordsman on our land, and his wife is the best archer. With all the other Ramsay guards, you’ll not stand a chance against him.” She lifted her chin a notch.

  “Except for one small thing you seem to have forgotten. Or mayhap you do not know…aye, you probably do not.” He stared off into the treetops of the mighty oaks nearby and tapped his finger on his chin. “I not only hold you, but I also have wee…hmmm...let me think for a moment.” He tapped his chin and stared up at the cloudy night sky. “Aye, now I recall their names. Jennet and Brigid? Is that not correct?”

  Bethia could not contain her gasp. Donnan squeezed her middle in a silent message of support.

  Bearchun guffawed as he walked away. “Now you understand. I have all three of you. I will win this battle, and none of my men will lose a drop of blood.” He winked at her as he paced in the opposite direction. “The lassies are well hidden, and your uncle will need me alive to find them. He will not dare have his bitch of a wife put an arrow in me. I have made sure to secure my safety.”

  She waited until he was gone to give into her fears. “Donnan,” she whispered, “oh my, I cannot imagine my sister and Brigid…”

  “Hush,” he whispered back in her ear. “Do not yield to him. You must stay strong. We will win. Your brother, your uncle, Cailean. All mighty warriors. Have faith.”

  “No talking,” one man behind them barked. “Bearchun, where do you want them?”

  Bearchun walked around the area in front of the gates, meandering slowly as though he were planning something. He peered into the trees, glanced at distances and angles, then finally answered. “Move them twenty paces from that tree. And you’ll stand side by side.” The last place he glanced at was a small knoll to the right of the group.

  What in hell was he planning? The guards moved them exactly where he’d instructed. Once they were in position, Bearchun’s men moved back, hidden from view by the trees.

  Donnan waited until they were out of range, then whispered, “Listen.”

  Bethia turned her head to the side and squeezed his hand as soon as she heard the thunder of horses’ hooves in the distance.

  Many, many horses.

  She closed her eyes and said a prayer that it was the Ramsay warriors, her sister and cousin would survive, and all would be well. Where was her mother? What must she be going through?

  Not ten minutes later, a cavalry of horses crested the small ridge in the distance and rumbled across the meadow, finally coming to a stop in front of them. Bethia’s gaze searched the group, noting all the warriors she knew so well. Logan was in front with Torrian, Kyle by her brother’s side. Cailean sat atop his destrier on Logan’s other side, his brother, Alan, behind him. Her eyes shot to the rest of the row behind them, her heart in her throat.

  Gavin, Gregor, Tormod, and even Henson and Bothan. She did not see her sire, thankfully, but she guessed he was not far. Her uncle Micheil and his son David sat a couple of rows back. How had they known? Aunt Avelina, the seer, must have had a vision and sent word. Uncle Micheil often appeared when they needed him most.

  Bearchun’s voice rang out as soon as they stopped, though he was not in clear view. “Shoot anyone now, Ramsay, and not only will Bethia die in front of you, but your daughter and your niece will, too. The wee lassies are well hidden, and you’ll not find them if I’m dead.”

  “What do you want, Bearchun?” Uncle Logan’s voice rang out loud and clear for all to hear, a voice known to strike fear in the Ramsays’ enemies, and now she understood why. Her respect for the warriors of her clan grew by leaps and bounds as she observed them.

  Bearchun’s voice brought her back to the circumstances in front of her. “You, Logan Ramsay. I want you. Send your guards away, out of my sight, and you stay. Hand-to-hand combat, just you and me, with none of your warriors to back you up.”

  “And you promise not to shoot me down? Because naught would give me more pleasure than to snap your neck in my hands, Bearchun.”

  “You have my word as a former Ramsay warrior. No one will touch you or shoot at you but me. Send your men back.”

  “And when will you show yourself? Pardon me for not taking your word. You left the Ramsays long ago.”

  Uncle Logan acted as though he did this every day. Bethia’s hands trembled, but her uncle looked as calm as could be.

  Bearchun shouted, “Get rid of them and I’ll show myself. And I wouldn’t have anyone attempt to shoot the men guarding your niece. I have archers on her, ready to kill if you go near her.”

  Logan didn’t speak, his gaze slowly traveling the area. “Bethia, you are hale?”

  “Aye, Uncle.” Her voice came out in a squeak as she gave the answer, her legs quaking underneath her.

  His hand moved into his hair and then to his back before he turned his head and nodded to Torrian. “Take your leave.”

  “Are you sure, Uncle?”

  “Aye. Please do not try to deny me this pleasure,” Logan’s voice came out in a deep growl that frightened even Bethia. “The bastard is mine, and I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  Bearchun guffawed.

  “We will not be far.” Torrian gave his signal and the horses all turned to the side at once, stirring up a bit of dirt as they rode away.

  “Where exactly would you like me to kill you, Bearchun?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Logan Ramsay couldn’t be more pleased. The bastard wished to fight him in hand-to-hand combat. He’d beat the wastrel silly. He’d waited months for this opportunity—dreamed of it.

  He wiped the sweat that dotted his forehead on his sleeve before he dismounted, standing next to his horse. He wouldn’t step from his mount until Bearchun showed his face. He thought he saw a glimpse of him behind a set of bushes to his right, but he couldn’t be sure in the dark.

  The only thing that worried him was Bethia. His beautiful niece stood out in the open. Based on her position and how Donnan stood to her side, he had no doubt Bearchun had an archer on the wall with an arrow aimed at her heart. He’d known Donnan long enough to know the man would never allow a lass to stand unprotected unless he’d been ordered to do so.

  He counted five men clearly visible, but he doubted the fool could have more than ten other men. He didn’t have the following or the reputation of MacNiven, which had drawn fools to him like flies to sweet tarts.

  Idiot. He’d make him pay dearly for all the aggravation he’d caused his family.

  Bearchun thought he could take Logan Ramsay on in hand-to-hand…rather, fist-to-fist…combat? Ha! As soon as the bastard showed his face, he’d be all over him and prove him wrong.

  There was only one problem—he’d have to keep his eye on Bethia at all times. He’d like to trust Donnan to protect her, but he could easily be outnumbered, especially since he’d been injured not long ago. Protecting her was on Logan’s shoulders.

  “I’m not stepping away from my horse until the slime comes out from under his rock.” He’d play with Bearchun’s head as much as he could. The lout had been in the Ramsay lists and he’d sparred with him, so he knew his weaknesses. Including the way he responded to barbs.

  The arsehole didn’t stand a chance.

  He waited, listening to the hoot of an owl in the distance, training his vision to stay near Bethia. The smell of body odor wafting over him, the kind that came from being frightened and unable to calm the fear roiling inside in your gut—and it wasn’t his.

  His horse nickered, his warning to his master that someone had stepped out of the dark.

  His gaze crossed the entire length of the curtain wall, trees running down both sides of the entrance.

  Finally, he found him.

  Bearchun stepped out from behind a tree and moved toward him, his hand reaching up to rub the fresh scar on his face. Donnan had described it well.

  “We almost got you at Buchan Castle, aye?” Logan would taunt him as much as he could to unsettle
him before he threw his first punch. “Was that my sword that found you?” He stepped in front of his horse, who pawed the ground as if to say he wanted a piece of the swine, too.

  A smile crossed Logan’s face, he just couldn’t prevent it. He’d waited so long for this moment. Bearchun came a few paces closer before he halted, a man’s length away from Logan but directly in front of the open gates to the castle.

  The bastard meant to do something twisted because he’d left himself room to run—and a place to escape to.

  Logan Ramsay would bring him down.

  “I’m ready whenever you are, you piece of shit,” he whispered to Bearchun. “Do your best before I flatten you.” He flexed his fists to ready himself for battle, then spit to the side, checking Bethia with the slight tip of his head. She was frightened, but he caught a touch of strength in her, something new for his dear niece.

  Bearchun came running straight at him with a growl. Logan pulled his fist back and hit him straight in his belly and, in the same movement, shifted and stuck his foot out to trip him, sending him face first into the ground.

  Logan landed on Bearchun’s back, his knee pinning him down while his hand yanked on his hair. “That didn’t take long now, did it, big man? Do you want to take me on again?” He released him and Bearchun jumped to his feet, his fist swinging and then connecting with Logan’s jaw, taking him by surprise.

  “How’d that feel, Ramsay?” he cackled.

  Logan spun around and kicked his leg out, catching Bearchun in the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. “Not as bad as that did, I’m quite sure.”

  Bearchun lost his temper, getting back to his feet and running low at Logan, hoping to lift him off his feet, but he couldn’t move him. He’d misjudged his size and strength. Logan grabbed his leg and flipped him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

  Logan leaped onto him, pummeling him everywhere he could. Bearchun began to kick and scream like a lass, much to his delight, so he gave him the chance to get to his feet. He wasn’t ready to end it for him yet.

  “That’s the last time I’ll allow you to get back up. Where’s my daughter?”

  Bearchun laughed, wiping the blood that poured down one side of his face. “You’ll never find her. No one knows where she is but me. I dug a fresh hole for the two lasses. There is a crate buried underneath the earth with naught but a pipe sticking out of the ground. No one will ever see it. You should have heard them cry when I started to throw dirt on top of the crate.”

  Logan did something he never did. He lost all sense of reason. He lunged at the man, pushing at him until his back was up against a tree, and then he punched his gut, his face, aught he could bloody his knuckles on. “Where is she? Where is she?” His fists battered one side of the man’s face, then the other.

  Bearchun’s hand reached up and ran through his hair. Logan was too slow to react, not recognizing it for the signal it was until he was too late.

  Chaos ensued.

  He turned toward Bethia at the same time he heard the arrow come from over his shoulder and slice through the air not far from his head, aimed straight for his beloved niece.

  Everything slowed as he watched the arrow head straight for his dear niece’s heart. The worst of it was that she had no idea. He screamed, “Down,” but the shock on her face slowed her reaction. Her only response was to turn and look at him.

  Bethia was a dead woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Donnan saw movement in one of the trees and turned in that direction, only to see an arrow headed straight for his love. He did the only thing possible—he stepped in front of Bethia to protect her and turned his body just enough to catch the arrow in his shoulder.

  He threw her to the ground and covered her with his body, afraid another arrow would soon follow. He glanced up at the fools around them, who’d been caught off guard. Screams filled the air, but he knew not who was screaming.

  Bethia shouted his name and pushed against him. The pain that rippled through his upper body was nothing compared to other pain he’d experienced, both in battle and after Donnie’s death, so he held her down and said, “Hush, I’m fine, I’m fine. ‘Tis only my shoulder.”

  “You’re hurt. Donnan. Get off me, please. They’ll kill you.” Her fists banged against him with little strength, but he did not move an inch. He had to protect her.

  When several moments passed without another assault from above, Donnan rolled off Bethia to determine the source of the continued screaming. The guards who’d stood behind them had slid over toward Bearchun, an expression of fear on their faces, though he couldn’t understand why. He and Bethia were unarmed.

  Bethia sat up, looking about wildly. “What’s happening? Where is Uncle Logan?”

  The scene before them was one of chaos. Men ran in different directions, following the strange screaming, which seemed to be getting closer to them. Beneath the sound, he could hear what appeared to be the cries of animal. Logan had Bearchun by the throat, but they both froze and turned toward the uncanny, deafening clamor.

  Donnan stood, pushing Bethia away from him in an attempt to protect her from whatever was headed toward them.

  Out of the dark rushed a figure he recognized, coming straight for him, dagger raised over her head.

  Glenna. The crazed screams had been from her.

  Donnan braced himself for her attack, but to his amazement, she changed directions at the last minute and launched herself at Bethia, her teeth bared in a scream that carried across the area. “You bitch! You’ve ruined everything. I’ll kill you!”

  Donnan dove to protect Bethia, but his foot got caught on a rock and he lost his balance, falling to the ground, snapping the arrow out of his shoulder. He was powerless as Glenna leaped straight for Bethia, who backed up until she reached the curtain wall.

  There was nowhere else for her to go, and he feared he would have to watch as his love was killed in front of him.

  The most beautiful sight he’d ever seen came out of nowhere.

  Shewolf charged straight at Glenna, her magnificent jaws latching onto the forearm of the hand that clutched the knife, the force of the beast’s powerful body knocking her down at once. The animal pulled her away from Bethia and tossed her body up against a tree with a growl. The blow seemed to have killed Glenna instantly.

  Bethia jerked her head away and ran straight for Donnan. He opened his arms for her and she fell into them, doing her best not to hurt his shoulder. The arrow was no longer visible, though a piece was surely still embedded inside. She would see to it later.

  He hugged her, holding her tight, but then checked the area because chaos still reigned. Shewolf still roamed the area but none of Bearchun’s guards would go near her.

  Logan Ramsay had renewed his pummeling of Bearchun, whom he now had by the throat against a tree. “You’ll take me to them now, or I’ll snap your neck with my hands.”

  The wolf now stood a short distance from Logan, as if guarding his back, pacing back and forth.

  “Hellfire, snap my neck because I’m not telling. I’ll never tell.” Bearchun’s voice was weakening.

  “I’ll kill every one of your men in front of you until you tell me where they are.” Two more punches to Bearchun’s belly forced him to cough, but after three more gags, his coughing turned into evil laughter.

  “I care not about any of them. Kill them all if you like. I’ll still not tell.” His laughter continued, but his comments had apparently registered with his men—they exchanged glances as if considering their next move.

  A voice penetrated the night air, stronger and surer than the eerie laughter of the daft man. “Logan, stand back.”

  Bethia turned her head toward the voice just as Logan shifted his body, though he kept his hand on Bearchun’s throat, still holding him against the tree.

  An arrow flew out of the trees, aimed into the tree opposite where Donnan and Bethia were huddled. An archer came tumbling out of the tree at the same time a
second arrow landed in Bearchun’s flesh, pinning him to the tree.

  Logan laughed and said, “Nice shot, Gwynie.”

  “Get out of the way and I’ll get the bastard again.”

  Logan released him and Bearchun screamed like a laddie as another arrow flew and pinned his shoulder to the tree.

  Then Donnan noticed where the first arrow had landed, right between the man’s legs. His bollocks had been pinned to the tree—it was the only explanation for the twisted scream of agony that ripped from Bearchun’s gut.

  Bearchun’s guards began to mutter and chatter amongst themselves, each dropping their weapons as the realization hit them, too.

  “His bollocks.”

  “She pinned him in his sac.”

  “It must be the Ramsay bitch. She’s done it before.”

  “He can’t move. Look at the blood pouring down his legs.”

  Three men came running up from the back of the castle, arms in the air, weapons left behind, screaming, “We’ll bring them to you. They’re not in the ground—they’re in the cottage in the back. Just don’t shoot! Don’t shoot my bollocks!”

  Gwyneth dropped out of the tree, her bow still in her hand ready to shoot, and said, “Finish him, Logan.” She pointed her arrow at one of the men who’d come around from the back and said, “Take me to the lassies.”

  Molly dropped out of the other tree.

  Logan threw a fist into Bearchun’s face and said, “Too late, Gwynie. He’s already gone.”

  The squeal of two little lassies reached Donnan’s ears as the girls tore around the side of the curtain wall, headed straight for Gwyneth and Molly.

  Bethia squeezed Donnan’s hand and said, “My sister.” He gave her a nod and urged her to join the group now standing in front of the gates, crying and laughing.

  Gavin whistled as he jumped down from his tree, causing a stampede of horse’s hoofs to thunder across the land.

  “Mama, do not cry. We’re much bigger now,” Brigid said. “‘Twas not so scary this time.”