The Rogue

by Allison Butler

  The unwanted thought shattered with the sudden shout she heard above the crunching of the cart’s wheels. Keila whipped her head about, searching for the voice as the sound of hooves now thundered from behind.

  Every muscle in her body clenched at the sight of the four mounted men who were fast gaining ground from the rear. Each wore leather pants and vests and without plaids, Keila couldn’t identify where they came from. Each man had their faces hidden beneath a square of cloth, stealing any chance of learning who they were.

  A flash of pain pierced her chest. If prayers were answered, she’d summon Mac, but knowing they weren’t, Keila tightened her grip on the reins and searched the glen for help. She found none. They were on their own.

  Heartbeat racing, she looked at Moira who thankfully appeared to be more annoyed than afraid. ‘Here,’ Keila said, handing the reins back to her friend. ‘Try to stay on track and I will do my best to remove them from our trail.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘It seems there was a reason for our poor sales, Moira.’ She rucked up her skirts and knelt on the seat. ‘I plan to share our goods with the men who have decided to join us.’

  ‘Saint Morluag, be careful, lass,’ Moira said and slid over into the centre of the seat.

  ‘I will,’ she said, with no clue as to how careful she could be, doing what she planned.

  Keila drew a deep breath and held it as she crouched on the bench seat and reached a shaking hand out for the nearest wicker basket. She glanced up and the sight of the four riders gaining ground sent her stomach plummeting into her toes. ‘Faster, Moira.’

  ‘Merciful heavens, lass,’ Moira said, but with Keila’s next indrawn breath, she whipped the horses to a greater speed.

  The cart jerked and bumped over uneven ground, but still Keila managed to lift one leg over into the cart and created a space for her foot between slatted boxes of unguent and baskets of vegetables. Shifting her weight to the foot she’d just positioned in the cart, she lifted the other, just as one cartwheel hit something solid, sending the cart teetering on the other wheel for only a moment, but it was long enough to toss Keila headlong into a basket of leeks. The basket she already held crumbled beneath the death-grip of her fingers and the smell of onions infused her senses as her right shoulder slammed into another wicker basket and her forehead collided with thick round stalks.

  ‘Keila, are you alright? Answer me, lass.’

  She heard Moira’s worried voice, but was working hard to find something that wouldn’t snap and break beneath her weight as she shifted her balance from her head back to her feet.

  ‘I’m … I’m fine, Moira,’ she said, as she righted herself and turned to see if they’d somehow lost the men following them while she’d taken her tumble. But they were still there and they were nearer than before. ‘We need to go faster, Moira,’ she yelled over the rock-splitting rumble of the wheels.

  ‘The stubborn beasts are too old and winded,’ Moira shouted back, as she whipped the leathers in hope.

  Keila held tight and looked at the two mounted men nearing the rear of the cart. She had no idea what they wanted or what they had planned, but with their faces covered it was obvious they were up to no good. Could these men be the ones who’d attacked and beaten Mac? Whether they were or not, she refused to allow anyone to harm Moira. She had to stop them.

  Pressing her lips firmly together, she made her way to the back of the cart, jerking and jostling each time the cart did. She dropped to her knees and tried to relax her body so it swayed and moved with the cart, instead of fighting the unpredictable movements. Then, with a strength borne of stubbornness and a fire burning low in her belly, she pushed and pulled the closest cask full of ale to the rear and with an effort that left her gasping, she lifted the brew and dropped it off over the back of the cart.

  The cask hit the ground and shattered a horse length in front of the two closest riders. Despite the cooper’s skill, the fall and the impact proved too much. The wooden staves splintered and separated from each other and the circular metal bands. The ale Keila had painstakingly finished brewing only nights before exploded in a spray of liquid and foam, all over the horses’ forelegs and chests, sending the beasts careening off to one side where they collided and jostled one another.

  Keila looked back behind the cart to see the rest of the ale trampled into both dirt and grass by the hooves of the remaining two horses. Her heart clenched at the sight of the ruined casks they couldn’t afford to lose, but her spirits were quickly raised again as she hefted the next cask of ale off the cart with the same positive result. Deep down she knew her efforts were only delaying the inevitable. She only had so many casks of ale left and the mounted men had taken to riding off to the side of the cart rather than directly behind.

  While she struggled to think of another plan, she lifted a basket of carrots and tossed it over the side where one of the men now rode. Again the rider swerved off to the side, but each time she cast cabbages, leeks, onions and carrots at them, while one rider was thrown off track, the next was there to take his place, and she was fast running out of vegetables.

  She searched their surroundings but there was nowhere for them to hide. The mounted men had a better chance on horseback than they did driving the cumbersome cart. With her heartbeat thudding in her throat, Keila turned to look at her friend. Greying strands of hair that had broken free of their usual tight bun whipped back behind Moira’s rigid shoulders, her attention fixed ahead on the horses she drove and the track they followed. Her windblown appearance so unlike her usual perfect image. A sign her friend was feeling the same sense of desperation.

  Keila’s fingers bit into the cart’s wooden side at the hopelessness of their situation. She clenched her jaw to fight her own thoughts of defeat. She wanted to scream at the men who had likely come to do them harm, but she’d be best conserving her energy for the fight to come. And fight she would.

  With less baskets and casks taking up room in the cart, Keila made her way forward to where Moira continued to push their horses to their limits. ‘Moira.’ She placed one hand on her friend’s shoulder and met her troubled gaze. ‘Do you have your dirk?’

  ‘Of course,’ Moira said without hesitation.

  ‘Good.’ Keila squeezed Moira’s shoulder and reached down to extract her own dirk from her boot. She turned back to glare at the riders that were now closer than they had been since the chase began.

  This was her fault. She’d been the one to decide to return home instead of staying the second night. No one would know where they were or that they were in trouble. Not that anyone in Mortlach would care, after the cold reception they’d received.

  Through narrowed eyes, Keila looked beyond the galloping marauders to the kirktown in the distance and spied a small cloud of dust too far away to have been created by their cart or the mounted men following them. Her heart leapt high in her chest. Could it be someone who would give them aid, or was it another marauder coming to join his cohorts? At this point she couldn’t be certain, but she had to take the chance that the newcomer would help them.

  ‘Moira, slow the horses.’

  ‘Are you daft?’ Moira shouted back, throwing a horrified glance over her shoulder.

  Keila clutched the hilt of her dirk tighter. ‘Moira, someone comes,’ she yelled over the constant noise of the cart’s wheels. ‘But I’m not sure who it is.’ She glanced back to see the newcomer had gained on them, as had the other four. ‘Don’t slow them too much,’ she continued. ‘We need to give whoever it is time to reach us so we can see who it is and then determine what to do next.’

  ‘Saint Morluag save us,’ Moira said and pulled back slightly on the reins.

  Keila would happily welcome aid from Saint Morluag, or any other, at this moment.

  Mist and Nettle responded to the minor adjustment immediately, which had the men chasing them draw nearer much too quickly for Keila’s liking. She scrambled over the remaining casks and wicker bas
kets until she crouched in the middle of the cart. She assessed which rider proved the greatest threat and slid on her knees to the left side where she braced to lift the whole basket of vegetables to throw at the closest rider, but then thought better of it. Once the baskets and casks were gone, she’d have naught left to throw and slow down those chasing them.

  She looked back at the newcomer, willing whoever it was to hurry and was relieved none of the four seemed to know they were now being followed. Keila turned away, reached inside the basket, grabbed a cabbage and threw it at the closest rebel. The vegetable hit the man’s thigh and sent him and his horse slightly off course and to the side. It wasn’t much of a change but at least it slowed him down. Keila grabbed another cabbage and searched for her next target, who proved to be the rider on the opposite side. Again her aim proved true and sent him and his mount off course again. But there was always another to take their place and she was fast running out of things to throw. Again, she silently begged the stranger to hurry.

  ‘Can you see who is it, lass?’ Moira shouted from the cart’s seat.

  ‘I …’ She stopped and peered back at the rider. Shoulder-length hair, the colour of wheat and sprinkled with cinnamon, caught the sun’s ebbing rays. Keila’s heart skipped a beat. Mac? Her heart began to race. Was it truly Mac? Had he come to help them? Even after she’d told him to stay away?

  Just as the fair-haired man she desperately hoped was Mac caught up with the rider furthest away from the cart, a large, dirty hand reached for Keila. She gasped and pulled away in time to miss the filthy fingers clawing for her, and before she’d even thought about what she was doing, she’d slipped her dirk free from her boot once more and slashed at the man’s sleeve. Caught unawares, the barbarian jerked his arm back, teetered in his saddle before falling from his horse and hitting the ground in a cloud of churning dust.

  A roar from the opposite side had Keila whipping about to find one of the others attempting to climb from his horse to the cart.

  ‘Steer left, Moira,’ Keila shouted as she reached blindly for anything to throw at him. Moira responded instantly and the cart veered away and out of reach of the man’s grasping fingers. The change in direction took the rider by surprise, giving Keila time to catch her breath and assess what needed to be done next.

  She looked back in time to see the fair-haired man strike out with his sword at the man he’d caught up to, knocking him from his horse to the ground. Heat rushed through her and her limbs grew heavy, but she straightened her spine and clenched her hands. This wasn’t over. They weren’t safe yet.

  Only two of the initial riders remained, one who had dodged the first man to fall from his horse and had now caught up to take his place. The other was now back on their trail after they’d swerved to avoid him climbing into the cart, but he was still further away than the other.

  Keila searched her cache of weapons. She only had three casks of ale, one basket of loaves, one of carrots and two timber boxes of salve left. Sliding on her knees, she dragged herself to the side where the ale rested and as she laid her hands on the cask, she glanced at the man she intended hitting with the brew.

  The weakening sunlight glinted silver on the long blade of the sword he drew from the scabbard at his back. Keila’s heart stopped altogether. Silence reigned, as if she was suddenly sinking, submerged underwater, stealing the sound of churning cartwheels, thundering hooves and her ragged breaths. She had her dirk but couldn’t compete with a sword and a man trained to use it.

  Sound erupted in a cacophony of noises, as if she’d pushed upward from the riverbed and breached the water’s surface. As long as she breathed, she’d never give up.

  Keila lifted the cask of ale high and threw it at the armed man. But he’d seen it coming and swiftly skirted the cask’s path. ‘Damn you,’ Keila gasped and sank back on her heels, as the man raised his sword higher.

  From the corner of her eye she glimpsed movement and turned to see Mac riding low against his mount’s neck. Heat infused her senses and warmed her heart. Sunlight flared bright on the sword he held in his hand. Thank the saints he hadn’t listened to her. She’d missed Mac the moment she’d sent him away.

  ‘Keila!’

  The muted sound of Mac calling her name reached her above the constant gallop of hooves and grinding wheels and she watched as he waved one arm in a wide arc, as if telling her to move. A blur of silvered steel caught her eye and she lunged to her right just as the marauder’s sword sliced the air where she’d been kneeling. The wicker baskets snapped and caved beneath her weight, piercing and scratching her flesh as she fell into the last, filled with loaves and carrots. The top of her right hand slammed into the edge of a salve-filled box, sending pain slicing up through her wrist and arm and causing her to release her dirk. The cart jostled and jounced in a new direction, and Keila slid and rolled to the opposite side like a reed cast into a fast flowing river. Her weapon lost.

  ***

  Adair’s heart plummeted to the soles of his boots at the sight of the long blade slicing the air in Keila’s direction. He’d tried to warn her, but had he been in time? She’d fallen into the back of the cart and he’d not seen her rise since. Jaw aching, stomach clenched, he strangled the hilt of his sword and spurred Demon to a swifter pace. Two of the four men still chased the cart, but the one brandishing the sword had lost ground when Moira had abruptly changed the cart’s direction. He’d leave him for last.

  The cur on the right had once again drawn close enough to stretch out a hand as he strained to grab the rear of the wooden cart, but his attention was so focused on his task he didn’t notice Adair’s approach until Demon had drawn even with his mount. The scum finally turned and his eyes widened at Dair’s sudden appearance beside him. Dair flashed a grin that was all teeth and no mirth, raised his sword, and with one powerful swing sliced open the man’s shoulder. The last image Dair had was of him flying through the air on the far side of his now riderless horse.

  Dair faced forward in time to see Keila’s large green eyes looking at him over the rim of the cart. Keila was alive. A powerful fist clenched about his heart and something shifted inside his chest.

  Her gaze suddenly slid to Dair’s left and her eyes widened. From his experience living in the Borders, Dair had learned to react first and survive to discover reasons later. He tugged the reins down to the right and his mount reacted to his silent command immediately by veering away from the cart. Dair looked back and spied the man who’d dared to cut the air in Keila’s direction closing in on the rear of the cart once more.

  White heat slowly burned a path from his gut into his chest. He relished the chance to tear the cur limb from limb. He set his teeth and turned, sword at the ready to face the final brigand.

  Their gazes met and held as Dair slowed Demon enough so they dropped back behind the cart. The coward yanked hard on his mount’s reins to the left and headed away from the cart.

  Adair’s first instinct was to ride the cur down and make him sorry he’d dared to strike out at Keila with his sword, but when he glanced forward, he let the lecher go. The lay of the land angled down into a steep slope up ahead and Dair was certain Keila, Moira and the horses had had enough of a wild ride. He threw a final look over his shoulder to ensure the coward hadn’t changed his mind about continuing the chase. He then secured his sword to the saddle and spurred Demon to a faster pace around the left side of the cart until he drew even with Moira. ‘When I have hold of Nettle’s bridle,’ he yelled, ‘pull back on the reins.’

  At Moira’s nod, he rode forward until he drew even with the horses’ heads. Both horses looked wild-eyed and were foaming about the mouth. Neither were bred for speed and were now running toward the steep incline out of fear. Nudging Demon closer, he quickly grasped the leathers about Nettle’s head and held on tight as he slowed Demon’s pace.

  Moira did as he’d requested and together they drew the horses and cart to a halt. Nettle and Mist were blowing hard and their sweat-laden coats
shivered and rippled. Dair dismounted and checked to ensure the raiding party hadn’t regrouped once more as he patted the nose of each beast to calm them. He then headed to where Moira sat, fingers clenched about the reins so hard her knuckles glared white.

  She’d done well to keep the horses on track and to not overturn the cart, but he’d learned Moira slapped words of praise aside, along with any offers of assistance.

  ‘Care to step down and stretch your legs?’

  Moira looked at him, her breathing almost as hard as the horses she’d driven; a pinched look carving an arc each side of her mouth and thinning her lips. ‘In a moment. See to Keila.’

  Dair strode around to the other side of the cart. Keila’s slender fingers bit into the wooden sides and she was drawing long slow breaths. Now, he drew his own while her eyes followed him, watching his approach. She rose higher on her knees as he neared. Keila was safe. The dizzy feeling he’d suffered shortly after he’d been beaten assailed him now. He slowed his steps a little and drew another deep breath.

  He’d experienced many skirmishes and worse, and had witnessed several moments in his life when he hadn’t been certain of the outcome of people he cared for. He buried deep the memories of those few instances when he hadn’t been able to control what was happening. He loathed his helplessness, even though each situation hadn’t been of his making. But here, now, seeing Keila looking fragile and delicate when she always presented strength and determination, Dair wanted to touch her, gently, fiercely. He wanted to take her in his arms and feel her, hold her. He wanted to hear her speak, to say his name and tell him she was fine.

  He wanted, and his wanting was greater than his fear of wanting her.

  Chapter 12

  Each breath she dragged into her lungs came easier than the one before and Keila was grateful. The sight of Moira sitting on the cart’s seat, thin shoulders hunched and head slightly bowed, proved that Keila wasn’t alone in her struggle to believe they’d survived the terrifying ride. They were only safe thanks to the fair-haired man watching her closely as he walked around the cart to where she couldn’t seem to let go of the timbered sides.