by Ria Cantrell
Tom started to feel panic rise up inside him as Caleb’s life force was rapidly draining from his body. He had to think. Basic first aid. Okay, stop the blood flow, but he could not do that with the dagger still sticking out of him like a spitted roast. If Tom took the dagger out, Caleb could bleed to death pretty quickly. He did not get the chance to make the decision because one of Caleb’s hands gripped the handle of the dirk and he pulled it out. A loud cry tore from his throat and Tom knew the laird was in terrible pain. He put his hand over the wound and found it to be deep; too deep to staunch the flow of blood easily. Tom cursed. Damn it all to hell. He was not going to let Caleb die. It would be all his fault!
Tom took the offending dagger and cut a strip of his plaid off so he could pack it into the wound. He didn’t know if it would help, but he had to try. His hands were slick with Caleb’s blood and if he didn’t do something, Caleb would be dead in a matter of minutes. He said, “Stay with me, Laird. Don’t you dare die! You hold on, Old Man, until we can get you to Morag. She will know what to do.”
“Lad,” it was a barely audible whisper.
“I told you not to talk. Jesus, someone please help me.”
“Lad, ye’ will take care of her, won’t ye’?”
Tom swallowed deeply and he nodded his promise to the dying man. Caleb spoke no more words. Tom continued pressing the wound hoping it would stop bleeding. How was he going to get Caleb down from this place?
He kept repeating, “Don’t you dare die on me, Old Man. Don’t you dare die.”
~
Chapter Forty-Six ~
The sound of the fight could be heard like a loud alarm through the quiet of the valley. Despite the sounds of the galloping horses, the battle cry could not be missed. Something was wrong. Why would McManus alert the king of the danger before they had gotten to the spot? They were almost to the agreed upon destination and the king had followed like a lamb being led to slaughter. It had been so easy to coerce him to take the less traveled path from the rest of the party. They had gotten the lead at the head of the line and from there they were able to slip from the watchful eyes of the guards that were ever on the king’s heels. Everything had gone according to plan until now. The king looked over at de la Pole.
“Do you think they have caught the boar?”
The king might have been young, but he knew the sounds of a fight. Still, he asked de la Pole to gauge his reaction. It seemed odd that they would hear such a ruckus. The king realized that his trust in the man riding beside him may have been ill-founded.
“My liege, I would not think the beast has been caught,” de la Pole stated smugly. He was certain the boar would not have made it to this higher ground so soon. The incline had gotten very steep indeed and wild pigs usually liked to forage amid the forest floor. The tree line had thinned out and gave little cover for anyone who could be lying in wait for them. The king’s eyes pinned de la Pole with unspoken accusation. Perhaps he had underestimated the naïve nature of Richard, after all. De la Pole turned back and saw a line of riders trailing behind them. There was a woman riding at break-neck speed followed closely by that Nordic giant and the Lord of the Keep. What the hell was going on?
De la Pole turned back to the sounds above the ridge and shielding his eyes from the cold sunshine he could see two men in MacCollum plaid locked in battle. He knew the one was Jerome McManus but he could not make out who was his opponent. The king’s eyes followed de la Pole’s and before either of them could speak further, the body of Jerome McManus came hurtling over the ledge to land on the rocks beneath it. De la Pole panicked. This had all gone horribly wrong and so he stammered, “We must make haste, My liege. There are assassins afoot.”
“Really? And you thought to bring me here alone. I do not think this was an accident.”
Disbelief and betrayal marked the young king’s features. He drew his own blade and charged de la Pole, forgetting he had pretended loyalty throughout his brief reign. Not to be bested, de la Pole’s sword was pulled from his scabbard and he raised it high as if to strike the king. De la Pole would have finished the king off had the approaching riders not been in hot pursuit of the royal hunter. He spurred his horse and took off down the sloping ridge to gain his lead. The buzz of an arrow flew past his head so he ducked low over the neck of his horse. Someone was shooting at him. Trying to stay clear of the flying barbs, another arrow grazed his sword arm, tearing through his sleeve and gouging through skin and muscle. He hissed in pain, and dropped his sword in his haste to get away.
~~~~~
Jenna saw the horror unfolding before her eyes. It appeared that Tavish and someone was fighting high upon Nan Morag’s ridge. She would know his silhouette anywhere. She was still too far away to aid him in any way. She drove her horse on because she had to get close enough to shoot her arrow. Her aim was true and if she could take the foe out, Tavish would be safe. Still it would be difficult to shoot at a target above her head. She would have to ride up on the ridge to do any good. As she turned her horse to take the steep incline leading up to the rise, she witnessed a man tumbling to the earth below. Her heart sank as his descent landed him broken and twisted on the rocky terrain only yards away. A scream split the air as the sound of the man hitting the ground rang in her ears.
Jenna sobbed, “No, Tavish. No.”
She halted her horse briefly until she saw what appeared to be Tavish leaning over the ledge and he looked down at the dead man beneath him. Gulping deep breaths into her lungs she murmured repeatedly, “Thank ye’, Lord for sparing him.”
When Jenna got herself together, she turned her horse back toward the rising passage so she could get to Tavish. She needed to assure herself that he was alright. It was then that the movement of two other men caught her eye. They were approaching the rise, and had stopped beneath it to find the body of the man who had attacked Tavish. Jenna could not believe what was unfolding before her eyes. It was the king and the other person had raised his sword against him. He turned and looked back and Jenna followed his gaze. Her father, brother and Uncle Erik were in hot chase of the king and they looked like hell’s demons were riding close behind them.
It was almost too much to take in, but when the man raised his sword toward the king, Jenna knew what she would have to do. She grabbed her bow that was slung across her back. Feeling it fitting in to hands calmed her jangled nerves. With shaking fingers, Jenna pulled a fletched stalk from her quiver and she knocked the arrow to take aim. The man who had dared to raise a sword against the king was now rapidly retreating and as she let an arrow fly, she saw it had almost hit its mark. She shouted a curse and loosed the next barb and she watched as it grazed the king’s attacker. Damn, he was riding so fast, she could not catch him. With a glance behind her, she saw her father and uncle had almost caught up to her. Holy hell, this was going from bad to worse. Erik stopped his horse before the king. He could see that he was visibly traumatized and he said, “Your Grace, are you alright?”
Shaking himself from what had just transpired, he said, “I am unharmed.”
“I will ride with you, to shield you. Who dared to assault you?”
With a cold hard glare, the king answered, “It was de la Pole. He arranged for that man to assassinate me, I think. His actions afterward proved his guilt.”
“I will lead you to safety, Your Grace.”
“That woman; she shot at de la Pole. Is she friend or foe? Who is she?”
Erik looked at the hooded woman riding up the ridge at a dangerous speed. He knew he should try to stop her, but he had more pressing duties at hand. He pondered his answer to the king and he swallowed deeply, “T’is my niece.”
The king was nearly in a full rage and Erik did not want to add to it with the deception of his friends so he just said, “I will explain all once we return to the keep. I need to fortify my guard and we will send out a search for de la Pole. His head will be put on a pike, I vow it.”
Erik took the reins of the king’s mount and d
rew it back to the path they had just travelled on. Ian and Drew had passed Erik and he motioned for them to follow Jenna up the perilous ridge. Richard protested and said, “I need to see who had bested the assassin.”
“Nay, my liege. I must insist. It is dangerous while de la Pole is still at large. I want us to return to the ranks of the other guard and get you to safety as soon as it is possible.”
The king nodded. “Perhaps you are right.”
He took back the reins and followed Erik’s lead. Erik instructed the king to ride closely since de la Pole had no arrows upon his person but he did not know if the cur had hidden a cache of weapons amid the wooded dale. The sooner he was locked in the keep and the castle secured with extra guards, the better Erik would feel. He did not even know what to do about Jenna. He hoped her father would take matters into his hands. Her actions now put them all in a very precarious situation.
~
Chapter Forty-Seven ~
As Drew and his son followed Jenna up the steep incline leading them to Morag’s Ridge, he was filled with trepidation. All his old Gifts of sensing fired within his brain. Something dreadful was waiting for them at the top of that rise. Despite his anger with his daughter, he needed to protect her from it, if he could. He kicked his heels into the flanks of his destrier and he took the lead, heading Jenna off. Drew cantered alongside of Jenna and when he got within an arm’s length of his daughter, he grabbed her around her waist and hauled her from her mount. She struggled and screamed, “Let me go, Father. Tavish may be hurt. I have to see to him.”
Drew just held her firmly and though he was angry with her, he tried to soothe her. He stilled her and pulled her into his saddle. “Be still, daughter. There is terrible danger in this glade and I’ll not lose you to it with your unwise choices.”
Jenna was certain she had never heard her father speak to her in anger before, but that all had just changed. She gave up her struggles against him and she watched as Ian rode past them. He had released his sword and was holding it aloft as he charged forward.
Ian was the first to reach the horrific scene at the top of Nan Morag’s Ridge. There on the ground was his grandfather, close to death’s clutches. The stranger who he had been wary of, was holding the murdering dirk in one hand and pressing his other blood-soaked fingers into the wound of the dying man.
Ian’s vision blurred and a cold fury boiled up in his veins. Leaping from the back of his horse, he held the tip of his blade to the back of Tom’s neck.
“Move away from him, rogue and drop your knife.”
Tom’s hand holding the dagger rose up and the bloodied blade fell from it. He could feel the steel edge of Ian’s sword pricking into his neck. He still pressed his hand over the wound that continued to pump Caleb’s blood onto the ground. He said, “It is not what you think. I did not hurt him. It was that one, the one I killed.”
“I said move away from my grandfather.”
“If I let go, he will bleed to death.”
Through clenched teeth, Ian said, “Move away from him. I’ll not ask you again.”
By this time, Drew and Jenna had made it up to the top. A piercing scream split the stillness of the ridge. She broke free of her father’s hold and she ran to where Ian was pinning Tavish. She shoved Ian away, causing him to stumble and she knelt beside her grandfather. “No, oh No! Tavish, what have ye’ done?”
Tom looked at his beautiful woman, whose eyes were red-rimmed. “I tried to save him. Jerome McManus ambushed him. He threw his dagger before I could stop him.”
“Jerome McManus? Is he the one who lies in death’s clutches below us?”
Tom hung his head and answered, “Yes. Yes, I did kill him. I owed it to Laird Caleb.”
Jenna’s eyes were filled with sorrow and horror. Tom did not know if he could stand the way they looked at him; accusing and broken. He had done that to her. He felt like he was going to be sick. He looked down at his blood soaked hands and the realization of what had taken place broke through his adrenaline-fueled mind. Jenna turned from him and tore strips from her skirt to try to staunch the blood flow from her beloved grandfather. She sobbed, “Please grandfather, please come back to us.”
Drew stopped in his tracks at the carnage before him. The old laird, once so strong and powerful, lay in a pool of his own blood that was growing beneath him as his life ebbed away. Jenna was ripping strips of her skirt, trying to bind his wound in any way that she could. As she tore another strip, Drew snatched it from her and he grabbed Tom roughly. He took that ripped cloth and hastily bound Tom’s hands behind his back. He yanked Tom’s shoulders, causing pain to course through his already battered arms. What the hell? Now Drew was treating him like he was the murderer? Well, it was true; he had killed a man, but it was the man bent on killing the king as well as the one who had done this to Caleb.
He called out, “Jenna, tell them, tell them you believe me.”
With her head tilted to glance at him, a loud sob escaped her and she turned back to her task of binding her grandfather’s wounds. He was already cold and his blood continued to spew from the gaping hole in his side like the bubbling water from a newly found spring. He pleaded, “Sir Drew, I did not….” but he never got to finish his words. Drew’s fist, as big as a hammer, landed on the side of Tom’s jaw and the clout shook all the teeth in his head. Tom spit blood out of his mouth and stars exploded behind his eyes from the blow. His knees buckled from the force of the strike and he struggled to stand.
There was nothing he could do now. How he wished he could leave this brutal place. Part of him wished he had never set foot in this time, but there was a part of him that still held onto what he and Jenna had shared. Even though it had been beyond brief, Tom was glad for it. No matter what would come from all of this, he was happy he had met her. He knew that she would always have that place that now lived in his heart.
Tom got himself to his feet and stood by, helpless to aid the man who he had come so much to admire. Once Caleb’s wound was bound, Drew took off his cloak and despite the bitter sting of the cold, he tucked it around Caleb. He led Caleb’s warhorse from the brush and he and Ian carefully lifted the laird onto the back of the great beast. Drew climbed up behind him and held the man securely so he would ride back down the rise as best he could. He did not think much could be done now, but he would have to bring the man who had been most like his own father home.
The strength Tom had grown to love about Jenna was staunched and broken. Silent tears leaked from her eyes and she mounted her own horse, unable to say anything to anyone.
Tom was left to the rough treatment by Ian and with anger still fueling his actions, he said, “T’were it not for my sister’s presence, I would gladly drag you down the rise all the way to the keep. I care not if your body is reduced to a bloodied pulp, but I cannot let my sister witness such a thing. For that reason alone, I will allow you to ride. You will be brought to my grandfather’s keep where you will be put to trial for your treason against our clan.”
Tom opened his mouth to speak but he knew that nothing he would say could sway him from suspicion. He could hear the words from Morag ringing in his ears. Surely, she was right about tampering with things that needed to stay as they were. Once they were mounted, Ian whistled and his horse took off running down the steep incline of the hill. With his hands tied behind his back, it was difficult to ride without being tossed to the rocks below. Tom wondered what would become of the body of the one who had truly done the hideous deed, but it was not for him to worry about at the moment. As they rode at a break-neck pace, Tom tried to lean forward over the animal to garner him a little better balance. As it was, branches whipped across his face and he was nearly unseated half a dozen times. It was nothing less than sheer will that he remained in his saddle for the duration of the ride.
Upon reaching the keep, they found the drawbridge had been raised and the gates had been closed. Many soldiers lined the walls and no one was being permitted to leave or to gain ent
ry. Caleb needed to be tended and each precious second wasted at the gates were seconds that Caleb’s life slipped further away. There may not have been much they could do, but while he still breathed, Drew knew that they had to do everything that they could. His arms ached from holding Caleb’s dead weight but still he shouldered it. It was as much an honor as it was a burden.
When they had identified themselves, the bridge slowly lowered. It seemed like an eternity passed with each turn of the crank. Once in the outer bailey, Drew called for help and he carefully lowered Caleb into the waiting arms of his men. Four men carried the prone figure of the man who had long ruled over their lands like pallbearers already bearing his earthly remains. Drew looked over at his son and Ian said, “I will deal with this one.”
Drew did not come to Tom’s defense, but instead went to give the grim news to his wife. He saw her there, with Morag at the entry and as they carried her father past her, Drew knew there were no words that he would need to say.
Those men carrying the laird were brought to the master’s chambers and they laid him down upon the bed. He was as still as death and they were not even sure that he yet breathed. Bronwyn grabbed hold of Morag’s hand and she said, “Ye’ have to help him.”
Morag’s silver eyes rose up to meet Bronwyn’s. She knew that it was only a matter of time; that nothing she could do would make any difference now. She tried to find the words to prepare her acolyte for what was clearly inevitable, and she said, “Lass, the Ancients have called him.”
“No,” Bronwyn shouted angrily. She brushed away the tears that hastily had formed in her eyes. “Ye’ can help him. I know ye’ can. Heal him, Morag. Heal him, please.”
Morag knew that there was little if anything that could be done just by looking at the man she had known for all the years of her life. She had seen that look too many times and sadly it was not one that spoke of survival. Already, she sensed his soul was leaving his body and if he made it through the night it would be a miracle. Still, not wanting to upset her dearest Bronwyn any further, she unpacked the wound and inspected it. It was deep; too deep to be stitched. It pulsed with fresh blood but even that was now not more than a trickle. He had already lost much of his life’s essence before he was laid in the chamber. Morag asked for pitchers of water to be brought and fresh linens to bind the wound. She also called for Drew and when he came to her side, she said, “Ye’ must go and bring the brothers.” She whispered close to his ear, “Make haste, lad. He does not have long now.”