They had fought like true warriors. That much had been obvious in the pale light of morning.
Though five of Dun Ard’s men had been killed, William had lost nearly twice that many. Where they had come from, Dugald didn’t know. Mayhap the Irishman was correct. Maybe there was a wizard who had brought more men and cast an ungodly spell over the camp. If that was the truth, what other kind of dark illusions could he cause to overtake people’s minds?
Whatever the case, Shona had not slept. Could the amulet be magical? Could it have called her away from camp? And what about himself? Was the amulet responsible for his own survival, or was it Shona’s own bright allure that had kept him awake, had drawn him to her?
No answers came, only more questions; so Dugald rode on, urging the miles to rush away beneath the galloping hooves of his horse.
The trail ended just before dawn of the second day.
Dugald hunkered down in the shadow of the woods and stared through his glass at the distant fortress.
Kirkwood Castle. It was a small estate, but it would be easily fortified. For more than half a league in every direction, the land was devoid of trees, offering no cover to any who might hope to breech the stronghold. Beith Burn flowed deep and fast past the feet of the castle and beneath its huge bridge. Around the entire fortress the land had been dug away so that the water of the Beith swelled about the towering brownstone.
Lowering his leatherbound glass, Dugald settled back on his heels. Where was Shona? Surely she had not already gone to Kirkwood, he thought, and though he believed he must be correct, the idea made him feel sick. He could not be too late.
Dugald calmed his breathing with an effort and turned to logic. She had ridden through one day and one night without sleep. She would rest for a spell before attempting to rescue the boy—alone, herself against an army who held a child for a purpose she did not know.
Dugald gritted his teeth in dire frustration. There was no logic in any of this. How could he plan? How could he think, when none of it made sense?
Why did they want Shona, and why would she go after them alone? True, she was no wilting maid, but surely she did not think she could challenge the might of a fortress alone. Unless, mayhap, she believed Liam’s words, that the dragon aided her. Could she think herself invincible?
But no. She had been shocked at the Irishman’s words. She would not depend on some pendant of metal and stone to see her through this challenge. Therefore, she must have some other plan in mind, some plan that did not depend on brute force.
So what could she be thinking? What kind of…
Dugald’s mind froze.
She was not planning to try to breach Kirkwood Castle atall. She was planning to give herself up—an even exchange, her own life for the child’s.
The thought struck him like a rock to the back of the head, and he trembled, for suddenly he knew it was true.
He rose with a start, his heart pounding. He must find her now, before it was too late to tell her all the things he had neglected to say. To admit why he had been sent. To beg forgiveness, now that he knew the truth. She was all that was good. No woman who could care so for another’s child would ever plan the death of the young king.
Dugald pivoted toward his horse, then stopped abruptly, for there, not two rods in front of him, stood Shona.
“Lass!” he rasped. Was she real or an illusion conjured up by fatigue—or perhaps by the wizard Liam had spoken of? “Shona?” he said dubiously. Still she did not disappear. He took a tentative step forward. “You are well?”
Her expression was absolutely solemn, strained by worry. “What are ye doing here?” she asked.
She was real. She was hale.
“I’ve come to find you.”
“Why?” She stood with her leather-clad legs spread slightly, her auburn hair plaited and tossed against her back. “To assist me, or to again knock me on the head?”
It was the peeved tone of her voice that made him relax a mite. No illusion could sound so irritated that he had come to save her.
“I did not knock you on the head,” he said.
“Then what did ye do?”
“I…discouraged you from coming here and risking your life.”
“Discouraged me? Warning me of danger is discouraging. Telling me I am a fool to go is discouraging,” she said. “Rendering me unconscious with a touch of your hand is something else all together.” She was silent for a moment, then, “Who are ye?”
“You know who I am.”
“Aye. Ye are a man who says he has come to woo me, yet who insults me at every turn. Ye are a man who proclaims himself a coward, yet who can kill without weapons, without sound, without effort. I would know now who that man is.”
He stared at her for a moment, feeding his weakness, letting himself drink in the sight of her.
She was well. She was whole, and he must think. “I am someone who knows you cannot do what you hope to do, Shona. Despite your courage, despite your love for the lad, you cannot win this battle. Go back to your friends,” he said, and stepped toward her.
She retreated and yanked her knife from its sheath. “Stay away.”
He raised his brows at her. “Or what, lass? Or you’ll kill me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Dunna laugh at me. I am not so gullible as ye think. I see now that ye have been humoring me all along, that ye have been playing with my emotions. That ye are not at all what ye have portrayed yourself to be. But I am in no mood to be made a fool any longer. If ye will not help me, then go away and leave me to do what I must.”
“What you must?” He took another step toward her. Acid terror burned a path to his soul. “Does that mean you will become a martyr? Saint Shona, who sacrificed herself for the life of a lowly waif?”
“It means I will see him freed.”
“How?” he asked, still advancing.
She shifted her knife slightly. “Tis none of your concern,” she said. “All I need is for ye to see Kelvin safely back to Blackburn. I ask no more.”
He snorted derisively. “And what of you, Damsel? Will ye ride back alone?”
He watched her tense. “Aye,” she said. “I will leave Teine in the woods until I need her then return as soon as ever I can.”
“And when do you think that might be, lass? When do you think William will be finished with you? A day, a week, a month? Do you think you will still be able to ride? Do you think you will still be alive?”
She stared at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, as though she searched for words that would not come.
“I have no choice,” she said.
“You have injured the pride of William of Atberry. In his twisted mind tis an unforgivable sin.
Go to him now and you shall pay with your life.”
“Nay!”
“You know I am right, yet you plan to go anyway. Why not admit it?”
Her expression was tense. “Will ye help me or nay?”
He took another two steps toward her. “Tis a funny thing about me,” he said. “But I have no wish to help kill the woman I love.”
Her knife dropped a smidgen of an inch. “Ye love me?” she whispered, and in that moment, he leapt.
He should have known better, should have remembered her reactions were just a mite quicker than a cat’s. His fingers brushed her arm, but she twisted wildly away and bolted for cover.
He tore after her, forgetting everything but his need to stop her, to force her to safety. But suddenly she loosed a bent branch. It sprang into place, smacking his forehead with enough force to send him to his knees.
The sound echoed through his cranium like a war drum, but he staggered to his feet. Even through the fog, he saw she was getting away. His legs moved without the benefit of his brain, propelling him forward as fast as he could go. His fingers scraped her tunic, but he could not snatch her back. Up ahead, he saw her mare, ears pricked as she pranced warily toward them. If Shona reached her horse, he would never catch her.
It was that thought that made him leap again. This time he caught her shoulder. She faltered, tried to right herself, but finally fell to her knees. He fell with her, his scrambled mind spinning. But he had no time for disorientation, for she was already lurching away.
Dugald grabbed her leg. She fell again, losing her knife as she went down, but kicking even as she did so. Her heel rapped hard against his right ear. His head snapped to the side, but he held on.
He would not let her die. He would not.
Still holding her leg, he tried to capture her arms, but she twisted about. Like a whirling windlass, her knee knocked him on the side of the head. He grunted in agony but held onto her opposite leg, dragging her closer.
Something smacked against his ear. He was just lucid enough to realize it was her fist, not lucid enough to avoid the next blow. There was nothing he could do but drag himself over her in a limp attempt to crush her into submission.
But she was hardly done fighting. Squirming madly for breath and freedom, she wrenched her knees up, planted her feet on his chest, and kicked him off her. He landed some two feet away, breathing hard and trying to see through the haze in his brain. But the only thought he could muster was that he could not let her escape. He scrambled to his knees, ready for another try just as she did the same.
But just then Shona jerked to attention, her eyes wild as she held her breath.
“What is it?” he hissed.
“Horses!”
“Where?”
She didn’t bother to answer, but scrambled wildly toward cover at the edge of the hill.
Grabbing her knife from the ground, he followed her until they lay on their bellies, covered in bracken and staring out over a trail a quarter of a mile away.
They waited in absolute silence, watching the road in breathless concentration until the first rider appeared.
Even from above, they could see that the leader was a big man, riding rigid and arrogant on his white stallion. But it was not his confidence that jarred them. It was the fact that behind him rode a hundred men just like him, all dressed in identical plaid, with conical steel helmets on their heads.
They rode dark horses and there was an unearthly silence about them, as if they had been sent from hell itself.
Shona watched them with breathless dread. Fear settled into her soul, but she could not let it affect her, for Kelvin’s life depended on her courage.
Still crouched, she slunk backward through the bracken, but Dugald caught her arm.
“Where are ye going?”
She tried to wrench away, but dared not make any conspicuous movements. “I go to save Kelvin.”
He pulled her back toward him. “And just how do you plan to do that?”
“Tis none of your affair.”
“Mayhap you will simply ask the Munro if you might accompany him into Kirkwood.”
“Munro?” She felt her face go pale.
“I heard he was mustering his warriors. But he’s arrived now. I’m certain he will have time to oblige you.”
“That’s the Munro and his infamous clansmen?”
“It looks like that to me, but I could be wrong. Of course, by the time you got your answer, your head would be on his pike. Or mayhap even he would find better use for you.”
“Dear God!” She watched them go. “Why? Why has he come here?”
“Because William has something so precious in that castle that he dares try to leash the power of the Munros to keep it for himself.”
She stared at him, terrified, immobilized.
“What is it, Shona?”
The last of the Munros rode from sight. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.
He shook her. “Why did William take the boy?”
“How would I know?’ she gasped.“Did ye think, mayhap, that I was in league with him?”
Dugald stared at her, his silver eyes level.
The world was as silent as a tomb.
“Ye did,” she whispered. “Ye thought that I planned some evil with William.”
He didn’t deny her words, didn’t turn away.
“Is that why ye came?” she asked. “Were ye sent?”
He didn’t answer.
“Who are ye?” she murmured.
“It does not matter who I am. If you wish to get the lad back alive, all that matters is what I can do.”
“Ye?” She jerked her arm away. “Let me go!”
“To do what? Get yourself killed? Or do you mayhap think yourself so invincible that you can challenge the might of the Munro alone?”
Dear God, not in all her life had she been so afraid.
“And that is not even counting the troops already stationed inside Kirkwood.”
Her courage wavered, but she forced it back up. “It changes nothing. I will see Kelvin free.”
“And sacrifice your own life?” he asked softly. She could find no words to answer him. He lowered his voice, holding her gaze with his own. “When your father learns that you have been attacked, all of Scotland will come to arms, Shona. Why not await their arrival?”
“Because every minute we delay Kelvin’s life hangs in the balance.”
“Why would they harm him?” he asked. “What sense would that make?”
She tightened her hands and longed to escape. “When has evil made sense?”
“You cannot do this alone, Shona. And it does not seem right that the boy would die for your impetuousness.”
Her gut knotted like a sailor’s line. “Dunna think me such a fool that I will fall for your ploys to keep me safe,” she said. “Mayhap ye are right. Mayhap he will die, but it willna be because I did nothing.” Tears filled her eyes. “Twill not be because I am a coward.”
“A coward?” He touched her face. The feelings burned softly through her, like the heat of the sun. “You? Nay. You are nothing but brave, lass. But evil can be clever, so you must be more clever still.”
“I canna wait for troops,” she whispered. “I canna. For if I wait…” She paused and shook her head. “Please believe me, twould be terrible consequences.”
“What consequences?”
She paused a moment. “They will kill him,” she said. “I know it.”
“How do ye know?”
“I feel it. I am certain. I must act and I must act quickly.”
“In the broad light of day? Twould be no better than suicide,” Dugald hissed.
“And leaving him would be no better than murder!”
“Tis not true.”
She jerked away, but he pulled her gently back. “Had they wanted to kill him, they could have done so outright.”
“Nay!”
“Tis true,” he crooned. “Think on it. They want him alive. Therefore he is safe, unless tis you who endangers his life.”
“What shall I do?” she whispered.
“Trust me,” he said. “Wait until darkness and trust me.”
Chapter 26
Dugald hid their horses behind a thicket of blackthorn bushes where the grass was thick and lush. Then they found a spot in the depths of a small grove of fir trees. Beneath the sheltering boughs, needles lay five inches deep and soft as moss under their feet.
Fatigue lay on Shona like a sack of meal, but worry and frustration kept her from resting.
“But what if ye are wrong, Dugald?” she asked. “What if—”
He strode quickly up to her. Taking her hand, he led her deeper into the trees until they had to crouch to walk beneath the branches. Once there, he urged her onto the bed of needles.
“I am not wrong,” he said, and ever so gently touched her face.
“But what if he tries to escape?”
“He will not.” Dugald stroked her cheek with ultimate tenderness. “Kelvin is no fool, lass, and he surely knows you will come for him. He will sit tight and wait.”
“He can be haughty at times. What if they find out…” She paused. “What if he angers them?”
“How long has h
e been under your wing, Shona?”
She fidgeted as a thousand memories smote her. “A few months. No more.”
“No one could have lived that long with you and not learned to charm the masses.” He smiled and she found she could not look away. “He will be safe until the morrow at least.”
“Are ye certain?”
Ever so softly, he kissed her. “I am, lass. Now sleep.”
“But—”
“Sleep,” he repeated, and kissed her brow.
“But how can ye be so sure?”
His gaze was steady and level. “Tis my job to be certain, lass.”
“What?”
“I have dealt with more brigands than I can count. You can trust me to know something of them.”
“Who are ye?” she rasped.
For a moment she thought he might tell her. But instead he kissed her lips, softly, tenderly. In a moment he drew away.
“I am Dugald the Dragon,” he murmured, but the words no longer seemed haughty. Instead, they seemed almost sad.
“Why do they call ye that?” she whispered.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Need you ask, even after last night?”
She stared into his eyes, trying to decipher the truth, but there was little hope of that.
“Ye are not what ye seem. That I know,” she whispered. “Tell me who ye really are.”
The world was silent.
“I am the man who will keep you safe this day,” he said. “Now sleep, for surely you will need all your strength when the sun sets.”
Dugald lurched into wakefulness. Beside him, Shona sat stiff and silent.
“What is it?” he asked.
She remained silent, her eyes wide and staring.
“Shona?” he whispered.
“Someone is coming.”
He sat perfectly still listening, but he could hear nothing except the usual sounds of the evening woods, the soft call of a dove, the distant rustle of a field mouse in the leaves. Still, he had learned long ago to trust instinct, his as well as others.
“Which way are they headed?”
“Away from Kirkwood.”
Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 31