A Hellish Highlander (Clan Ross Book 3)

by Hildie McQueen

  “Aye.”

  “Then no.” He met Kieran’s gaze. “Anyone traveling with an unwilling woman will stay away from traveled roads and traverse through the forest. I suggest ye find a good hunting hound to help ye with following a trail.”

  The man emptied his tankard and held out his hand. “I wish ye luck.”

  Kieran shook the man’s hand. “Thank ye. I am Kieran Ross.”

  The icy blue gaze met Kieran’s. “Asmund Keith.”

  A Norseman with a Scottish surname, interesting.

  Kieran remained in the tavern after the archer left. He was exhausted, but had to continue. If Gisela was still alive, he had to ensure she remained so.

  Soon, Ross guards would come upon the village and he wasn’t sure how much good it would do. For some reason, Ethan seemed to always be one step ahead.

  How could a madman be so cunning, so good at hiding? As frustrating as his searches had been, this time it was worse. Every passing moment, he could not stop imagining what Gisela was going through. Was she injured, hungry?

  Kieran placed payment for the ale on the table and walked out of the tavern, searching up and down until he spotted a peddler’s wagon.

  “Well, I certainly did not expect to see ye again so soon.” The familiar peddler waved upon seeing Kieran. “Are ye seeking to travel with me again?” The old man chuckled, patting his old mule’s head. “Do ye see that, Elbert? Mister Ross has come upon us again.”

  “I do not require travel assistance. Just information.”

  “Sure, of course. What is it ye need to know?” The man’s expectant expression made Kieran soften. It was apparent he was lonely and enjoyed conversation.

  “I am in search of a man who stole away with a woman from my lands. She has dark hair…”

  The peddler held up both hands. “Ye won’t believe this, but I believe I have seen a man with a woman who seemed less than enthusiastic to be brought along.”

  Kieran’s chest constricted. “Where? In what direction did they travel?”

  The man pointed with his right hand into the hills. “If I am not mistaken, toward Morgan’s Peak. Which doesn’t make sense. There is nothing there but bleak, grey, jutting rocks and dangerous cliffs.”

  Resisting the urge to hurry away, Kieran remained. He had to get as much information as possible. “How long ago did ye see them?”

  “Late yesterday.”

  “How far is Morgan’s Peak?”

  The man looked to the sky, seeking out the sun. “In the direction of the sun setting, about half a day’s ride from here.”

  Kieran pulled out his purse, which he remembered had few coins in it, and handed the man half of the contents. “Thank ye for this and what ye did before.”

  “This is too much.” The man attempted to give Kieran back some of the coins, but he hurried away, too preoccupied to remain and haggle with the man.

  “Be with care,” the man called out. “It’s a dangerous place.”

  Laith was tethered next to the small cottage where the woman continued feeding those that stopped by. He asked the woman to tell any guards who happened by that he headed to Morgan’s Peak. He handed her an additional coin and hurried to his horse.

  Once he was mounted, Kieran urged Laith to a gallop and traveled in the direction the peddler had motioned.

  After several hours of riding, Kieran came upon a huge area with rocks jutting from the ground. They looked like fingers emerging out of a grave, reaching for sunlight. He slowed Laith and scanned the surroundings.

  The horse picked carefully where to step as he’d been trained, but it meant traveling at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  Kieran dismounted and tethered his mount to a low-growing tree and continued his trek on foot. If Ethan had brought Gisela through here, how did they not leave a trace?

  He walked with care, steadily forward, while listening intently for sounds of others nearby.

  A soft sound made him stop in his tracks. It was a distance away, but sounded very much like someone speaking. Searching the surrounding area, Kieran didn’t see anyone. It was hard to see between the incline of the hill and the rocks jutting out. He climbed up to higher ground to see better and hesitated upon hearing voices again.

  Step by step to the top of the hill, he kept alert, his entire body tense with apprehension. Where were they? At the sound of murmurs, he stopped and listened, but heard nothing more.

  His breathing was labored from the climb, and he took slow breaths in order to hear well. There was little vegetation, making it hard to keep hidden. So as not to be discovered, he lowered and peered around a ragged, large rock.

  Just a short distance away, he spotted Ethan and Gisela. His heart stopped and his chest constricted at the sight.

  Gisela sat on the ground, head down, her hair a tangled mess covering her face. She was still, not moving, but the fact she remained upright made him delirious with relief.

  Ethan paced back and forth, his head swinging around in every direction, ensuring not to be taken by surprise. It would be impossible for Kieran to get any closer without being spotted.

  “Are ye here yet, Kieran Ross?” Ethan called out and held up a sword. He took a step closer to Gisela and bent at the waist to speak to her.

  Kieran couldn’t make out what the idiot said, but she shook her head without speaking.

  “Ye are wrong,” Ethan said loudly. “He will come because he hopes to stop me from killing ye.”

  The madman walked to a nearby crest and peered down. “Her fall will be perfect, ye know.” Then he called out. “She will not survive.”

  Ethan stalked back to where Gisela sat and yanked her up by the hair. “Come, lovely. Time to teach him a lesson.”

  When Gisela let out a scream, it was hoarse, like a frog’s croak. She was weak, but fought him, biting and kicking.

  Taking advantage of Ethan’s distraction, Kieran raced forward, bent at the waist, keeping behind the rocks and bushes as much as possible.

  He was almost upon them when Ethan swung around. His lips curved and he held the tip of his sword to Gisela’s throat. “That is close enough.”

  “How do ye plan to keep me from killing ye while pushing her off the edge?” Kieran asked, his voice flat and without emotion.

  For a split second, there was a slight flitter of surprise. But then Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Ye care for the lass and won’t allow her to come to harm.”

  Kieran took a step closer. “Are ye certain?”

  This time, Ethan slammed the sword’s handle to Gisela’s temple and shoved her away.

  Kieran rushed forward, his sword slicing the air, his mind one move ahead, but Ethan shifted and blocked.

  Once again, Kieran attacked and Ethan, who’d always been a good swordsman, blocked effectively. Once, twice and a third time, Ethan was able to block and swing his sword, the fight even between the two men.

  As much as Kieran wished to, he did not bother to glance in Gisela’s direction. It was his father’s death that he had to avenge. No matter what, he’d not allow any distraction after waiting so long for this moment. From this moment, he would not stop until he killed Ethan.

  At hearing a moan, he dared at glance to where Gisela was; even though he had just decided not to have any distractions. She lay on the dirt, her upper body flat, twisted at the hips so her legs faced to one side. Her chest lifted and lowered.

  Although it reassured him to see that she was alive, the distraction cost him dearly.

  The slice across his chest took his breath away. But the action could be used to his advantage. Kieran took advantage of Ethan’s momentary jubilation, and thrust forward, cutting into his opponent’s side.

  Back and forth, they continued. Kieran advanced in an effort to force Ethan to the crest’s edge. But knowing exactly what Kieran was trying to do, Ethan fought back, forcing Kieran backwards.

  When Kieran stumbled on a rock, Ethan took advantage. The second cut, on his lower left side, did not hurt as m
uch. Fury rushed through him at allowing the man who killed his father to have the upper hand.

  He growled and sprinted forward, not giving Ethan a choice but to retreat.

  Swish. Clang. Swish. Clang. The sounds of the blades’ sweeping motions, followed by the clang were joined with the scuffling of their boots on the ground and the grunts from their exertions.

  “Ye will die today, Kieran Ross,” Ethan taunted, “then I will kill each of yer brothers. I cannot be stopped.” He hesitated when Kieran managed to slice through his upper leg. It wasn’t a deep wound, but enough to catch Ethan by surprise.

  “I will toss her over the side of the cliff,” Ethan mused, his lips curving into a maniacal grin. “And then ye will go after her. Ye should see her die.” The man was too far-gone to care or even notice his injuries. Ethan charged with renewed energy and Kieran fought hard to defend against the attack.

  When Ethan’s strike sent Kieran’s sword flying from his hand, he resorted to evading Ethan’s sword falls. Kieran managed to move far enough away to grab a long branch and used it to fend off Ethan’s relentless attacks. Eyes wide and unfocused, Ethan looked gleeful as he progressed forward.

  “Ye cannot beat me. Do ye now see it? I will always win.”

  Kieran inched closer to his sword, but Ethan jumped in between him and it. “Tell me, Kieran Ross. What do ye think I should do?” He looked over his shoulder to where Gisela lay. “Should I kill her first?”

  Kieran ignored him, using the short respite to gather energy. The cut on his side stung, blood dripped onto the ground.

  Ethan attacked again. It was halfhearted, but without a sword, Kieran was forced to defend. A crack was followed by the branch breaking in two. Ethan lunged and Kieran tripped backward onto the ground.

  His chest constricted at the thought that perhaps Ethan would win. That he would kill him and then Gisela. Sliding a look to where Gisela was, he noted she was no longer there.

  “Ye will not win, Ethan. Killing me will not change that ye are mad,” he yelled, hoping to keep him from turning around. The longer Gisela had to get away, the better.

  The tip of Ethan’s sword dug into Kieran’s throat and he inched backward. “I won’t kill ye, not right now.”

  He then slid the sword downward, his eyes shining and his lips curved. “Ye have to see her die first.”

  Kieran cried out and went rigid when Ethan’s sword plunged into his stomach. Leaning forward on the blade, Ethan met his gaze. “Watch me.”

  He yanked the sword out and Kieran cupped both hands over the wound, blood leaking through his fingers.

  The smell of his own blood made everything sway and his stomach tumbled in protest. Kieran took in short breaths and then let out short pants.

  Ethan turned away and howled loudly at noticing Gisela was not where she’d been. He rushed to the spot and looked around. Then he went to the edge of the crest and peered down.

  “Bitch!” he yelled and raced past the spot to look for her. Kieran scrambled to his feet. The entire time, his body protested. He picked up his sword.

  Just then, Ethan bent at the waist and dragged a struggling Gisela from behind a boulder. Kieran came from behind, but Ethan caught sight of him and lifted the sword, pointing it toward him.

  They were too close to the ridge’s edge and Kieran didn’t dare attack. It would be too easy for Ethan to push Gisela over the edge.

  She attempted to push Ethan’s hand away from where he held her hair. Gisela’s gaze lifted to him and, in her eyes, he saw determination. The woman was going to fight for her life. Silently, she mouthed, “Help me.”

  “Guards come this way and will arrive soon,” Kieran said, taking a step closer. “Even if ye kill us both, ye cannot get away. There is only one path down and my men will catch ye.”

  Ethan stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. “No one comes. Ye always travel alone.”

  As if making a point, a flock of birds burst from down the path, noisily flying past them. Ethan craned his neck and looked down.

  Kieran took two steps closer. “Let her go. Ye want me, not her.”

  “Ye are already dying,” Ethan stated. “She must die. I want ye to see it.”

  Gisela focused on where Kieran’s bloody hand pressed to his stomach.

  “Stop this madness,” Gisela cried out. “Ye cannot think to get away with all of this.”

  “I can and I will,” Ethan spouted, loosening his hold on her hair to thrust the sword in Kieran’s direction. “That is close enough.”

  Gisela punched Ethan between the legs so hard that he cried out, dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

  “Bastard!” she yelled.

  Kieran hurried forward and kicked the sword away from Ethan.

  “I still win!” Ethan slowly stood and held both arms out.

  It took several seconds before Kieran realized what the madman meant to do. Kieran closed the distance between them, grabbing at Ethan’s tunic. But he was too late. Ethan fell backward off the ridge and plunged to his death.

  “No,” Kieran gritted the word out. He hadn’t been the one to kill Ethan; the bastard had not given him the opportunity.

  Unsure what to do, he dropped to his knees. If death decided to claim him, he was more than ready.

  Kieran lay next to a fire Gisela had started hours earlier. They didn’t speak much. Although she was weak, she’d bound his wounds with strips from her underskirts and, thankfully, blood no longer seeped through. They’d managed to get back to his mount. Unfortunately, Kieran being too weak from injuries combined with Gisela’s lack of nourishment, neither had the energy to mount Laith.

  After drinking from a wineskin and eating dried meats Kieran had packed, they huddled by the fire. hoping the smoke and flames would alert the guards of where they were.

  Gisela was slumped next to where Kieran lay on the ground. She’d inched closer to him, touched his shoulder. “How do ye feel?”

  Dragging his eyes up to her, he wasn’t sure how to respond. What could he say? That he felt empty, unsatisfied? The fall had killed his enemy instantly. No suffering, no last moments clutching to life. It had been quick, all of it.

  Ethan McLeod’s death should fill him with satisfaction. Instead, it was as if all the sense of living had been sucked from his body, leaving behind an empty shell. No feelings, sensations or care penetrated that shell. Whether he lived or died in that moment meant nothing to him.

  There it was, what he’d been warned about. Seeking revenge and finally getting it did not bring his father back, nor did it seem enough to repay what had happened.

  It was only when looking into Gisela’s eyes that something buried deep inside him flickered. But like a candle against a gust of wind, he could not keep it from burning out.

  “Try yer best not to pass out, please,” Gisela pleaded and her eyes filled with tears. “Ye have to remain alive.”

  He’d never seen her so vulnerable, so gaunt. Although still beautiful, she was in need of care. She required a hot bath, good food and a soft bed.

  “Ye? How do ye feel?” He spoke in a quiet, flat tone as it was impossible to generate any kind of emotion.

  She nodded, a frown marring her brow. “I am fine.”

  It was obvious she wasn’t by the faraway flatness of her tone. But he didn’t have the energy to ask more. Soon, he lost the ability to keep from it and allowed blackness to envelope him.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was late, the sun already setting by the time the guards arrived. Thankfully, they’d thought ahead and brought a wagon. She wondered if they’d planned to take one or two bodies back to the keep.

  Gisela kept her eyes closed, not wishing to have a conversation with anyone. The last days were not something she wanted to dwell upon, much less speak to anyone about.

  Although Kieran had awakened several times, he did not speak to her. Instead, he’d kept his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. He had to be in horrible pain; the injuries were many, most o
f them deep cuts, especially the one to his stomach.

  A healer had come with the guards. He’d tended to Kieran after she’d insisted she was well.

  She studied Kieran now. Every time the wagon drove over a bumpy patch, his brow scrunched. At the moment, he slept, his handsome face smeared with dirt and blood.

  Reaching over, she swept hair off his brow and then settled back against the side of the wagon, depleted.

  Soon, summer would arrive. Normally, it was her favorite time of year, when she would sit in the village square, sell soap and chat with villagers who passed by. The days passed quickly and she’d enjoyed the interactions between the village people and highborn people who traveled there to do their weekly shopping.

  Once a week, she and her mother would go to visit with Lady Munro and have a meal in the great room with other clanspeople, her mother ensuring that everyone knew they were related.

  Interesting that at the moment, the little things that had annoyed her, she now longed for. Sure she’d be dead, she had prayed fervently for God to spare her and that she’d do her best to make others happy. That she would love her mother and brother and tend to the sick and poor.

  And she had survived. Even though her body was so weak that it took monumental energy to just sit upright, she was alive.

  The experience was one she’d not ever forget. The madman’s face would forever be etched on her mind. Gisela took deep gulps of air to keep from sobbing.

  She’d been slapped, dragged, kicked and starved for the entire time and yet she’d fought to stay alive. Now that it was over, the sensation of wanting to roll up in a ball and allow life to ebb didn’t make sense.

  “Gisela?” Someone spoke and she realized she’d fallen asleep. Dragging her eyes open, Ceilidh’s face came into view.

  “Ye’re safe now, dear.” Ceilidh held her right hand and gave a light tug. The woman had climbed atop the wagon with a large guard who lifted her easily. He then lowered Gisela to another who carried her toward the keep.

  “Kieran?” she whispered to the man.