The Pride of Lions

by Marsha Canham

  She approached the snoring figure, and her hand crept stealthily beneath her skirt. She experienced a cool shiver of gratification, almost sexual in nature, as she withdrew a wickedly sharp dirk from its hidden sheath and plunged it deeply, repeatedly, between the jutting plates of his shoulder blades.

  Catherine did not regain consciousness until her kidnappers had carried her several miles away from Achnacarry. She was on horseback, supported roughly on the saddle by a bare-armed, barrel-chested Highlander who smelled abominably of old sweat and rotten teeth. The garron they shared was one of the short, stout ponies common to the mountainous reaches of Caledonia, but the animal’s surefooted attack of the path they were on was no consolation for the view of the steep and jagged cliffs they were climbing.

  There were three of them, one riding ahead, one behind. There was very little light left in the sky, only the post-sunset hues of murky purple and blue that distorted the shadows and made the ground they covered seem twice as ominous. The features of the man who rode in the lead were already distorted, but not by the shadows so much as by the beating he had taken beneath Alexander’s fists. Catherine had never thought of Gordon Ross Campbell as a particularly handsome man, and now, with his nose flattened across the bridge, his teeth cracked off at the gums, and his eyes sunken in deep hollows, he looked simply ugly. He had not shaved in many days—possibly because of the gouges, cuts, and scabs that still showed through the dirty stubble. Whatever youth he had possessed—or pretended to possess—had vanished, and she would not have recognized him in the garden had it not been for the hatred blazing from the cold blue eyes.

  The shock of seeing him at Achnacarry, of realizing too late she had dashed out of the castle without alerting any of the guards, had delayed the reflex to scream long enough for Campbell’s filthy hand to clamp viciously over her mouth and smother it completely.

  She had kicked and squirmed, her nails had torn at the flesh of his forearms, but he had simply dragged her through the hedge and whistled softly to the other two men lurking behind the trees. One of them carried a large burlap sack, and seeing it, Catherine had bitten the flesh of Campbell’s palm so hard her mouth had filled with blood. But he had only grunted and brought his other fist down against the side of her head—once to break the hold of her teeth, a second time to knock her soundly unconscious.

  They were moving very fast, with no thought to spare for their captive’s comfort. They all rode with one hand on the reins, another on the muskets that rested warily over their hips. Who they were was apparent, where they were taking her was a matter of conjecture, and what they planned to do with her once they got there was something she did not care to contemplate. Obviously they had been watching the castle and knew Lochiel and most of his men were away. They had watched and waited, and she had presented them the perfect target for a quick raid—something she had been warned about time and again, though not that it could happen so close to the castle itself.

  The shiver of apprehension that coursed through Catherine’s body did not go unnoticed by her captor. He shouted something to Gordon Ross Campbell in Gaelic, and at the first reasonably wide ledge in the hazardous trail they were following, the young Campbell called a brief halt. He drew his horse alongside Catherine, and she tensed inwardly at the leer on his broken, battered face.

  “An’ so we meet again, Mrs. Cameron.”

  “Where are you taking me? Why are you doing this?”

  His grin was little more than a dark, evil slash. “Where we’re takin’ ye is o’ nae concern ither than f’ae ye tae behave well enough tae live tae see it.”

  “Alex will never let you get away with this. He will come after you.”

  “Aye, I’m prayin’ he does. I’m countin’ on him followin’ us all the way tae Inverary, where there’s a hangman’s noose waitin’ on him.”

  “And ten thousand gold crowns waiting for you?”

  “That’ll sweeten the pot some, I’ll no’ deny it. But then so will you, an’ it’ll be a fine choice I’ll have tae make in the next wee while on whither I sell ye back tae the Camerons or back tae yer own kin. But here … I thought ye werena opposed tae the idea o’ collectin’ the reward yersel’ at one time?” He narrowed his eyes and let them slide down to the firm thrust of her breasts. “Mayhap, if ye’re nice tae me, I wouldna mind sparin’ a few coins yer way.”

  “I would rather be nice to a ground slug,” she said coldly. “As for your coins and what you can do with them—”

  He laughed coarsely and leaned forward. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her forward, twisting her head painfully to one side. Her cry of pain opened her lips to the revolting feel of his mouth sucking wetly at hers, and she gagged; she brought her fists up and tried to beat him away, but the man in the saddle behind her chuckled lustily and caught them, dragging them painfully around to the small of her back.

  Campbell had his fill and released her with another husky laugh. “God’s teeth, ye’re goin’ tae be a worthy hellcat tae tame. Aye, an’ if ye’re good—or even if ye’re na’—I’ll pass ye ’round the rest o’ the lads tae have a go.”

  The third rider edged closer, muttering something under his breath, and Catherine did not require a translation of the words to know he was questioning the need to wait any longer before they could have some fun. Campbell’s eyes were on Catherine’s face as he laughed and nodded, but before the debate could continue, their amusement was cut short by the sound of hoofbeats on the mountain path.

  “It looks like they joined up wi’ someone here,” MacSorley said on a grunt, pointing to the impressions left on the cold ground. “Fifteen, mayhap twenty men in all.”

  He straightened and cast the light of the torch around the ledge, waiting calmly for Alexander Cameron to decide their next move. It had taken nearly an hour to assemble a dozen well-armed men and retrace the kidnappers’ steps from the garden to the hills where the Campbells’ horses had been concealed. By then the dusk was well upon them, and more precious time had slipped past as they were forced to move slowly and carefully over the well-worn trails that wound away into the hills. It might have been downright impossible to follow had it not been for the heavy rains that had washed away all but the most recent signs of traffic.

  Alex swore under his breath. “Twenty men, you say?”

  “Coincidence?” Aluinn stood beside him, his features illuminated by the flickering light of the torch. He had insisted on coming on the hunt, though after several hours of hard riding his shoulder was beginning to feel like a small torch burning all on its own.

  “I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago,” Alex said grimly. “Gordon Ross Campbell said he had twenty men waiting for him across the Spean. Goddammit!”

  “Don’t crucify yourself. I had the same opportunity to kill him and I didn’t take it.”

  Alex was not appeased. “For every five minutes we lose verifying their tracks, they gain fifteen on us. We’ll never catch them this way, not at night.”

  “They’re smart,” Aluinn agreed. “They’re keeping to the high ground, winding back and doubling around to confuse the trail. Struan—you know the lie of the land better than anyone else—have you any ideas?”

  “Aye, I ken the land,” MacSorley said after a lengthy pause. Lengthy enough to earn inquisitive glances from both men.

  “And?”

  “And … I wisna sure until the past hour, but ye ask me, I’d stake ma soul they’re gonny cut through the mountains at Hell’s Gate. It’s the shortest route tae Inverary. Tae go around would cost them two, three days.”

  “They will never make it through the Gate at night!”

  “Fast as they’re goin’, they’ll be at the mouth o’ the pass wi’ an hour or two tae spare afore dawn. Slow as we’re goin’, they’ll be through the pass an’ dug in f’ae as fine an ambush as the devil himsel’ could set afore we get there.”

  “Is there no other way over this bloody mountain?”

  Even thou
gh it was dark and nothing much was visible in the night sky, all three men turned to stare up at the formidable wall of granite that reared up before them.

  Struan weighed his words carefully before he answered. “Nae man could fault ye f’ae doin’ as much as ye have already tae try an’ fetch the lassie back.”

  Alex turned slowly to stare at the big Highlander. “Are you suggesting we give up and turn back?”

  “I’m suggestin’ … she’s Sassenach. The Campbells willna harm her. Seems tae me ye could save yersel’ a purseful o’ gold by lettin’ them send her back tae England f’ae ye.”

  Alexander’s expression was unreadable in the shadows, but he appeared to hesitate, to start to turn away, and he did, but only a few degrees—the better to channel all of his strength and fury into the fist he drove upward into Struan’s bearded jaw.

  The giant staggered back a step, his head whipped violently to one side by the blow. His response was instinctive and deadly. His left arm lashed out to block a second punch while his right delivered a crushing blow to Alex’s midsection, the power behind it lifting him up and hurling him several feet into the darkness. The frustration MacSorley had been harboring, the anger he had been feeling over his doubts and misgivings exploded on a curse, vibrating off the face of the rocks as he stalked after Cameron.

  “Jesus! Struan! What the hell!” Aluinn tried to block his path, but a swing from the trunklike arm sent him sprawling facedown in the dirt.

  Alex had regained his feet by then and lunged out of the shadows to meet the Highlander, the two of them coming together like enraged bulls. The torches were brought forward, but the shadows swallowed them time and again, leaving the stunned onlookers with only the thud of fists on flesh to mark the action. Grunts and curses punctuated the scuffle of feet; flying pebbles and clouds of dust were left roiling in their wake as the two men grappled together, the smell of sweat and rage steaming the air between them.

  Aluinn staggered to his feet, shouting at the rest of the men, and it took three of them to pin Alex to the rocks, seven of them pulling and pushing at Struan to stop his forward momentum.

  “Goddammit!” A frankly astounded Aluinn MacKail stepped into the swirl of choking dust and cradled a hand over his bruised jaw. “What the bloody hell is going on here? Struan? Alex?”

  Alex strained against the men who were holding him and spat out a bloodied chip of a tooth along with an indecipherable curse.

  Struan surged forward, dragging his keepers with him as if they were mere annoyances hanging off his arms and limbs.

  “I said enough!” Aluinn drew his pistol. “The next bastard who moves is going to earn an ounce of lead for his trouble!”

  Both men tested their restraints a moment longer before grudgingly shaking them off.

  “Now, then: Struan, you seem to have something on your mind. Would you care to say it in plainer words that we can all understand?”

  “There are some things what need explainin’—”

  “Explanations?” Alex erupted savagely. “I don’t owe you or anyone else any damned explanations!”

  “Alex! Leash that goddamned temper of yours for one minute and hear what he has to say. Struan, you say you want explanations. For what?”

  “F’ae what we’re doin’ out here in the middle o’ the night.”

  “We’ve come to take back Alex’s wife, for God’s sake. Why does that need explaining?”

  Struan spat out a wad of bloody spittle. “Is she his wife?”

  “What?”

  “Is she his wife?” Struan demanded. “Is the lass here by her own choice, or was she brung tae Achnacarry against her will?”

  Alex surged forward again, but Aluinn straight-armed the gun, aiming at his chest to pull him up short. With one eye on Cameron, he glanced at Struan. “Now you had better explain.”

  “I were told the Sassenach didna come tae Achnacarry o’ her own free will. I was wi’ him when he spent two days an’ half a thousan’ in gold tryin’ tae find a ship tae carry her home. We’re out here in the middle o’ the night walkin’ smack intae a trap that couldna be set nor sprung wi’out help from somewhere.…” He paused and his chest heaved with repressed emotions. “It has tae be asked, an’ it has tae be answered: Is the lass yer wife or no’? Is she a Cameron … or has she gone willingly wi’ the Campbells?”

  Alex was so stunned by the question, it drained the remaining fight from his body. “Struan, for the love of—”

  “Answer him, Alex,” Aluinn said abruptly, his voice as cold and level as the gun he still held between them. He saw the question in Alex’s eyes as they turned to him, but he could also see, where Alex could not, the taut expressions on the faces of the other wary clansmen. They knew MacSorley would not dare make such an accusation unless there was some doubt, some basis for suspicion. “Answer him,” he said again, softer this time. “Unless you are not sure of the truth yourself.”

  Alex’s dark gaze turned to Struan. He remembered, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, the big Highlander coming into the stables one night, catching him and Annie together in a tangle of naked limbs and panted caresses. Struan had drawn his knife with every intention of gelding Alex, despite the fact that he was Lochiel’s brother, and despite the fact that the burly guardsman completed the handsome threesome of Cameron, MacKail, and MacSorley when there was brawling to be done and whores to be tupped. Tupping Struan’s sister was quite a different thing, and Alex had seen his life flash before him in the gleam of a bone-handled dirk. But he had stood his ground and faced his giant friend calmly. He had told Struan that he and Annie were hand-fasted, that they loved each other as purely and honestly as any man and wife, and that the only reason they had not pledged their vows before an altar yet was that Annie had been too terrified of her brother’s reaction to seek his permission before she came of legal age the following spring.

  He also remembered that it had been Struan, and only Struan, who had been able to coax Annie’s lifeless body out of his arms. And it had been Struan who had held him like a baby and wept with him over their loss.

  “Catherine and I were married three weeks ago in Derby,” he said, looking directly into the Highlander’s eyes. “And you are right, she did not want to come to Scotland. For that matter she did not want to marry me, nor I her, but we were forced by circumstances to oblige. Yes, I brought her with us to help us get through the patrols, and yes, she tried her damnedest to foil us every step of the way … but somewhere between then and now—and I’m damned if I know when or how it happened—we stopped fighting one another.” He paused and wiped at a trickle of blood leaking from his lip. “She told me today that whether I liked it or not, whether I wanted her or not, she was going to stay here at Achnacarry as my wife, my lover, and as the mother of my children. I heard her say that and”—he looked down at his bloodied, scraped hands—“a part of me came back to life. A part I thought I had buried fifteen years ago.” He looked up again and shook his head with the helplessness of it all. “I loved Annie, Struan. I always will. I would have gladly given my own life to save hers or bring her back, but I couldn’t. And now … it’s happening again, and I can’t stand by and let anything happen to Catherine, not even if I have to fight my way to Inverary myself.”

  MacSorley’s gaze had not wavered from Alex’s face since he had started speaking; it did not waver now as he clenched his fists and walked slowly forward. He stopped close enough for some of the long bristles on his beard to touch the other man’s chest … then reached forward and grasped him by the upper arms. “Ye’ve told me more than I deserved tae hear. Aye, we’ll catch the bastards long afore they ever get a whiff o’ Argyle air. An’ ye’ll no’ have tae fight alone, no’ while there’s a breath left in ma body.”

  Alex clasped MacSorley’s arms, and the tension in the torchlit circle drained visibly as the two men hugged and clapped each other soundly on the shoulders.

  “Does this mean you do know of another way across the mounta
in?” Aluinn asked lightly, resheathing his pistol.

  “Aye.” MacSorley grunted. “I ken a way only the goats are daft enough tae use, an’ then only if the devil has their balls atween his teeth.”

  Alex and Aluinn both noted the glances the other clansmen exchanged. The desolate range of mountains they were attempting to cross was shrouded in superstition, believed to have been thrown down to earth on a day when the Creator had been in a rage. Hell’s Gate, a narrow pass aptly named for its sheer drops and torturously steep corries, was the only way across that anyone knew of within a ten-mile stretch in either direction.

  “Can you take us through by night?”

  “Better at night,” Struan said without guile. “Then ye canna see where ye’re goin’. Mind, f’ae his trouble, the madman who takes it will be waitin’ on the ither side o’ Hell when the Campbells ride through.”

  Alex glanced at Aluinn, who only shrugged and passed the decision back to him.

  “All right. We’ll do it.”

  Guessing that some of the men might not be especially eager to take the additional risk, he suggested asking for several volunteers to remain on the Campbells’ trail, hopefully getting close enough to them by morning to keep them from suspecting they were no longer being followed.

  But there were no such volunteers forthcoming. In the end, four men had to be chosen—choices that seemed random at first, but a closer scrutiny revealed them to be the four with the largest families and most number of dependents waiting for them at home.