Mad for the Plaid

by Karen Hawkins

  It was a grand image that took her all of two seconds to realize would work only if she managed to get through this thick shrubbery without getting her cloak or hair caught, and if her pistol presented enough of a threat to a hardened brigand to cause him to rethink his violent way of life, and if Nik didn’t interfere. It was a lot of ifs.

  She gritted her teeth and resigned herself to waiting.

  The steps came closer, and then went on past. She lowered her head and watched as the boots went by. They were black, and surprisingly new and shiny. He must have stolen them recently. She watched as they disappeared, following their horses.

  Nik waited until the footsteps were gone before he bent close and whispered, “Stay here, krasavitsa. I will be back.”

  He was going to leave her here? Not while she had breath in her body. She parted her lips to say so, when he covered them with his and gave her a long, hard, possessive kiss.

  Her body, already primed by the danger of the last few moments, shivered against his. She couldn’t think when he covered her mouth with his own, when he engulfed her with warmth and passion that only left her craving more of both.

  She lifted her arm to slip it about his neck when he broke the kiss. “Ah, you tempt me even now,” he murmured against her mouth.

  She pulled back. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Not this time.”

  “But—”

  He stilled her words with another hard kiss and then, before she could catch her breath, was gone. She scrambled to her knees, intent on following him, but her hair caught in a branch. Before she could free it, he was out in the open, exposed for all the world to see.

  One noise, and the thief might look back and see Nik. Dammit, now I must stay here.

  Ailsa wished she’d followed her impulses and stopped the brigand on her own. Now all she could do was watch through the leaves as Nik moved stealthily. . . . A step. One more.

  A noise in the distance made him stop, and then he took another step.

  He was leaving, walking away from her and toward danger. Alone.

  She scowled. Like hell he’ll go alone. He was farther away now, as was the thief. Ailsa rose to her knees and gathered her cloak close. As quietly as she could, she followed him from their hiding place.

  As soon as she reached the path, she straightened. Nik’s broad shoulders were barely visible ahead as he silently eased his way toward where the horses would be waiting.

  Could he see the bandit? She wasn’t certain, but knew she had to stay out of sight. It wouldn’t do to confuse Nik; he had his hands full as it was.

  Nik disappeared into the woods, and she followed, watching where she placed her feet, and using all the lessons she’d learned from years of hunting to stay silent.

  Just as she reached a turn in the path, she caught sight of a movement to her right. She froze in place, her eyes narrowing. The brigand had walked this way, Nik after him. But what if the thief had realized he was being followed? Could he have slipped to one side to set up an ambush?

  She crouched low and stepped in the direction of the movement.

  A man rested on his haunches behind a fallen tree, his cloak mud brown, the sun flashing off the barrel of his rifle. It was aimed toward the spot where Nik had disappeared.

  Ailsa’s heart thudded in her ears, her palms damp. She had to stop this man. She stealthily crept forward, getting closer.

  Closer.

  The man braced the rifle on the fallen log, his head lowering as if to aim.

  She raised her pistol, sighting down the barrel and rested her finger on the trigger just as the sun broke through overhead and lit the man’s hair—

  “Gregor?” she whispered.

  He turned, his face pale in the sunlight that flickered over him. Relief flooded his face as he recognized her, followed quickly by shock when he saw her pistol pointed in his direction.

  She lowered her weapon and he took a grateful breath before gesturing for her to join him.

  As quietly as she could, she made her way through the brush, stooping beside him behind the fallen log. “Good God, I could have shot you,” she whispered.

  “Thank God you didn’t,” he whispered back. “The brigand came this way.”

  “I saw him go by. Nik sent the horses ahead, so the thief is following their trail. Nik is hard after the ruffian.”

  A startled look flickered over her cousin’s face. “The prince is out there, too? Bloody hell, I could have shot him by accident.” Gregor had already lowered the rifle, though the barrel still rested on the log. “I’m glad you came when you did,” he said in a fervent whisper.

  “Me, too,” she whispered back. “I wish we could do something, but I fear we’d only make the situation worse for Nik.”

  Gregor slanted her a side look. “ ‘Nik,’ is it?”

  She ignored him and settled in to wait, both of them scanning the woods for movement of any kind. The wind stirred the branches overhead, and brown leaves drifted down, but that was all.

  The minutes lengthened, and the sun began to slant into their eyes. Ailsa’s heart ached with each beat. As the seconds wore on, her imagination came to life. Where the hell was Nik? Had the thief ambushed him and left him for dead? Was he even now struggling to crawl to the path for help?

  She raised up and peered into the woods, straining to see something—anything. Beside her, Gregor stirred uneasily and she glanced at him, stiffening when she saw him brush his hand under his nose, his eyes watery. He looked as if he were going to— Oh no! He couldn’t, not now when—

  Achoo!

  The sneeze echoed loud in the silence of the forest.

  “Gregor!” she whispered furiously.

  “I couldn’t help it!” Gregor returned, looking miserable.

  Ailsa peered toward the woods, her heart thundering in her ears.

  For the longest time, there was no sound. But then, just as she’d started to relax, the brush rattled and she saw the flicker of a figure between the trees.

  “Someone is coming,” she whispered, pistol at the ready.

  Beside her, Gregor lifted his rifle into place.

  Nik appeared between the trees, leading the horses.

  “Thank goodness!” She lowered her pistol and stood, peering behind him. “Did you find him? What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Nik sent a sour look at Gregor. “That was your sneeze, was it?”

  Gregor flushed. “I’m sorry. The sun got in my eyes. I always sneeze when that happens.”

  “What happened to the thief?” Ailsa asked again. “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Nyet. He was on the other side of the horses.” Nik frowned. “He wasn’t moving at all; it was as if he were waiting for someone. But when Mackenzie sneezed, the blackguard turned and bolted into the woods. By the time I got around the horses to reach him, he was already gone.”

  “Do you know which direction he went?” Gregor asked.

  Nik shook his head. “The thick pine needles made it impossible to follow.”

  “Perhaps I can find the trail,” Gregor said, clearly eager to remedy his error. “I’m used to tracking on this surface and know some tricks.”

  “It would not be safe. We must stay together.”

  Gregor looked disappointed, but he refused to give up. “You and I can go, then, and Ailsa can return to the trail. The others will be waiting by now.”

  “I’ll not leave her alone.”

  Ailsa shrugged. “I’ll be fine—”

  “Nyet.” His tone and his expression brooked no argument. “I do not understand these thieves. Two perfectly good horses right there for the taking, and he chose instead to disappear into the woods. That does not make sense.”

  “Do you think he knew about the gold, but was nae certain where it was?”

  “I don’t know. But we must be careful.” Nik handed St. George’s reins to Ailsa. “Take your horse. He’s tried to bite me twice.”

  She patted St. George’s neck.
“I wish he’d bitten the thief.”

  “So do I,” Gregor agreed. He stared down the path behind Nik, and then frowned. “Perhaps these men have their own mounts and are looking for something more portable, like gold and guns.”

  “Perhaps.” Still looking perplexed, Nik fished a withered apple from his saddlebag and fed D’yoval. “We should find the others. Have you seen any of them?”

  Gregor shook his head. “When the shots began, I plunged into the woods and hid, and then, once things grew quiet, I went after the two of you. I haven’t seen anything of the others.”

  “Let’s return to the trail, then. I will lead.” Nik gestured to Gregor. “Keep your rifle at the ready and guard our flank.”

  “I’ll keep rear guard,” Ailsa protested. “I have a weapon—”

  “Pistol,” Nik corrected. “Which doesn’t shoot as far as a rifle.”

  “Oh.” He had her there. “Fine.”

  He sent her a lopsided grin and she realized that, were Gregor not nearby, Nik would have given her another kiss.

  She bit her lip. What had those kisses meant? At the time, all she’d thought was that they’d felt so right.

  “Krasavitsa, we must go.”

  She realized she’d been staring at his mouth, and her face heated. She was glad Gregor was behind her and hadn’t witnessed her foolery. “Of course,” she managed. “I hope the others are close by.”

  Nik’s gaze flickered from her to Gregor and then back. “So do I,” he said politely, and with utter insincerity. With a final heated look, he turned and led the way back to the trail, leaving her to follow, her mind racing with thoughts of brigands, the safety of their horses, and the confusing feelings caused by a pair of demanding kisses.

  Chapter 14

  The object sat on the palm of Ailsa’s hand, as smooth and round as a rock. She took a cautious sniff, but could find no trace of the yeasty scent she associated with bread.

  “Ow!” Gregor glared at his roll while he gingerly rubbed his tooth. “Whatever you do, don’t bite into it.”

  Rurik chuckled. “Silly man. You eat it like this.” He flattened a roll into a disc, and then tore it in half, and then in half again. Once he had a piece that would fit in his mouth, he popped it in, and took a swig from his flask.

  “Ah. You soften it with the water, eh?” Gregor picked up his flask.

  “This is vodka. It will soften the bread. It will also soften dried beans, leather, and perhaps even your brain, if you wish it.”

  MacKean, who was nearby leaning against a tree, his rifle loosely clasped in his arms, snorted a laugh.

  Gregor flushed, but managed a weak laugh as well.

  It was early evening and the sky burned a bright red, clouds scattering as if afraid. Ailsa shivered and tugged her cloak closer. “The weather is turning.”

  “Aye. It will rain come morning.” MacKean finished his bread and then opened a pouch and handed out what looked like pieces of bark.

  Gregor sniffed his.

  “Dried rabbit,” Ailsa told him. She sat beside him, cross-legged. She was still sore from traveling, but not as much as she had been.

  “Vodka will soften that, too,” Rurik said, obviously amused when Gregor reached for a flask.

  Nik looked up from the map he was studying. “Do not let Rurik tease you. Vodka will soften the bread, but the rabbit needs no such help.”

  Ailsa was glad to hear that vodka would not be necessary for her to digest their simple dinner. The one time she’d taken a few swallows of that potent stuff, it had given her the kind of brazen courage that usually led to massive errors in judgment. She was certain she made enough of those without the help of vodka.

  She tore her bread as she’d seen Rurik do, and managed to eat a small piece. The rabbit fared better, for it was indeed more tender than the bread, and tastier, too.

  The wind rustled overhead, and they all instantly raised their gazes to the sky, Gregor and MacKean reaching for their weapons.

  Ailsa managed a dry chuckle. “We’re a bit jumpy, we are. But we should nae be, for Stewart is on watch and he has sharp eyes.”

  Nik settled back on his heels and nodded, though his gaze never stopped moving around the forest. “It has been a long day.”

  “Too long,” Gregor agreed fervently.

  MacKean relaxed visibly, pausing to swallow a piece of bread. “The rain will slow us.”

  “Nae as much as snow,” Ailsa said. “Can we still reach Greer’s camp tomorrow?”

  “Perhaps,” MacKean said. “If we travel fast enough.”

  Nik folded the map. “We must reach it. We will be safer out of these woods.”

  No one disagreed. After their brush with the brigands, they’d traveled as quickly as they could, barely stopping to eat or rest. They’d made it quite a bit farther than Ailsa had expected, which was good. She, too, had had enough of the woods, the steep trails, and the unexpected kisses from a man she shouldn’t trust. As much as she wished it otherwise, he consumed her thoughts.

  Even now she remembered how agonizing it had been, waiting for Nik when he went to confront the thief. She told herself she’d have been just as worried had it been MacKean or Stewart or Gregor, but the stressful incident had left her exhausted and more ready than ever to be done with this adventure.

  Unable to eat more of the hard bread, she tucked the leftover chunk into her pocket in the hopes that St. George might be persuaded to eat it. Then she leaned forward and clasped her arms around her bent knees. “’Tis a pity we cannae have a fire tonight.” She couldn’t keep the wistful note from her voice.

  A small fire wouldn’t completely banish the cold, but it would brighten the gloom. As the sun slowly slid out of sight, the long shadows cast by the tall trees spread across the forest floor as if reaching for them.

  She rested her chin on her folded arms and found her gaze going to the shoulder of Nik’s cloak, where the bullet had sliced through it. She hadn’t noticed the tear until they’d reached camp, but seeing it had made her stomach tighten into a hard ball. So very close.

  She tore her gaze from the rip, fearing he’d see the emotion she couldn’t quite conceal. That she was upset was understandable; he was a member of her party, and as this was her rescue, he was under her care. If he’d been injured . . .

  She shivered and tugged her cloak closer. “We will have a fire once we meet oop with Greer.”

  “Once we reach him, ’tis a short march to Ullapool,” MacKean noted. “There’s an inn there.”

  Gregor brightened. “An inn?”

  “Aye. Ullapool is a port town.”

  Rurik looked up from where he was cleaning his pistol. “How big is this town?”

  “Decent sized. They trade quite a bit with the clans of the Western Isles.”

  “A real bed,” Gregor said reverently. “And the food at this inn?”

  “I’ve eaten there before, and would nae mind going again.”

  From MacKean, that was high praise indeed.

  Gregor rubbed his hands together. “A hot meal would be welcome.”

  “We should have the horses looked to while we’re there, as well,” Rurik said. “If we have the chance.”

  MacKean nodded. “There’s a blacksmith in town, if any shoes need replacing.”

  Perhaps I can get a hot bath, Ailsa thought longingly. “We will stay in Ullapool, then. At least one night.”

  “Good.” Nik folded the map and tucked it away, his gaze flickering to Ailsa. “But then we must decide how to proceed, as it’s a straight march from there to Kylestrome.”

  She felt his gaze, but resolutely stared into the growing dark instead.

  After a moment, he said firmly, as if in challenge, “We will make some decisions when we reach the inn in Ullapool.”

  He was right, and she could only be glad he was not pressing for that conversation right now. The day had been wearing and she’d never been so tired and at the same time, fearful that sleep would elude her. Despite he
r brave words earlier, every time there was the faintest rustle in the woods, her heart leapt to her throat while she waited for a crazed band of ruffians to burst forth, pistols blazing. And somehow, in her wide-awake vision, the ruffians always aimed at Nik.

  MacKean took a swig from his flask. “I’ve been thinking aboot these brigands.”

  Everyone looked at the usually taciturn woodsman.

  “And?” Nik said.

  “We’re dealing with only one mon.”

  Ailsa frowned at the usually taciturn tracker. “Rurik saw more than one.”

  Rurik nodded. “Da. There were two, perhaps more.”

  MacKean sent Rurik a hard look. “The attack came from only one direction. If I were a brigand, and I had an accomplice or two, I’d set us oop so tha’ we covered all the members of this little party, and nae a one would have escaped.”

  “So you’d have placed your men on both sides of the trail?” Nik looked thoughtful.

  MacKean nodded. “Staggered, so they dinnae shoot one another, but enough to encircle the whole lot of us. Two men could do tha’. Three, for certain.”

  “We could not have withstood an attack like that,” Nik agreed.

  “So why dinnae they do it?” MacKean demanded.

  Rurik nodded slowly. “You make a good point. At least for this recent attack.”

  “Now I really wish I’d tried to track that lout,” Gregor said.

  “’Tis guid you dinnae,” MacKean said sharply. “The last thing any of us should do is go oot on our own.”

  Rurik grunted his agreement. “Da. You’d be a lone target and would not have lasted long. It’s possible that is what this scoundrel will try when he comes back—he could attempt to lure us out one at a time and pick us off like plump pheasants.”

  Gregor offered in a mild tone, “Since there’s only one thief, perhaps we should attempt to strike a bargain with him?”

  “And how would you do that?” MacKean asked, looking astonished. “Do you go into the woods and shout, ‘Mr. Brigand, I would like to parley’?”