by Jenn Lees
Siobhan swallowed. A hunting knife. Its sharp blade glinted dully.
Rory kept his hold on the man’s arm. The man punched at Rory’s back with his free fist. Rory grimaced and grunted with every pounding to his back and shoulder, the muscles in his forearms stood out with the strain.
The knife soon dropped, and Rory kicked it away. He elbowed the man in the stomach then spun. The man had doubled over but now thrust himself forward, pushing Rory onto the ground. Rory landed flat on his back with the man on top of him, grabbing for his throat. Siobhan’s lungs burned as she held her breath.
Rory kicked and spun his legs, lifting his body by arching his back. The man above him lifted off the ground as Rory flipped him over onto his back. It happened so quickly. Rory was now on top of the man, punching him in the face. Siobhan let out a wordless cry.
Rory’s arms lifted high, one at a time, and landed with force onto the man’s face. The man grunted at first, then was silent. Siobhan’s stomach wrenched at the sight of Rory’s blood-covered knuckles.
“Rory, stop! He’s unconscious.” Siobhan ran from the ancient shrubs and stood beside Rory as he straddled the man. Her gut twisted as she viewed the man’s bloodied, broken face.
Rory stepped off the man, chest heaving from his exertion.
“You okay?” His brow knotted. “Did he hurt you? Did he stab you?”
“No.” She glanced at herself.
No blood.
“Check yourself. Sometimes when people get stabbed, they don’t know it at first. Dinnae feel it till later when the numbness wears off.” He ran his hands over her arms and back then hesitated. “Ah, you can check the front.”
“I’m okay, Rory. Are you? Your hands are bleeding.”
“What was that all aboot!” Callum ran through the trees. “The others have gone. What did you do to this guy, Rory?”
“He had Siobhan.”
“Siobhan. Are you all right?” Antony followed Callum through the trees, his expression full of concern.
Too much concern.
“What happened?” Antony asked. “Why were you over here on your own?”
Siobhan tightened her mouth. Antony looked sincere, but he wasn’t. She’d enough experience of Antony to know the difference. Why was he being so fake? And why did he not truly care that the bandit had attacked her?
She looked from Antony to Rory. Rory held her gaze, with a look that said he also recognised the falseness of Antony’s reaction.
“Ooh, what are we going to do about this guy?” Antony pointed to the injured attacker.
“Leave him. His pals will find him when we go. Hopefully it will hold them up a bit. Although, it didn’t stop them for long last time.” Rory stormed to the loch and washed his hands.
Siobhan followed. His knuckles were raw from his bare-fisted fighting.
“I’ll get the first aid kit to—”
“No, lass, I’ll be okay.”
“Thank you, Rory.”
He nodded and glanced up from the water’s edge.
“How well do you know that man?” His voice was quiet as he pointed his chin toward Antony tramping back to the horses.
What did he mean? There was animosity between Rory and Antony, but was he accusing him of something?
“I have known him all my life. I grew up with him.”
Rory stood and faced her.
“That does nae answer ma question.” He strode toward the horses.
Siobhan walked beside him but stopped at the unconscious man with the battered, bloody face. Rory stepped ahead a pace and paused when she stopped. She couldn’t help her expression as she stared at her attacker—disgust and accusation would cross her face. Rory’s vehemence and aggression had surprised her.
“Siobhan.” His voice was low. His stare intense. More intense than it had ever been so far. “He had you. And he had a knife. No question as far as I’m concerned.” He gave a short nod, turned, and continued to the horses.
After eating, the group remounted and resumed their journey by the loch. They soon passed it by to their left. Siobhan sat in front of Rory, the silence a thick wall between two people sitting so close. She glanced at his skinned knuckles.
He’d do that for her?
Severely hurt another to prevent her harm? He was a physically powerful man, but she’d never had cause to fear him.
She still did not.
The small seaside town of Poolewe came into view ahead of them. White houses with grey roofs dotted the coast, and as the sun shone stronger, brilliant blue water lay enticingly ahead.
Idyllic.
If only her circumstances were different. How she’d love to go for a swim or a sail. Not that she could do either, but she’d try. She jiggled in the saddle. It wasn’t only the danger they’d already faced that made her jittery, but she desired to be at the loch and see the ocean close up. She barely remembered what the beach was like.
A vague recollection of a seaside holiday at St Andrews when she was very young, flitted into her mind. A strong wind blew off the water and across the wide, long beach. Her mother stayed by the sandcastle they’d made, her hat-strap tightening under her chin as her broad-brimmed sunhat strained against the breeze coming straight in off the North Sea. Siobhan ran along the sands at full pelt, the ruined cathedral on the cliffs ahead of her. She pretended to be Eric Liddell and the other runners in that movie. What was it called? Her father was young and fit but allowed her to overtake him and win the race.
As fathers do.
The horse nickered and pranced.
“What are you doing, woman?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re kicking ma horse. I’m in control of this animal, remember? You’re confusing him.”
With her daydream, and her desire to be at the loch and see the ocean close once more, she had jiggled her feet. Her growing impatience added to her edginess. She willed herself to calm down and focus. They’d be there soon, and they had an important job to do.
Important!
Understatement.
If they failed, they would all die and most of Scotland with them. She glanced at Rory’s hand holding the reins. What would become of him?
The afternoon passed and the sapphire-blue water glistened in the brilliant summer sunshine. The sun warmed her front and Rory warmed her back.
They passed the inlet where people moored small sail boats and larger boats. The tide was out and boats near the shore on wet sand lay tilted to one side, appearing abandoned and helpless. The tides. The phases of the moon. These were phenomena she had only read of in her early science studies.
Sometimes this whole expedition was overload.
Rory tensed behind her at the sound of gunfire. Bullets whizzed past them.
“Move!” he shouted as he kicked the stallion into a gallop.
On either side, Rory’s crew urged their horses in behind him. Siobhan held tight to the pommel of the saddle as they rode hard through the small village; close-packed houses flashed by her. At a gravel lane just after the town, Rory turned Boy sharply and led them behind a single storey stone-building, an old dilapidated garage.
“We’ll make our stand here,” Rory yelled to the others.
He slid from the saddle, reached up to her, and dragged her down. “Stay low,” he commanded. Siobhan squatted against the wall.
Callum flew off his horse. “There’s about half a dozen of them,” he shouted to Rory from the corner of the building and then peered around the side of the garage again.
Kendra jumped off her horse, lifted her bow off her shoulder, and notched an arrow. Her quiver full of them hung at her waist as she joined Callum at the far end of the building where the sound of gunfire was loudest.
Siobhan glanced around the laneway. Antony had a handgun and made his way to the end of the lane with Angus and Geoff, Sanjay and Sundeep were with him as well. Antony paused, then stepped out.
“Antony,” her whisper was hoarse. “What are you doing?”<
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Gunfire blazed from the opposite direction, where Callum and Kendra defended, whizzing bullets close by. Rory pressed Siobhan to the ground, lying her flat, face down. The gravel grazed her face and stung. Rory lay on top of her, covering her head with his head and arms.
“Don’t move,” he said into her ear, his weight heavy on her.
The volley of gunfire from the bandits slowed. Callum’s returning fire petered out. Kendra panted by the corner of the building.
Then the clatter of horses’ hooves filled the lane. Rory lifted his head off Siobhan and turned. Still laying over her, he fired his submachine gun. His body vibrated as the thud, thud, thuds rocked through him, knocking Siobhan’s back with each release of a bullet. Siobhan’s ears rang with the noise.
The lane filled with the crack of returning gunfire as horses screamed.
“Get her!” An unfamiliar voice yelled amongst a cry of pain.
Rory fired again, the snap of his gunfire matching a bang from Callum’s handgun.
“Oh, shite!” A deep voice cried as a body thudded on the gravel of the lane.
The acrid scent of propellant hung low in the air, stinging Siobhan’s nose.
“Stop. Stop!” An unfamiliar and weak male voice came from the end of the lane.
The weight of Rory lifted from Siobhan. A bandit raised his arms in the air as he threw his gun to the ground; it clattered in front of him. The bodies of three of his comrades lay in distorted positions to his left. A groan came from one, then not another sound. At the other end of the lane, two more lay dead. Next to them, Antony stood, along with the rest of the team except Sundeep, who lay immobile near the one remaining horse who hadn’t fled.
Siobhan ran to Sundeep. Bullet holes had ripped through his jacket and he groaned as she turned him over to face them. Sanjay crawled closer, silent. He placed a hand on his brother’s arm, then after a short time, closed his brother’s eyes.
Xian tied the hands of the surrendered bandit. Callum and Kendra kicked the legs of the immobile or prostrate bandits, ensuring they were in fact dead. Angus and Geoff peered around the corners of the building to make sure there were no more.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” the bandit shouted, anguish in his voice.
Rory spun. “Wasn’t meant to be like what?” Rory followed the bandit’s stare. It led to Antony.
Rory made his way to Antony who stood fidgeting with his gun.
Antony had an expression Siobhan recognised—a tell. A thing only someone who had been as close as a lover could see. She should have noticed it earlier. He was jealous of Rory.
Hated him.
For his robustness, his leadership talents, and the love his people had for him—everything Antony desired, but lacked. And she was certain his fidgeting hand holding the gun wouldn’t stop.
“No, Antony!” Siobhan ran and stood in front of Rory. “Put the gun down!”
Rory’s hand was on her shoulder, his strong fingers digging deep into the muscles near her collarbone, shoving her away behind him.
“Coward!” The shout came from the bandit at the other end of the lane, who directed his accusation at Antony.
Xian flew out from behind the building near where Antony stood. Legs extended, he kicked the gun from Antony’s hand. He held the drawn Katana to Antony’s throat. Antony raised his hands, his eyes narrow and mouth a thin line. Callum raced forward with a rope and yanked Antony’s hands behind his back, tying them securely. Antony never flinched, his eyes remained staring ahead, focussed on no one.
“I’ll get the horses that ran. They’ve got the equipment we need.” Angus left the lane.
Rory stood silently staring at Antony, nodding slowly.
“I knew there was something about you,” he growled. “But we dinnae have time for this at present. We need to collect our gear, prepare our dead for transportation,” he pointed to Sundeep, “and get to the sub. Then we’ll hear the whole story.” He took his gaze from Antony and addressed the bandit. “Can we expect any more surprises?”
The bandit shook his head, his long, matted, greying hair falling around his face and his torn leather jacket.
Siobhan walked to Antony, his arms now firmly tied behind his back. She faced him full on, her disgust and anger burning in her throat.
How could he?
“Consider yourself under the arrest of both authorities. Government and Community,” she snarled.
“Your wild-boy there has clouded your mind, Siobhan.” Antony pointed to Rory with his chin, his expression full of disdain.
She held her open palm to his face. “Not now!”
He opened his sneering mouth to speak.
“Save it for later. You will give a full account of yourself and your actions.” She turned and walked back toward Rory.
Rory watched her approach him, blue eyes never leaving hers. She made to walk past him, but he reached for her upper arm and held it with a gentle, warm grip and drew her close.
“What was that all about?” he whispered so low, only she could hear.
“He’s been up to something, that’s for sure.”
“No, not him. You?” He shook her arm softly, his blue gaze riveted to hers.
Words of explanation didn’t come. What was she doing? Why had she stood in front of Rory when she expected Antony would shoot him? Then, a sudden thump in her soul as a revelation hit her.
She would protect Rory with her life if that was needed.
His stare remained on her, and the slow shaking of his head began once more.
“Never do that to me again, Siobhan,” he whispered.
The clip clop of a horse’s hooves and a whinny with a nudge at his back broke the moment.
“Aye, Boy, I ken you always come back.” Rory reached behind and grabbed the stallion’s reins.
Chapter 18
After wrapping Sundeep’s body in his bedroll blanket and loading him over a packhorse, they remounted their horses and continued the journey. Siobhan had placed Sanjay’s arm in a sling, as he’d cradled it with his good arm and blood had seeped through the bandage at his shoulder. When they arrived at Drumchork, or as near as was safe, she would take a closer look at it.
The cloudless blue sky and sparkling water was an incongruity as they travelled beside it. Callum had bound Antony and the remaining bandit who was under arrest: a packhorse stood-in for a hearse, and the whole party made their way to an unstable nuclear warhead or two.
Only a pleasant afternoon’s outing in the Scottish Highlands.
Rory was silent behind her. She had little to say, her mind whirring with the day’s events. He’d shielded her twice, beaten a man almost to death to protect her, and had the gall to reprimand her, all-be-it in a gentle way, for attempting to do the same for him. He was a chauvinist.
Or was he just protective?
Rory shouldered an unusually large burden of responsibility, not necessarily warranted. She had heard he was like his father, a man who seemed to be a superhero in many peoples’ eyes. Not only those in the Community. Antony held the man somewhere between awe and disdain.
Did Rory believe he had to fill his father’s boots completely? His father’s death had deeply affected him. His responses to her insensitive questions yesterday were evidence he was still working through his grief. According to Antony, Rory’s mother died six years ago, and his father soon after.
What had happened?
Rory was definitely protective of his family members and had a genuine concern and active interest in the welfare of his Community. It was just good leadership, wasn’t it? Or did it go deeper? A hero complex maybe?
They followed the road; the party quiet. Most probably directed their thoughts to their task ahead—and Sundeep’s death. In addition, the recent revelation of the deception and possible betrayal by Antony. Was it a shock to them?
Oddly, it wasn’t a shock to her.
Something about his behaviour of late had niggled at her. Unexplained absences. Fur
tive glances. When questioned, Antony always had an excuse and an alibi if asked. A guard saw him here, or he was off on his own there. No, nothing he had done on this journey had surprised her. She only wished she had been smart enough to put it together and deal with it before people had been killed. Her eyes watered as she glanced at the horse in front, carrying her friend’s body.
Poor Sundeep.
Beside the road, the loch was a serene calm. Seagulls called as they soared on the sea breezes. The wind rippled the surface of the loch as it blew across it and bathed her face in fresh, cool, salty air, reminding her it was a sea loch and the big wide ocean was just out there ahead. Past the far entrance of the loch, was a body of water they called The Minch; it sat between mainland Scotland and the Isle of Lewis. Places she’d only ever seen on a map were now so close she could reach out and touch them. Her arms would be long enough.
“It’s beautiful, Rory.” She turned to face him, expecting to see an expression of awe mirroring hers. Instead, his eyes were hooded, and lines furrowed his brow, his jaw muscles tensed, and no smile hinted at his mouth.
He blinked and looked at her. “Aye, it is. And we must do all necessary to keep it that way.”
“Of course. It’s why we’re here.”
“Aye, it is why we are here.” His answer had a philosophical note to it.
What are you up to, Rory Campbell?
The edge of her hearing caught the sound of an engine. Rory reined Boy around to look. A small, pale-blue motorboat, with the word Spirit painted on its side, chugged along the loch. It caught up with them and travelled close beside until they reached a place soon after a sign which read Loch Thurnaig—a small calm inlet of Loch Ewe. Rory and the members of his crew were unperturbed.
“You are familiar with this vessel?”
“Aye. Oor friendly fisherman. Murdo MacDonald.”
As if on cue, a shout of “Ahoy” came from the boat now closer to the shore. Rory waved, and they made their way to a small outcropping of land where there was a floating pier. The captain of the boat drove it near and threw a rope to the small pier. Callum jumped off his horse, ran to the pier, and tied the rope to a pole. The fisherman disembarked from his boat and headed toward them as Rory dismounted. Siobhan got out of the saddle after him.