Pooka was gone.
He grabbed a groom walking past,.“Did ye see when the lady on the brown stallion left?”
The groom, once he was certain the tall, muscular man’s anger was not directed at himself, replied, “The bonnie lass with the red curls? She took the horse from its stall an hour hence, sir. Rode out o’ here as if the Earl of Hell himself was sliding on her shadow.”
Slaine swore some more and ran into the taproom.
“She’s gone. Hire yerself a nag and come with me.”
“But, I have no money, and our bill here is unpaid! What d’ye mean ‘she’s gone’?” Angus was confused from the two mugs of ale he’d drunk so early in the morning.
“Get this man a cider,” Slaine ordered the barkeep and went back to the stables to pay for Angus’s hired horse himself.
He returned to the innkeeper. “Here’s what we owe ye for the rooms, and here’s more to hold them for us. We’ll be back before nightfall.” He turned to leave and then thought of one more thing. “And here’s what we owe for the taproom.”
Slaine threw coins at the startled innkeeper and ran back to Angus. The farmer had just finished his cider. Before he even had time to visit the privy, Slaine had him by the elbow and was dragging him to the horses waiting for them outside.
“But...but...I dinnae want to go back anywhere near those brigands! Let me go!” he blustered.
“Too bad ye didnae make yer feelings on the subject more familiar to yer daughter, Angus, because guess what? Ye an’ me are off on an adventure together!”
Slain bundled Angus onto the hired horse and gave it a hard smack on its dock. The animal leaped into a canter with Angus holding on for dear life on top, not even a hat on his head. Slaine vaulted onto Maximus and followed, praying he was not too late.
Blair knew exactly which track would lead her to the bandits’ hideout. On her dreary journey up to Cromachy, she had spied a distinct trampling of grass heading around the loch, toward the forest behind it. Bushes and brambles had been hacked away, and even though the clearance had been done a good few seasons ago, she recognized the same method of creating an opening in the foliage as had been used by the men who had made the barrier in the woods.
She galloped Pooka off the wide lane and onto the beaten track. Soon, she could hear the lapping of loch waves on the shore above the sound of her horse’s hooves pounding on the grass. A strong wind had sprung up, causing the black water to chop and hiss as it pounded the loch’s banks. Blair slowed Pooka down to a canter, keeping her eyes open for the lush plant growth and bright green that would indicate marshland. She followed the track carefully, and it meandered around the loch, tapering off into the forest.
Before she entered the thicket of trees, Blair looked up at the forest’s dark green canopy tossing in the wind. It was not long before she saw what she was looking for: a thin ribbon of grey smoke coming from amidst the branches before being blown away in the breeze. Knowing from here on she must be more cautious, Blair dismounted, leading Pooka behind her. The trees seemed to swallow her up as she pressed into the bushes; they were no longer able to stick to the path because that was where they would have sentries posted.
Bringing Pooka with her was not a good idea. The horse was making a dreadful racket as it plodded through the bushes. The sound of snapping twigs, swishing branches, and occasional whinnies were loud enough to wake a drunk blooterkin.
Since running away from the inn, this was the first time Blair was struck with doubt.
Should I risk alerting them with the noise? Or should I go on ahead alone and risk nae being able to make a quick and clean getaway with the woman?
Blair knew she could not stand there dithering all the while. She knew Slaine would have cottoned on to her disappearance by now and would be riding like the wind to apprehend her.
Leave the horse. I will tether dear Pooka to a tree branch and go as silent as I can toward the camp. The woman will be there somewhere, and they wilnae see me in the darkness provided by the forest.
A small voice deep inside Blair said, “Ye’ve come too far to turn back...but ye ken in yer heart ye’re taking the biggest risk of yer life...an’ no one is here to rescue ye this time.”
When Blair continued shadowing the forest trail, she knew it was the bravest and most foolish thing she had ever done.
She made an extremely stealthy approach to the encampment. It was easy to know when to proceed with caution; the outlaws were noisily preparing dinner, and an open cask of ale was already being put into constant use. Many flagons of wine and bottles of whiskey could be seen lying on the ground when Blair soundlessly parted a particularly thick bush and peered through the leaves.
The scene she saw before her showed every sign of becoming a drunken revelry. There was a cauldron of stew boiling over the fire and a group of about six men supposedly tending to it. They were far more interested in putting away as much of the liquor as they could. In between clinking mugs together and making slurred toasts to one another, one of the men hollered over his shoulder, “Wumman, get yer peely wally face over here and stir this pot!”
Blair held her breath.
True to what Angus had told her, there was indeed a silk pavilion erected amidst the slovenly tents pitched in a circle around the camp. When the scoundrel raised his voice and summoned her, a tall, slender woman crawled out between the silken flaps. It was the first time the woman became a reality to Blair and not just some stricken figure in a story.
She was indeed pale, but it suited her blazing red hair. Her face was drawn and marked with the suffering of many years, but traces of a handsome beauty could be discerned from her regal cheekbones and striking green eyes. Blair gauged her to be no older than five and thirty years of age, but the life she had been forced to live might have aged her beyond her years. Her bearing was almost haughty and proud, as though her stance was able to reflect her resilient spirit.
She approached the cauldron and began stirring the contents. One of the men picked up a carrot from the pile of vegetables beside him and threw it at her. “Put in some more o’ these,” he growled.
The woman said, “I’ll need a knife for peelin’.”
“Dinnae gi’e one to that crabbit crone,” one of the men grumbled. “She’d stick ye with it as soon as look at ye!”
The man who had ordered the vegetables peeled said drunkenly, “Och, she’s alright. She doesnae have anywhere to run to.”
He tossed the woman a small knife from his pocket. “There ye go, wench, all right an’ tight. How’s the chief doin’ in there? Still sleeping it off?”
The woman ignored him, so he taunted her silence. “Ye wait until tonight after the weddin’—ye’ll only be too happy when he goes to sleep!”
All the men in the group howled with laughter.
Blair gave a small sigh of relief. She was not too late.
“Aye,” one of the bandits slurred, “I doubt he’ll be goin’ gentle with her even though it's her first time. Serves the jade right. She cursed me with her evil eye, I’ll swear to it.”
The men roared at their secret joke. “Ye drunk galoot, she didnae curse ye...ye were too pished to stand, never mind relish the wumman!”
Oblivious to the men’s sneers and jibes, the woman set to peeling the carrots.
Blair crouched behind the bush and dithered. The woman was not chained and she had Angus’s filing to thank for that. But how to get her away from the others? She could only sit and wait for her chance.
It seemed like hours before the opportunity came.
“I am goin’ to the privy,” the woman announced, and stood up.
“Dinnae ye go far, now, y’hear?” one of the men said as he tipped his mug back to empty it. “Head out to where we dug the new pit. There’s a sack o’ lime powder if ye need it.”
That was all Blair needed to know. She began to creep around the encampment, looking for the latrine. She got there just as the woman had finished crouching amidst the bu
shes.
It was a bizarre meeting. Both women were crouched down, and both gave small gasps when they laid eyes on each other.
“Run, girl,” the woman said, hastily rearranging her skirts and standing up. “Ye are in the lion’s den. Go as quiet as ye can back the way ye came.”
Blair was astonished the woman thought only about saving a stranger. She must be as good and noble in spirit as she looked in person.
“I’ve come to get ye,” Blair whispered. “I’m Angus’s daughter. He told me of yer plight, and I couldnae leave ye here. Come away with me now. I have a horse waiting nae far from here. We’ll be gone before those men even realize it.”
Hope seemed to spring into the woman’s slanted green eyes. “I ken a way around the camp which will keep us out of sight.”
She grabbed Blair’s hand, and the two women began creeping around the camp’s perimeter.
“Where’s yer horse tethered?” she asked Blair.
Suddenly, Blair saw the flaw in her plan. She had no idea where she had tied Pooka to the tree branch. All the woods looked the same, no matter in what direction she turned in bewilderment.
The woman saw her confusion. “Never mind. Let’s just get a bit further away, and then we can catch our bearings and give more thought to yer horse’s location.”
As quiet as cats in the night, they made their way slowly out of range from the camp.
Then the sounds they had been dreading were heard in the distance. Shouts and cries echoed in the woods, too loud and raucous to be swallowed up by the trees.
“They have discovered me flight,” the woman said calmly. “Run on ahead in a straight line and make for the loch. Forget yer horse.”
Blair had never felt such fear as the stifling horror which now gripped her.
“I cannae, ye must come with me,” she begged.
“When they have me, they will be satisfied. Now go.” The woman gave Blair a little push, breaking their handhold and stepping away from her.
Blair stood rooted to the spot. It was too late. Four men dashed out of the bushes and grabbed them both.
“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” one man said with a cocky grin.
“Two birds an’ many hands,” another said, and they began to drag the women back to the camp. The tall woman did not struggle or shout; she simply followed the man who had her by the arm in silence.
Blair put up as much resistance as humanly possible. She scratched, bit, kicked, and gouged at the two men who dragged her toward a fate worse than death, but it was all in vain. The men were used to women fighting them, and Blair’s actions only seemed to make them laugh all the harder.
It was only when they reached the campsite when all of Blair’s fight left her.
Standing in the middle of the clearing was a huge man with an enormous potbelly. His face was puce with anger, and in his hands was a whip.
“Meet our chief,” one of the men who was holding Blair said with a chuckle.
19
A Fitting Ending
“Ye blasted jade!” the man cursed when he saw the woman, then he spied Blair with the other two men. “What’s this? Ye’ve brought a wee friend back wi’ ye to share the betrothal bed tonight? Well then, lass, all is forgiven.” He grabbed the woman by the arm and pushed her into the tent.
Next, he beckoned Blair to come toward him. “Dinnae be a-feared, girl,” he said coaxingly, “the whip’s for the auld lady. Come here.”
Blair was given a hard push and stumbled to where the chief waited for her. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her into standing position. “Well, I’ve yet to meet such a fresh young rose as yerself,” he gloated. “Off with ye to the tent. It promises to be a grand wedding night!”
Slaine stepped out of the bushes and stood in the middle of the clearing. His sword was drawn, and he had removed his doublet. Wearing only his leather trews, boots, and white shirt, he was ready for battle.
“Nay, Blair. Come and stand behind me and then walk back to where yer faither is waiting for ye with the horses,” he commanded.
For possibly the first time in her life, Blair did as she was told. Except she did not leave the camp; she stayed behind Slaine with an anxious expression. There were six bandits, not counting their gigantic chief. Blair decided to stay and help.
As she predicted, all six men attacked Slaine at the same time. The chief stood in the middle of the camp, with his arms folded, one hand still clutching the whip.
The first two men to reach Slaine had barely time to draw their daggers before they were dead. Slaine lunged to one side and pierced the man on the left with the long blade of his sword, and then spun away, ducking the three men on the right and one in front who came in fast with their knives, slicing the remaining man on his left as he did so. The movement of his sword was too quick to follow. The first man to die grabbed his stomach before folding over; the second held his gushing throat, trying to staunch the blood, before expiring alongside his companion.
Slaine shifted away so his boots would not slip in the blood, but it looked to his remaining four attackers as if Slaine was afraid and moving away from them.
They came in again with knives ready. One man had a cudgel that he hefted in his hands with deliberation.
Without warning, the man threw the cudgel at Slaine’s head. When he ducked, the other three men rushed in to stab him. Two of the knives, Slaine was able to ward off with his sword; the other knife broke through his guard and missed his arm by a hair’s breadth. Slaine took the opportunity of his attacker being so close. He tossed his sword into his left hand and punched the attacker so hard in the face with his free hand that the man’s teeth imploded into his mouth with a wet crack. It was only then Blair saw Slaine had removed Maximus’s bridle harness and wrapped the leather around his right hand’s knuckles.
Three men were left standing, and one was left with blood pouring out of his mouth, the indescribable pain of smashed teeth felling him like a tree.
Slaine held his sword sideways and patted his left palm with the blade. It was a clear taunt. The men were not skilled swordsmen, but thugs used to attacking unarmed victims. They were driven to mad rage when they saw Slaine’s cocky gesture.
All three men rushed to where Slaine stood, his legs astride as though bracing himself for the onslaught. Except, he was not. When they were near enough, he dropped to one knee, sliding a hidden dagger out from behind his back, turning both of his outstretched arms into lethal weapons.
The man on the left got the dagger in his gut; the man on the right was sliced open by the sword. They both dropped where they stood.
Once again, Slaine moved from where he had been standing as the ground became slippery with blood.
“Go an’ get the bow an’ arrows, ye fool!” the chief screamed.
Not sticking around to mourn his fellow campmates, the last man standing did as the chief suggested.
Slaine approached the chief at a leisurely pace. “I wondered when ye were going to find yer fighting spirit,” he said to the giant of a man. “I mistook ye for a lump of lard when I first set foot in the camp, but now I’ve heard ye speak, I have hopes to finally get a good fight out of this band o’ sleekit dugs.”
The chief bandit had never been spoken to like that in his life. He had grown up large enough to be a bully from the first time he had measured himself against other children. It had stood him in good stead for over forty years. But he could no longer bully himself out of facing down Slaine in armed combat. He looked over his beefy shoulder for any sign of the man returning with the bow and arrows.
“He’s long gone, coward,” Slaine said. “It’s only ye and me now.”
The chief raised his whip and lashed out at Slaine. The action was quick enough to make Blair grit her teeth in fear, but Slaine simply stepped out of range of the whip’s end.
“Come now, are ye too much of a milksop to drop that fancy whip o’ yers and stand and face me head-on?” Slaine wanted the chief
to receive as many insults as the man had most likely said to others through the years.
“Ye have a sword, it’s hardly fair,” the chief muttered.
“I’ll tell ye what’s fair!” a furious voice said behind him, and the woman stuck her peeling knife into the chief's back. She used both hands to drive the short blade as deep into his spine as she could and did not stop until the entire shank had disappeared into the mass of flesh.
Blair shrieked when she saw the chief seemed not to even notice the stab wound. He stretched around his hand to where the handle stuck out of his back as though scratching an insect bite. Then he grabbed the woman by the hair and tried to snap her neck.
The thunder of an arquebus shot echoed in the clearing. The bandit chieftain crumpled and laid at the woman’s feet, a gaping bullet wound in his back.
“Slaine!” Blair screamed. “In the trees on yer left!”
The last bandit had returned and was aiming at Slaine with his bow. Slaine’s dagger left his hand like quicksilver, and the man tumbled out of the tree and landed on the grass with the dagger sticking out of his chest.
The camp was silent, except for the gurgling sounds of the bandit with the smashed teeth as he struggled to breathe over the blood pouring down his throat.
Blair, Slaine, and the woman stood staring at each other for a long moment: three strangers joined together forever as courageous survivors.
Blair, sobbing, ran to Slaine, throwing herself into his arms, begging for his forgiveness.
“Slaine, I’m so sorry...this is the woman...I dinnae ken her name.”
“Anna.”
Blair peeked out from between Slaine’s arms. He said the name again. “Her name’s Anna. She’s me sister.”
It seemed like the day had been a dream. Half nightmare, half beautiful dream.
Highlander’s Road to Valor: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 11