Highland Thief

by Alyson McLayne

  He nodded and then leaned down and kissed her. She pressed her hand on the nape of his neck and cleaved to him.

  A shout sounded in the distance, and he braced himself. It was now or never.

  Kerr broke off the kiss and hurried to the stern. He raised the ship with a great heave and placed his hands on either side of the dragon’s tail that rose at the back. “Keep the ship level, if you can. I’ll stop Diabhla at the edge of the woods and then push the boat over the bluff. I need to control the descent to the beach so I doona damage the hull.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said, gripping the gunwale and bracing her feet.

  He whistled, and Diabhla leaned into the harness. Kerr pushed with all his might, and the boat shifted forward. He dug his feet in, taking one step, then another, until he was practically running. Ahead of him, Diabhla pulled, encouraged by Kerr’s whistles to keep moving. Isobel ran beside the boat, hands on the gunwale as she maneuvered their path as best she could, a look of concentration on her face.

  When Diabhla neared the tree line, Kerr whistled sharply for him to stop. He did, his sides heaving and his haunches quivering. Kerr kept pushing, using the momentum to turn the boat slightly and shove it up beside his horse.

  “Hold it steady,” he said to Isobel, and then crawled forward to the edge of the bluff. He looked out and spotted three warriors crossing the creek. They’d be on them in minutes. He considered going on the offensive and killing them first, but then two more men crossed behind them, heading in their direction. He cursed under his breath and looked back to the beach.

  The water was about sixty paces away, and the drop down to the sand wasn’t that far. Isobel could easily jump down on Diabhla.

  He crawled back and rose beside her, letting the boat rest against his thigh. “I want you on Diabhla while I lower the boat. When I give the signal, jump down with him and run straight to the water. The rope will pull taut, and he’ll slow, but I’ll be pushing from behind like before. You’ll have to lead him into the loch, but don’t expose yourself by sitting up high. Stay as low as possible on his neck.”

  “You’ll be exposed,” she croaked.

  “Aye, but I’ll be moving too fast to hit.” It was a lie, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. He squeezed her hands. “Isobel, whate’er you do, doona shy away from the water. He’ll sense your hesitancy and slow down. If he slows, the boat may tip, and we’ll ne’er get moving again in time. Keep going straight out to sea. He can swim with you in the saddle. Doona turn around. Doona even look back. I can get to you once we’re far enough out.”

  “And if you canna?”

  “Then close your eyes, dearling, and hold onto his mane. Diabhla is a strong, fast swimmer. I have no doubt he’ll get you to the other side safely.”

  Tears swam in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. He wiped them with his thumbs, kissed her, and then whispered against her lips, “We’ll live to share our marriage bed, Izzy. I promise you.”

  ***

  Isobel sat high up on Diabhla’s shoulders, in front of the harness, and held the rope so it didn’t get tangled. Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs, and her heart pounded. She couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face.

  Beside her, Kerr had nudged Eirik’s boat as close to the edge of the bluff as possible and stood with his hands on either side of the dragon tail. His concentration was fierce, and every muscle clenched as he prepared to lower the ship to the beach and get them to safety. His sword poked up behind his head, and a breeze from the water blew his thick, dark hair around his face and shoulders. He looked like a magnificent warrior of old.

  This was how she would picture him. Always.

  “Remember,” he said, his voice rough, “stay low, ride as fast as you can into the loch, and keep going. Aim for the other side, Izzy, and doona look back.”

  She turned forward, closed her eyes briefly, and nodded. Then she stared at the land across the loch. That was where Kerr wanted her to go. That was her destination.

  With a grunt, he shifted the boat forward, breaking through the tree line. She looked down at him, she couldn’t help herself, and stared at the massive warrior—her warrior. In a few beats of her heart, he pushed the boat halfway over the bluff and then lowered the prow smoothly to the sand. The muscles in his shoulders, chest, and arms bulged, and his strong face was etched into a strained grimace.

  He took a breath and pushed forward again, cutting a line in the sand with the keel. When he reached the edge of the bluff, he shoved the boat forward as far as he could, heaved it up into the air, and then jumped down onto the sand below and caught it against his shoulder. With another grunt, he lowered it all the way down.

  A yell sounded from across the beach as they were seen, followed by more yelling and sharp whistles. Then men began appearing from different places in the woods, running toward them, their plaids flapping behind them and their weapons raised.

  “Go, Izzy! Go!” Kerr shouted. He began pushing the boat toward the water, letting out his own sharp whistle that pierced her ears and sent Diabhla leaping into motion.

  She held on tight as the stallion arced over the bluff and landed on the beach beside his master. The boat glided easier this time, and Kerr was already practically running with it through the sand.

  Hope burst through her heart. We’re going to make it!

  Diabhla raced past, and she let go of the rope. It stretched out behind them and then tightened. The jolt almost knocked her off his back, and she had to re-seat herself. Behind her, Kerr whistled at Diabhla to keep pulling. The stallion heaved forward in the harness, and they picked up speed again.

  “Get low, Izzy,” Kerr yelled at her, and she leaned forward on the horse’s neck, keeping pressure on the reins so he stayed on the shortest route to the water.

  They were about halfway there when she looked back…and gasped. Men had streamed onto the beach behind them, all the way along—too many to fight, maybe thirty of them—some on horses, some on foot. And they were closing in fast.

  But what scared her the most were five men on foot directly behind Kerr with their swords out and murderous expressions on their faces. And they were gaining on him.

  “Behind you!” she screamed, but he didn’t stop or turn around…he kept pushing the boat and whistling at Diabhla to keep going. The enemy drew closer to him with every step.

  Just when she thought it was too late, he lunged forward, shoved the boat as far ahead as he could, and dropped to the sand and rolled.

  He came up with his daggers in both hands, slicing through the stomach of the man who had tried to jump on top of him and stabbing his other dagger into the next man’s throat. Both warriors fell, and Kerr hurled the dagger he’d used to kill the first man into another man’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

  The two men following slowed, and Kerr turned and chased after the boat. She wanted to wait for him, but he yelled, “Faster!”

  She looked back to the loch and urged Diabhla to keep going—they were almost there. His hooves pounded into wet sand—finally!—and she rejoiced inside. Kerr would catch up; they would make it!

  Then something flew past Diabhla’s head, and he shied away from it, breaking his rhythm and darting sideways. She almost fell off a second time. The only thing that saved her was that she’d been hanging on so tightly around his neck and one of her legs had gotten caught in the harness.

  “Arrows!” Kerr yelled behind her. “Stay down!”

  Terror for him welled within her. She glanced back again. He was pushing on the boat’s stern and completely exposed.

  His feet had just hit the wet sand when another arrow flew through Diabhla’s tail. The stallion screamed and reared on his hind legs, and this time she couldn’t hold on. She fell back and hung upside-down for a moment before her leg wrenched free and she tumbled to the wet sand.

 
Kerr was there immediately, pulling her clear of Diabhla’s hooves. He dragged her behind the boat, which had tipped onto its side, facing them. More arrows landed near them on the beach, making the sand spit. One hit the dragon head with a loud thunk.

  “Don’t move!” he roared at her as he drew his sword.

  Diabhla was rearing and kicking, still attached to the boat and jerking it around in his panic. Kerr brought his sword down on the rope and the stallion leapt free, racing away from them along the water’s edge.

  “I think he’s hit!” Isobel cried. She crouched at the water’s edge behind the gunwale. Gentle waves lapped at her skirt.

  They were so close!

  Kerr looked over the edge and then ducked down again as another arrow flew through the air where his head had been. He came up immediately with his dagger in his hand and flung it on the same path back toward the archer with a mighty grunt.

  Isobel peeked up and saw the dagger fly. It passed men with swords, on foot and on horses, until it hit the archer in the shoulder. The man staggered back, his dark hair hanging down on one side of his head, the other side bare. He grabbed the knife hilt with both hands and pulled it out, before dropping the knife and pressing his hand to the wound. Even from this distance, Isobel could see his arm didn’t look right.

  Is that the man who grabbed me at the cabin?

  She couldn’t be sure as Kerr shoved her down again and then jumped over the boat. She heard swords clashing and men groaning, before Kerr appeared at the boat’s prow and yelled, “Move!”

  He grabbed the dragon by the neck and heaved the vessel toward the water. She scrambled back, her skirts getting soaked as the water rose, and he disappeared again—swords ringing in the air as the battle continued.

  She heard sobbing and realized it was coming from her. She tried to stop, but it felt like her heart was breaking and her stomach was trying to force itself into her throat.

  Kerr was on the other side, roaring and grunting—she knew it was him. She knew it.

  She looked over again and saw men scattered around the boat, dead and dying. Kerr, his shirt ripped up the back and hanging from him in rags, was pulling a sword out of another man who had fallen.

  But more warriors were closing in.

  There’s too many of them!

  He was cut and bleeding, battered and bruised. When he raised a hand to push his hair out of his face, she saw a tremor run through his muscles along his spine. And he was favoring one side.

  How many battles had he fought today? How far had he pushed that bloody boat?

  He tore his shirt off with a loud rip and dropped it to the sand. The same shirt she’d worn yesterday and last night, loving the smell of it, the feel of it—of him—against her skin.

  It couldn’t end like this.

  She crawled to the pointed bow, wedged her shoulder under the gunwale and pushed with all her might toward the water. The boat barely shifted…until a wave lapped underneath and lifted it. The vessel glided forward and stopped. Then the next wave came, and the next, and before she knew it, she was kneeling in water up to her waist.

  The boat was partially submerged. She would have to flip it onto its keel.

  She pushed to her feet, grabbed the gunwale, and tried to force it up, but it was too heavy with the water that was already inside.

  Lifting her head, she searched for Kerr. And froze.

  He had both hands on his huge double-edged sword, swinging in an arc at the enemy, keeping them back for only a moment before they surged forward again, getting closer every time and pushing him another step toward the water. He roared and put on a burst of speed, slicing and stabbing into bodies. The mob fell back.

  But some of them had crept to the side and were edging around him. He stepped back, trying to stop them, but then the ones in front pressed forward.

  He towered over them all—his arms longer, his legs longer, his back and shoulders massive…but even he couldn’t defeat so many men.

  She desperately wanted to cry out to him, but she feared she would distract him. She wanted to run to him, to help him, but she knew he would protect her and not himself.

  She tried again to right the ship but ended up slipping and crashing into the gunwale. Pain thudded through her arm and chin, but it was dulled, muffled through heartache and sorrow, through fear that this mighty Highlander was going to die because of her.

  If she hadn’t left the castle, if she hadn’t insisted on staying once they were here, if she had married him two years ago, when she knew he wanted her to…

  A big man darted past Kerr and tried to get to her. Kerr released his sword with one hand and flung his last dagger, hitting him in the back, but now three more men were right on top of him. He kicked and punched, knocking two of them back, but the third man landed a heavy blow to his stomach, and Kerr staggered, tripped over the body of the man he’d just killed and went down. The attacker lifted his sword and brought it down triumphantly, but Kerr rolled, grabbed the dagger from the other man’s back, and stabbed it into his stomach.

  He rolled again, onto his knees, but a sword arced down toward his neck.

  She screamed…and saw a flash of white. A blur of teeth.

  The man with the sword fell back as Siv launched herself at his throat with a ferocious snarl. Blood jetted up, drenching the huge, savage wolf—and the men at the front of the attack yelled in terror. Some tried to run, others stabbed at her with their swords, but she was fast and deadly, and tore through the enemy.

  Then Isobel heard pounding hooves and a thundering voice yelling in another tongue—a war cry. She looked over and saw Eirik—his long dark hair streaming out behind him and that giant axe held aloft in his hand—riding Diabhla toward them along the wet sand like Lucifer after a sinner.

  “Kerr!” she sobbed. “It’s Eirik!”

  Kerr had pulled himself up again and resumed the battle, both hands on his sword, carving into the enemy with renewed vigor. Their attackers fell back under the new assault, some scattering like rats as Eirik on Diabhla dove into the fray, hacking and slicing with speed and accuracy.

  The last few men turned and raced toward the trees, Siv snapping at their hamstrings.

  Isobel watched them run, her chest heaving as she sobbed. On the bluff, she saw the archer Kerr had hit with his dagger sitting slumped over on a great white charger. And there were more men on the bluff. What were they waiting for?

  “Is it over?” she cried. “Are they leaving?”

  Kerr turned and ran through the water toward her, his eyes never leaving hers, a shattered expression on his face. He was covered in blood, and this time she knew some of it was his.

  He scooped her up into his arms, her feet dangling, and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and shuddered, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs in strangled gasps. She hugged him back as hard as he hugged her, her arms crushing his shoulders and the nape of his neck, and she cried like her world was ending.

  Which it almost had.

  He fell to his knees, still holding her, the water swirling around their waists. Slowly, his breathing eased. “Never again, Isobel,” he croaked. “Do you hear me? You will never be in danger like that again!”

  Something hit the back of Kerr’s head and jingled. She glanced down and saw the bag of gold he’d left in the woods for Eirik sinking through the water to the sand below. Kerr scooped it up and peered back at Eirik.

  “You steal my boat and leave me gold?” the huge Norseman asked from the water’s edge, hands on his hips and a disgusted look on his face. Diabhla stood behind him and Siv sat on her haunches at his side—her head reached his waist. “Minn askr cannot be bought. She is priceless!”

  He held up what looked like long, curled blond hair—her hair?—tied in a blue ribbon. “For this, however, I will give you a ri
de across the loch.” And then he laughed heartily.

  Siv bounded toward them into the water and dunked under the surface. She jumped up with a splash and an excited bark. Darting close, she nipped at Isobel’s sleeve, nuzzled her ear, and then licked Kerr’s face. Kerr dug his hand into her scruff and playfully shook her head before he yanked her close and kissed the side of her nose.

  The wolf jumped away, swimming deeper into the loch. When she returned, she rose to her feet and shook her fur, getting water everywhere. Isobel laughed and hugged Kerr, but the laughter soon turned into another sob, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

  Enough, Isobel.

  Kerr gave her one last tight squeeze before standing with her and setting her back a step. He quickly splashed water over his face, chest, and arms until the blood was rinsed away. She could see the actual cuts on him—and there were many, although most were not deep.

  When he saw the concerned expression on her face, he kissed her briefly and said, “Doona worry, love. I’ve had worse.”

  He turned to the boat and pulled it upright, the water sloshing around inside.

  Eirik splashed into the loch and grabbed the gunwale. “Never before has there been so much water in minn askr. Not even when I crossed the sea from Normandy.”

  “Let’s dump it before they regroup,” Kerr said. “They must be waiting for reinforcements. There are bands of them scattered throughout the woods.”

  “Ja, we saw them. We would have been here sooner, but they were in our way.”

  Kerr cleared his throat. “Thank God you came when you did.”

  “I thanked them all,” Eirik said. “Freya in particular. She urged us on.”

  They lifted the boat and turned it over so the water dumped out. One of the oars fell, and Isobel pulled it toward her before they righted the vessel.

  Shouting sounded from the bluff, and when she saw the white charger jump onto the sand, she gripped Kerr’s arm. But only a few men followed the horse away from the bluff, and the man reined in his mount.

  Eirik glanced over his shoulder. “They are afraid of Siv, ja? And they should be. She is a fierce warrior. But it will not last forever.”