“What did ye do?” Owen asked.
“The only thing I could—I told them no.”
“Och.” Boyd shook his head.
“’Tis a shame they wouldnae even listen,” Owen said.
“At least there is the meeting tomorrow with the other Royalist clans. Perhaps we can come up with a way to handle the repercussions of Parliament’s decision and how it will change life in the Highlands.”
The men nodded.
“Will Annis be all right?”
“Aye, ’tis just a twisted ankle. She’ll be sore for a while, but shouldnae have trouble as long as she stays off it.”
“I’ll be down shortly. I want to grab my sword.” Grant rushed up the steps to retrieve his weapon since he hadn’t been allowed to carry it into Parliament.
A short while later, they rode out of the main city, and he felt like he could finally breathe again. Clouds had started moving in, and he could see rain off in the distance. It would probably catch up to them soon. Kicking his heel into the side of his mount, he spurred his horse on and they started a measured trot toward the hill to retrieve his Isobel.
…
From her position on the ground, Isobel peered at the bandits. Fear reigned for only a moment as they studied Annis and her as if they were beggars given admittance to the king’s Christmas feast. They wore their weapons openly, showing they wouldn’t hesitate to harm anyone who stood between them and what they were after.
“Look what we have here,” the largest of the three said as he stepped forward, giving her the impression he might be the leader of the group. His protruding lower lip vibrated and he smacked it against the upper one. He reminded her of a dog with loose jowls.
The comment was intended to strike fear. It worked. Despite her experience, a shiver ran across her skin. She didn’t have a weapon, and the sheer size and number of men was menacing. When faced with a confrontation, she’d always had warriors with the Royalist Resistance at her side. With Annis injured and Ian possibly dead, she was on her own.
Her gaze skimmed the multitude of arms the crew had strapped to their bodies. A quick scan told her it wouldn’t be possible to lift one before they could attack. They were all holstered well.
Her best bet would be to remove the claymore strapped to Ian’s back, but she would need a distraction to reach it without notice.
She started to stand, but a second one spoke. “Nae, lass. Dinnae move.” He had blond hair, a long nose, and red skin blotched from too much time in the sun.
Her stomach knotted. Her gaze drifted to Ian’s sword again.
“Dinnae count on him, lass. He willnae be getting up for some time.” The blond man laughed.
She gulped. She’d have to be more furtive with her gaze or they might think her a danger. Her only advantage was that she appeared defenseless. Best not to let them know different.
“Check the man to see what he’s got on him.” The leader nodded to the others and one started patting around Ian’s plaid.
Annis gasped and the men chuckled, a symphony of clanging tones and cruel intentions of men who had no moral intent. Dread seized her as it had on that day long ago and she almost froze with the fear, but she pushed it back and remained calm.
Even if she didn’t survive this, she had to save Annis and Ian, if he was still alive.
Isobel stood.
“Hey now, lass. He said stay down,” the drill master of the motley lot clipped.
She glanced at her gown, wondering how she would take all three in this horrid confection of a confining garment. But she was thankful she’d chosen her most casual dress for their hike, the one that allowed the most movement. At least she looked sweet, innocent, and non-threatening trussed up like a fancy cake. It might buy her time if she appeared docile, but she would not get back down. In that position, she was too vulnerable.
“My knees and hands are hurt.” Her voice shook with the anger bubbling up, although she hoped it came across as fear. Let them think her weak.
“’Twill nae be the only part of ye hurting for long,” the leader laughed, then the blond, scarred man snorted.
If these men had their way, Annis and she might not live through the next few minutes. She’d run across ruthless bandits who stole for a living, and these men seemed desperate enough to be outlaws of the worst sort. They would be swift in their work and show no mercy before fleeing to avoid capture.
The third man, who had not yet spoken, studied Annis like a pastry left out on a table. He had one eye black from a recent altercation and an ominous red scar zagging across his face. His matted red hair gave him a crazed appearance. He was the one she worried about, not because he was the most dangerous, but because of whom he had set his sights on. Isobel would do everything she could to guard Annis’s honor and deliver her safely back home to her love.
She would not fail this time, even if it cost her life.
At her distraction, the leader bolted forward and fisted her hair. He forced her head to tilt up to eyes tinged with excitement and madness. “Give me that trinket on yer finger. ’Twill fetch a hefty coin or two.”
“Nae. Please. ’Twas given to me by my husband.” Somehow, she had to buy time.
“Back on yer knees, wench, and give me that ring.” The leader shoved her down. She winced, rocks again digging into her knees despite the padding of her skirts. The blond stepped forward, a sick grin plastered on his face. He licked his lips.
“Red, check the lass on the rock. We dinnae have much time,” the leader barked to the scarred one.
Annis. Nae!
“The other man who was with us. He went for the rest of our party. They will be right back.” It was a lie, but desperation and urgency beat like a drum through her veins. She had to do something, because these brutes had no intention of leaving witnesses to their theft.
“Be quick about it.” The leader released her head, pushing her toward the blond, who started for her hand. She let the movement steer her closer to Ian’s prone body.
Cries from behind her pierced her ears. “Nae, let go of me.”
The sound of a hand hitting soft flesh smacked her senses then Annis gasped in pain.
Nae. No’ again.
Sounds of today mingled with those of the past, splitting her mind in two with fear and helplessness. She squared her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she vowed this would not end like the last time or worse.
She jerked away from the man in front of her. He growled and unstrapped a knife at his waist.
The claymore was still secured to Ian’s body. While the blond was distracted, she feigned falling forward and unbelted the sword. But before she could unsheathe it, the brute grabbed her hair, yanking her out of reach of the weapon.
Her hand swept the ground and clamped around a large stone. Praying God would be with her, she smashed the rock into her captor’s knee. He yelled out, but didn’t let go, so she couldn’t reach the sword.
“Ye shouldnae have done that, wench.” The grip on her hair eased just before pain exploded in the back of her skull. She fell onto her cheek, gravel piercing her skin, her head humming. Luckily, she landed within reach of the claymore.
A boot dug into her hip as the man spat at her. Annis screamed again.
Pushing away the pain, she grabbed the hilt and drew the sword. She rolled away from Ian’s body and jumped to her feet. She wobbled, more from the blow to her head than the unfamiliar weapon—she’d practiced with claymores to improve her strength and agility, but had never had to use one in battle, preferring to use a short sword for its lighter weight.
Her gaze swung wildly from one man to the next. Even Red had stopped his assault on Annis to appraise her.
“Ye cannae use that, lass. It weighs more than ye do.” The blond looked amused.
“Leave now, or I’ll be forced to kill ye all.”
They stilled for a moment, then the leader started laughing. The other two followed with snickers, but she wasn’t fooled. Red left Annis�
��s side and moved nearer to disarm her.
She lifted the blade into a defensive stance, and the men’s amusement turned to caution. Even if they thought her a weak woman, they respected the power in her hands and possibly saw now that she was no novice.
“Put it down now, lass,” the leader coaxed, trying to sound reassuring.
“Leave us be.” She aimed the sword toward Red, who had gotten closer to her than she liked. The man threw up his hands and retreated slightly. From the corner of her eye, she saw the blond remove the claymore from his back and start to slide it from its sheath.
“Put it down before we’re forced to hurt ye. It would be a shame to cut ye down before we’re done with ye.” Nothing in Red’s statement reassured her.
Striking before they realized what she was capable of, she went for the immediate threat: Red. She sliced the blade through the air in a swift motion, landing a deep, piercing blow that cut through his arm and side.
Crimson ran from the wound as the redhead dropped his weapon and reached for the injury. Shock registered in his cold eyes as he realized she’d dealt him a fatal blow. Stumbling back, his gaze drifted to the two men left standing. Hers did the same.
The leader seemed to be frightened, while the large blond man who had been after her ring appeared to smile, a maniacal visage that curdled her blood and had her taking a step back. She’d seen men like him before, ones who were excited by battle and thrived on the misery of pain they inflicted on others. She’d never had to defend herself against one. This would be harder than any battle she’d fought before.
And if the blond got his hands on her maid, he would destroy the lass. She’d tried to not let herself care for the girl, but Annis had grown on her.
Isobel wouldn’t repeat the past.
She wouldn’t let Annis get hurt.
That was what kept her rooted to the spot and pulling Ian’s sword up for another round. But the blond didn’t seem interested in the sweet maid, his eyes were lit with excitement and blood lust. His dilated gaze was intent on her as he lifted a blade similar in size to the one she held.
He smiled and lunged. Isobel pulled up just in time to block his blow, the clang of metal hitting metal rent through the air then a screech sounded as one blade slid off the other. The force of the blow had her stumbling backward. Vibrations jolted into her elbows and up to her shoulders. Numbness spread through her limbs, and she fought against fatigue to pull her weapon back up.
“Cam,” shouted the leader, but the man eyeing her kept his focus on her, ready to rip her apart.
“Cam. Dinnae kill ’er. I want to make her suffer for what she did to Red.”
Knowing she was outmatched, she wanted to run. The steel in her arms became heavier with each second. If only she had her short sword and wasn’t wearing this impractical dress. The only thing she had going for her was his strikes were clumsy, and the leader now wanted her alive.
The beast struck again and under the force, her weapon flew from her hands, clanging to the ground and out of reach.
The monster dropped his sword and dove for her, knocking her to the ground. Air whooshed from her lungs as her back hit solid earth and rocks. Cam landed on top of her.
She struggled, but he grabbed her hands and brought them up over her head. She resisted, but he laughed.
“I like a wench with some fire in her.” He ground his hips into her pelvis. A rock dug into her lower back, and real fear snaked its way into her heart. This was the man to be feared, not the leader. Cam was the one really in control of the group.
He pulled her hands together and attempted to lock them under one of his large ones but she was able to slip one free and project it toward his eyes. He caught her before she could connect. Laughing, he slammed her arm back to the ground. If she let him pin both of her wrists with one hand she’d be done. He attempted, but she slipped through his grasp again.
The flat side of his palm slapped her cheek, sending her face sideways and stunning her for a moment. She recovered quickly and reached for the dagger strapped to the brute’s side. It released easily.
Tilting the blade up, she pushed and punctured his side, but instead of causing injury, it seemed to multiply his fury as his hand returned to her face, the stinging reaching all the way from her cheek to her ear. It burned. He growled and pushed back from her, attempting to get at the knife still lodged in his side. Blood oozed from the wound and onto her gown.
They both glanced at the spot, then his rage rose up again and she knew if she didn’t strike first, it was over. He pulled back with a closed fist, but before he could connect, she grabbed the hilt, withdrew it, and plunged the blade again. This time, she angled the knife into his stomach and up toward his ribs.
He roared. It was a feral sound that invaded her ears and left her nerves quavering as ice pumped through her whole body. He lifted his fist again, but before he struck, he was knocked sideways. The pressure on her chest eased, and she glanced up to see Annis standing above her with a large club.
The leader’s hands wrapped around her maid and pulled the girl back, knocking the large stick to the ground. Words spilled from the maid’s lips as she tilted up to shout toward the city. “Help!”
But no help was coming. The pressure returned and she couldn’t breathe, could barely move as the blond reemerged to pin her chest with a meaty arm. He glanced down to inspect his wound. She grabbed the dirk and pulled. After it slid free, she drove it back in to the hilt.
A stunned moment later, the brute fell on top of her and began moaning. She twisted and he curled enough that she was able to push him off, but in doing so, the knife remained buried in his side. She crawled away, coughing and trying to fill her lungs, then scurried out of his reach in case he rose to attack again.
Her hands shook and her gaze drifted down to steady them, but when she took in the blood covering one, she trembled harder. Tearing her attention away, she focused on the threat again. He still writhed on the ground and looked as if he were trying to stand. She turned to collect Annis and run for the city.
Freezing when the leader blocked her way, she realized her mistake. In the scuffle, she’d only been concerned with the blond and Annis, forgetting there was still another danger present. Before she could act, the man had pulled a dag from his belt and aimed it straight at her. She’d seen what happened to men when one of the lead shots from those pistols entered a body. It was as deadly as a sword or dirk. And it hit too quick for someone to outmaneuver.
She backed away, thankful the man’s focus was all on her and he’d forgotten about the maid. Relief filled her lungs as Ian began to stand, but he stumbled and went back down on a knee. She had to keep the man’s attention from turning that way.
“Ye cannae blame me for defending myself.”
“Who are ye and how did ye just take out two men?”
Hell, if he figured out the truth, it would be better if he shot her. She couldn’t go to Argyll, because she’d be tortured for all she knew of the Royalist Resistance. Letting her gaze shift to Ian for only a second, she noticed he was having trouble and wouldn’t make it in time to help.
Then she spared a glance for the man who still thrashed on the packed earth and rocks with Ian’s sword just a few feet away. Her gaze returned to the leader, but she inched toward the weapon as she held her hands up, praying she could be swift and he had a bad aim.
She tried not to let the fear show on her face as she saw Annis limp toward the man, a rock in hand. There was no way to tell the lass to stop without giving her or Ian away. Suddenly, her maid was hurling the stone at the man, hitting him squarely on the back of his head. He jerked left and his pistol fired, the lead shot hitting the packed earth and scattering debris into the air, splattering on her skirts.
The man twisted around to move toward Annis as she ran. It gave Isobel just enough time to retrieve the sword and bring it back to an offensive position, her arms now shaking from fatigue.
“Halt,” she ordered be
fore the man could reach her maid. Pivoting back toward her, the man started forward, missing that Ian was now on his feet.
“Now, lass. I think I’ll be on my way and leave ye ladies alone.” The placating tone belied the anger she saw swirling in his cold, dead eyes. He crept forward, one small measured step at a time, holding out his hands as if he meant her no harm, but she saw the twitch on the hand nearest the dirk still strapped to his side.
“Halt.” But he kept coming toward her. Somewhere in the back of her head she thought she heard hoofbeats pound, but it could have been her heart, and she couldn’t take her eyes away from the man long enough to look.
“Ye wouldnae hurt a defenseless man,” he yelled out for the benefit of whoever was coming around the bend on horseback. His hand dipped and grasped the knife. He lunged forward, but she was quicker. Coming down, she sliced across the man’s neck. The blow was not enough to knock him off balance, but she’d nicked the crucial spot on the tender flesh. Life spilled from his veins.
Alex had taught her the killing move, but she’d never had to strike someone there until now.
The man dropped his knife, collapsing to the ground. Confident he was no longer a threat, she took a deep breath. She let her gaze slide up to check on Ian and Annis. But the sight that greeted her was the steely fury-filled gaze of her husband.
Chapter Sixteen
After checking to ensure the men his wife had killed were truly dead, Grant found one still writhing as if he had some fight left in him. Anger pierced his chest at the necessity, but he sank a dirk into the man’s back. It didn’t look likely the injured bandit would live, but if the man made it back to Edinburgh, he would be able to identify Isobel and put his clan in danger.
Damn her. She had a knack for finding trouble. Had she gone out in search of Torsten? Just when he was starting to think she had a softer side and he could live without constant fear of something happening to her, she proved him wrong.
When he got Isobel back to Skye, he’d keep her locked away from any weapons, perhaps even people. He wanted to take the time to ask Ian what had happened, but they couldn’t afford it—they had to get out of here before they were discovered.
Highland Obligation (Highland Pride) Page 13
