The man he spoke to nodded, then pulled a rifle from the scabbard at his saddle and laid it across his lap.
Vic’s soul plummeted into her shoes. They would discover Boyd was gone, but at least they wouldn’t see his dead body hidden under the bed. She had to act fast before they raised the alarm, while she still possessed the element of surprise.
She lowered the wheelbarrow back to the ground and sank to her knees, getting as close to the ground as she could to conceal herself in the dark. She needed a weapon—and fast. She scanned the garden in her mind. The tool shed stood a few paces away, but she didn’t look forward to facing two armed Highlanders with a shovel or a rake. What else?
Then she remembered. When she’d helped get Noah through the bushes, she’d spotted a woodpile beyond the trees and a chopping block out in the open, in front of a three-sided shed stacked with split wood.
She crawled between the planters, stopping more than once to check her position, but she scurried as fast as she dared to the edge of the garden before jumping to her feet. She tore her dress to shreds but didn’t care about that now. She dashed to the chopping block where the ax sat propped up at an angle.
Boyd had turned her into a killer, and there was no going back. If she didn’t see this through, she’d be killed. She couldn’t let that happen, especially not this close to going home. A burning and feral survival instinct had taken hold of her, though she didn’t know where it had come from. The ax felt good in her hands. It wanted blood, and she would give it what it wanted. She felt in control, but of what she wasn’t sure. She’d changed in Scotland, in ways that felt like deep, long buried memories struggling to come forward and consume her. But she didn’t have time to ponder these things now.
She puffed a quick breath into her cheeks and turned around. Rather than crawl back to the house, she walked there, upright, determined, single-minded, deadly. She broke through the trees and cast one look around, seeing exactly what she wanted to see. One man sat astride his horse, still looking toward the kitchen door with his back to her.
She swung the ax up and over her shoulder, letting her hands slip to the handle’s very end and extending her arms high over her head, and then she let the ax head fly. Its weight carried it in a smooth arc.
The movement caught the man’s peripheral vision. He glanced back just before the ax head embedded in his neck. His head flopped forward, and the ax dropped out, falling to the ground. Startled, his horse lurched backward, but the man didn’t fall. He slumped in his saddle. The next instant, the horse settled down, took a step to one side, and stopped.
Vic didn’t wait around. She lunged forward to grab the ax from the ground, patting the horse’s side as she neared him to keep him still and quiet, then dashed behind a nearby bush as she heard footsteps coming from the open doorway.
The first man who’d entered the Guild House returned. His voice boomed across the garden, “He’s no’ here. Roust out and find— Tavish!” The man rushed to the horse’s side and then stepped back when he saw all the blood. Gathering his wit, he grabbed the man’s shotgun and turned to scan his surroundings.
The inevitable had happened, but Vic couldn’t deviate from her plan now. Her only hope lay in silencing this man before anyone inside heard him. She stepped out of the bushes with her weapon poised and gauged her position down to the micron. She glided around in a curve, then turned on her heel by the kitchen door and swung.
The ax thudded into the man’s chest, sending him flying back. Vic approached him, staring down in disbelief at her handy work. Quickly realizing he was dead and she needed her weapon in case any more surprises came along, she gave her ax a vicious tug. She couldn’t free it, but terror and a blank drive to save her own life propelled Vic onward. She tore her ax out of the man’s chest and spun around, then snatched the dead rider by the sleeve and dragged him out of the saddle. He collapsed onto the path as she dodged around behind him, her teeth clenched in determination.
Vic hustled into Boyd’s apartment and hauled the body out from under the bed. She damn well wouldn’t trundle the thing across town in a wheelbarrow, just waiting for someone to catch her. Her legs burned from the effort of dragging the body, but she reveled in her newfound strength. She bounced the body down the steps, grabbed a length of rope hanging from the soldier’s saddle, and tied one end tightly around Boyd’s waist. She jammed the ax into the saddle strap and, still holding the other end of the rope, jumped up into the saddle.
The animal purred through its nostrils at the new rider, but she soothed it in a quiet voice. “Easy, boy. We’re just going for a little ride.”
The creature stamped a few times but responded to her directions with no trouble.
She hadn’t ridden a horse in years, but forgotten instincts came back to her in the blink of an eye. She used to ride every day in her younger years. She used to compete in barrel racing but gave it up when she went into business with Ree and her friends. Why hadn’t she kept doing it?
She’d forgotten how much she loved feeling a horse between her legs. She savored the deep communication between horse and rider. She used those skills now, radiating calm and confidence to her mount.
The animal sensed right away that she knew what she was doing and obeyed her like they were born of one flesh. Her thighs hugged his ribs. The slightest touch on the reins and he reacted. This horse was bred for combat. He knew how to behave when the chips were down.
Vic touched her heels to his flanks, and he rocketed forward on the wind. The chill breeze whipped her hair off her face, and her spirit soared on wings as she rode easily on the animal’s rhythm. She steered him through the hedge and then north, away from town, dragging Boyd’s body along with them. She didn’t have to worry about anybody catching her up here. The night spread its black cloak far and wide as she left Stromness far behind.
She rode up the hill to the high cliff where she’d watched Noah cross the channel. Faint lights of distant towns winked on the other Orkney Islands. She slid to the ground and untied Boyd. A sheer cliff plummeted away just a few steps from where she stood. She caught her breath for a moment before she started rolling the body toward the edge. With one final heave, she pitched it over the side.
It made no sound. Only the moaning wind spoke to her. She was alone on a remote cliff top, far from anyone or anything she knew. Boyd was gone—gone for good. She took hold of the horse’s reins, and he stood for her while she mounted up. She gave the seething black ocean one more fleeting glance, then tightened her hands on the reins when she heard a low rumble in the distance.
She looked over her shoulder. Out of the deep gloomy night, a waving line of shapes blacker than the night itself emerged. The stars illuminated the surrounding terrain just enough for her to make out several horsemen pounding up the hill toward her.
Her eyes bugged out of her skull, and her throat went dry and tight. They’d found her. How didn’t matter anymore. She gave the reins a hard yank to one side and spurred her mount into a headlong dive down the mountain.
Chapter 31
Vic leaped off her horse and blasted into the Guild House, gripping her ax in one hand. She tore from one room to the next. Her breath wheezed in her parched throat, but she couldn’t stop now. She flung open every door she could find.
The cook shrieked when Vic rushed into the kitchen covered in gore and carrying a bloody ax. She charged into the pantry, looked around, and barreled out again. She searched every room on the ground floor before thundering upstairs. She found the room with Nikolai Wainwright’s things in it, peeked into every door on both sides of the landing, and headed back to the stairs as her own bedroom opened from the inside. She collided with Malcolm coming out of it.
“Lassie!” he gasped. “What? Why are you here again? I just sent you back!” His stare fell on the ax. “And what are ye doing with that?”
Piece by piece, he started to take in her general appearance. She saw the image taking shape in his mind but didn’t have time t
o answer any awkward questions. “Malcolm,” she panted. “I…I came to find you. You have to send me back to San Francisco…right now. There’s no time to waste.”
“That’s what I came here to tell ye,” he replied. “Boyd plans to interrogate ye, and he—”
She sliced her hand through the air to silence him. “There’s no time. Cast the spell—right now!”
His eyes flew open. “Now! But I thought ye’d want to…say goodbye first.”
She didn’t blush. “Do it now!” she yelled. “They’re right behind me. If they catch me here, they’ll—”
A crash interrupted her, and they both whipped around toward the stairs. Shouts and running footsteps echoed up from the ground floor.
“What did ye do, lassie?” he whispered.
“Please, Malcolm,” she rasped. “There’s no time to explain. Cast the spell before it’s too late.”
He backed up to the landing rail and glanced down, peering back and forth between the entrance foyer and her face. Vic’s breath squeaked in her constricted throat. Her eyes darted around the corridor. She had to get out of here. She had to convince him to cast the spell before those horsemen caught up with her.
Where did they come from? They must have been connected with the men she’d killed. They must have been on their way to the Guild House to rendezvous with Boyd. They would find their comrades dead in the garden if they hadn’t already.
Malcolm turned back, and when he saw the panicked desperation in her face, his expression hardened. “All right. Come on.”
He steered her by the shoulder toward the bedroom, but before they got through the door, several men pounded up the stairs and flooded onto the landing.
Vic shrieked in fright and rounded on them with her ax raised. Malcolm pulled his saber from its scabbard, and they faced the assault shoulder to shoulder.
The Gunns charged onto the landing and led the mob down the hall toward Vic and Malcolm.
Malcolm groped behind him for the doorknob. “Get inside, lass. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
“I’m not leaving you out here to fight them off!” she shrieked. “Are you insane? They’ll slaughter you.”
“They’re after ye,” he boomed. “Get back. I’ll protect ye.”
Neither of them had time to carry out their plan before the attackers struck. The first to reach the bedroom launched at the pair, brandishing sabers and dirks. Malcolm leaped forward bellowing in rage and met their blades coming down. He clashed steel against steel and succeeded in driving them back for an instant.
The next moment, more men flooded down the corridor. So many men now packed the landing that the crowd slowed itself from getting down the hallway and near the room. Malcolm crossed swords with three men at once, and they drove him back to slam against the door. The next five rushed in to cut him in half. He couldn’t free his weapons from the first fighters in time.
Vic saw the whole scene play out in slow motion, long past the stage where she could stand by and watch. She plunged into the battle, raising her ax on high in both hands as a bristling collection of blades hacked down on the wooden handle. Her enemies roared in her face, but she only bared her teeth right back at them. She knocked their weapons away and swung her ax to kill.
One of the assailants advanced behind the main cluster and aimed a pistol at Malcolm’s head. Malcolm dodged his head aside just in time, and the bullet smashed into the wooden door behind him.
The noise deafened Vic, but she was too enraged to care. She gripped her ax handle and swung it right and left with all her strength. She shattered sabers, and her weapon crunched against bone. Blood splattered her face, and she tasted it on her lips. That metallic elixir turned her into a rabid monster bent on destroying as many of her enemies as would come near her. She shrieked her fury at them and crushed them away, down the landing.
Malcolm grabbed hold of her sleeve and towed her back.
She rounded on him, spitting mad. “What’s wrong with you?” she screamed.
“Get back!” he called. “Fall back into the room.”
“No!” she yelled. “We can do this.”
He overpowered her and yanked her off her feet, into the bedroom. She still blasted her opponents right and left with her weapon until he’d pulled her out of range.
The attackers charged after them. Malcolm fought them off long enough to slam the door in their faces, but not before Vic caught sight of a solid wall of bodies filling the whole corridor.
Malcolm sheathed his dirk and turned the key in the lock in one swift movement as the mob started pounding on the door. He whipped around to face her, grabbing her by the shoulder with his free hand. “No time. Come on. I’ll send ye back right now.”
He panted for air. His saber still dangled from his right hand. He laid his palm against her forehead, but he was breathing too heavily to get the words out. He puffed out his cheeks to steady his nerves.
“Hurry,” she murmured.
“I ken!” he gasped. “Eshmun Hamilcar hanno ashtzaph byblos rae…” he began.
Just then, an extra loud bang rattled the door hinges and something snapped the wood. Splinters jutted into the room, and Malcolm whipped around to face the noise. Another blow followed up the first, and he removed his hand from Vic’s forehead to seize his dirk.
Vic beheld her last chance slipping away. She grabbed Malcolm’s wrist and placed his hand on her head where it belonged. “Don’t stop! Keep going. Don’t stop for anything.”
He started reciting again, but the incessant pounding and splintering distracted him. He stumbled over the words. “Eshmun Hamilcar…hanno.”
A devastating smash broke a hole in the door and a saber blade poked through. It slid out of view, only to slash through the splintered wood one more time.
Malcolm spun around.
Vic didn’t even notice him breaking off the spell as her every nerve and sinew braced to meet the danger.
Blades hacked the door to smithereens until it slammed open. A Highlander hauled his foot back from the latch where he’d kicked it in.
Malcolm lunged at the man before he regained his balance, hacked the blade out of his hand, and plunged his saber into the man’s heart. The stricken attacker toppled backward into his onrushing comrades. His body slowed their progress for a moment, but all too quickly, countless men barreled into the room as fast as the doorway would let them. Again, the sheer number of men trying to fit into the space slowed them and limited their ability to attack to Vic and Malcolm’s advantage.
Vic took her place at Malcolm’s side and they slayed each man as he came through the gap until there were just too many of them getting through. One clawing millimeter at a time, the Highlanders forced them back. Vic flayed her ax in every direction, shattering swords and splitting bone, but it did no good. For every man she killed, another three took his place. She sensed herself losing ground and fought harder, but the overpowering tide of bodies wouldn’t give an inch. Malcolm roared in her ear, but she couldn’t hear him over her own ragged screams of rage and murderous desperation. Every step the Highlanders drove her back cost her a scrap of hope that she would ever get out of there alive.
Once the Gunns had worked her and Malcolm away from the doorway, they poured inside the bedroom and they formed a semicircle to close the pair into the corner. She and Malcolm turned shoulder to shoulder and then back to back to hold the threatening swords at bay.
Vic hit the wall, then glanced to one side and found herself looking out the window. Stromness spread out before her with the wide sea beyond it. The Highlanders’ horses milled around under the window. If only she could win herself a moment’s reprieve, she could ride away on one of those horses. Still, the same problem faced her out there as it did in here. Every inhabitant on this island remained loyal to Clan Gunn and its vendetta against the immortals. This island offered no refuge, no safe harbor, from their vengeance now that she belonged to the Angui. She had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
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She and Malcolm had turned against the Guild, and the Falisa would never stop hunting them. She’d blown Malcolm’s cover when he turned against the Guild to help her, and he could never go back.
One of the assailants clashed his blade against her ax. The impact knocked it loose in her grasp and she almost dropped it before snapping out of her dream to whirl around and face the present.
She didn’t have time to raise her weapon before the Highlander saw his chance. He plowed his saber tip straight for her chest. She flailed her ax aside just in time to block the stroke. The man wheeled his arms in a pinwheel motion, and she saw to her horror that he held another saber in his other hand. She tried to bring her ax up but couldn’t disentangle it from his right-hand sword. He made the connection at the same moment she did and gave her ax a vicious twist to yank it out of her grip.
She held tight to the handle, but the force jerked her off her feet. She smashed to her knees, only to face his left-hand blade sweeping down to cleave her head in. She let go of her only weapon to raise her arm in a feeble effort to defend herself.
A wild, thunderous snarl sounded in her ear as Malcolm lunged over the top of her and met the Highlander’s stroke coming down. Malcolm’s saber skidded down his blade as she cringed under his arm, her life flashing before her eyes. Malcolm caught the man’s left-hand sword and held it suspended above Vic’s head. Her ax still tied up his right-hand weapon, and Malcolm drove into the man’s unprotected chest, slamming his dirk between assailant’s ribs. The Highlander flinched in pain, but his body tensed and held firm. His grip on his weapons didn’t fail, even in death.
More Gunns pressed in from all sides. Blades flashed in every direction. One of the men rushed Malcolm before he could disengage with Vic’s attacker.
Malcolm yanked his dirk free of his victim’s body to bat the strike away, but before he could whirl around to make a decent defense, two more attackers plunged toward him.
Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3 Page 21
