“Kind of you to join us, Cousin.”
The familiar grating voice blared a warning inside Nora’s head. Her eyes snapped open and her head jerked to stare across the small cottage. Disbelief held her rooted to the ground, while searing talons of fright gripped her chest, crushing the life from her.
The tall, gaunt figure of Fergus MacNab returned her stare with the sword in his hand aimed at her brother’s chest.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nora’s stomach plunged past her wobbling knees to the ground at her feet. In harsh pants, the breath wheezed from her constricted lungs. Her head swam while black dots blinked before her eyes. Christ, ’twas not the blasted time to pass out.
With a harsh mental shake, she snapped from her momentary stupor and latched on to another emotion entirely—anger. A deep, searing anger that had smoldered inside her since the death of her parents.
Finding her voice, she spat out, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh come, Venora, did you truly think we’d forgotten our kin after all this time?” The ill-toned pitch of her cousin’s voice raised the hair at her nape.
Five years had done little to soften the vile toad’s appearance. He’d grown into his tall, lanky frame. Though, his features still comprised of the same sunken cheekbones and narrow, pointed nose he’d had since his youth. His dark, stringy hair gleamed with a slick sheen which spoke of his lack of hygiene.
Her gaze shifted to her brother, who sat meekly on the edge of her bed with his forearms resting on his bent knees. He exuded such a collected air of calm she envied him. In her current frame of mind, ’twas impossible for her to project an unruffled demeanor.
Will met her gaze, his keen eyes narrowing a fraction before darting to the door behind her. She read his silent plea—for her to flee for help.
As if she’d leave him to fend for himself.
Ever so slightly, she edged backward for a different reason entirely. Beside the door, on a shelf beneath the windowsill, sat a pair of gardening shears. If she could just grasp them…
Before she managed more than a pace, the door swung open, shoving her forward. She jerked around and came face to chest with a bulky MacNab warrior. His mouth twisted with a leer that made her skin crawl.
“You cannot believe I was foolish enough to come alone, Cousin,” Fergus said.
The soldier latched the door and paused beside the table, effectively blocking her path to the shears.
At an utter loss of what to do, she stalled. “How did you find us?”
Of all the times Liam visited her cottage unannounced, by the Saints, let the man arrive posthaste.
“It would seem Fraser does not keep the most trusting of vassals in his service.”
Nora frowned at the information. Fergus lowered his sword, but remained by Will’s side. With the weapon in striking distance of her brother, Nora studied the man’s every move.
His lips pulled back with a grin. “His commander was more than happy to approach us with a proposition once he learned Fraser intended to hand over his lairdship to his bastard son. Of course, my father and I were more than obliged to collect our long-lost kin.”
“Why can you not leave us alone?” Nora was not above pleading if it might spare her brother. “We want naught to do with the clan. Have we not made ourselves scarce for years?”
Fergus tossed his head back with a laugh. “I think we all know ’tis not quite that simple.” He lifted his sword, tapping the flat edge against Will’s arm. “I see the lad’s nearly a man grown. Who knows what grand ideas he has in that head of his?”
Bile rose in the back of her throat. The fears she’d lugged with her for five long years stood right in front of her, the danger every bit as real as the weapon aimed at her brother. Her mind spun in circles, with no clear way out of their present situation. Christ, she had to do something—anything—but what?
A rap at the door filled the quiet cottage and Nora nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart leapt with the hope Liam might stand on the other side. But that hope promptly vanished when she considered the armed warrior blocking the entrance.
“Get rid of them now, and not a word, Venora.” Menace suffused Fergus’ low-spoken words.
The MacNab warrior narrowed his eyes in warning and slipped to the other side of the entryway, permitting her enough room to open the door and peer outside. She sent up a quick, silent prayer before the hinges groaned as she cracked open the entrance.
Her heart sank when Geordie stood on the opposite side. His bushy brows raised in question. She longed for naught more than to sound an alarm, but she had no wish to entangle the elderly soldier in peril.
Nora coughed into her hand. “Forgive me, but I’m not feeling well at the moment, Geordie.”
Despite his advanced age, the older man’s eyes narrowed with a sharp awareness. “Is everything all right? What of Will?”
“Ah, he’s not feeling well either.” She cleared her throat to conceal the shakiness in her voice. “I believe the cool night air last eve might’ve gotten to us. We shall be fine on the morrow, I’m certain.”
White brows furrowed, Geordie placed his palm flat on the timbers, as if to push the door open, and her eyes widened in alarm. She gripped the latch on the other side, hoping the faithful soldier would simply leave for his own sake.
Nora opened her mouth to attempt another plea, but Geordie rushed the door with his shoulder, pushing her backward. The door slammed into the MacNab warrior on the other side. Unprepared, the soldier stumbled into the wall. Fergus’ bellow rent the air as Geordie yanked the dirk along his belt free. He lashed out as the soldier scrambled to regain his balance, sinking the small blade into the man’s arm. The MacNab warrior howled in pain, and his features twisted in anger.
“You foolish, old man!”
He bolted to his feet, ramming his head into Geordie’s stomach. Both men tumbled to the ground at her feet. Jumping out of the way, Nora grasped the shears from the table, hiding her makeshift weapon in the pocket of her apron. Fergus darted forward, his weapon leveled to strike.
“Geordie!” she screamed in warning just as the sword impaled Geordie’s midsection.
The elderly man crumpled in the middle of the cottage floor flat on his back. He clutched at the blood pooling from his side, while pain contorted his aging features.
Fergus sneered, “You should’ve learned your place long ago, old man. Your life was forfeit the day you chose to help these two.”
A sharp pang pierced her chest, deflating the air from her lungs in a rush. Tears sprang in her eyes. Uncaring of Fergus standing over Geordie, she scrambled forward and sank to her shaky knees. As she cradled the old man’s head in her lap, his glazed gray eyes peered up at her.
“Forgive me, lass.”
His weak voice cleaved at her heart. He’d sworn to protect their lives with his own, but she’d never imagined he’d have to honor the vow.
Tears filling her vision, she brushed her hand over his cheek. “Oh, Geordie.”
In the next instant, a rough hand beneath her upper arm wrenched Nora to her feet. The rending of fabric sounded in her ears before Fergus roughly bound her hands with strips of linen.
“Please, just let us go.”
“Not likely.” Scowling, he forced strips of fabric between her teeth and tied them off behind her neck, silencing her with a gag. Fergus barked at the MacNab soldier, “Bind the boy.”
Nudging her forward, he jerked his head toward the door. “We’ve tarried too long. Let’s go.”
Any hope she might’ve clung to died once they hauled her and Will outside the cottage and hustled them the short distance to the edge of the forest to the south. Not a soul lingered along the village border to Nora’s dismay. Tucked away within the shelter of trees, four more MacNabs waited on horseback.
Dread gripped her in an icy embrace, chilling her to the bone. How was she to get them out of this tangled mess?
Fergus hauled her up to one of the
mounted soldiers who wrapped a firm arm around her middle. Grinning at her, Fergus patted her thigh. “Do not fret, Venora. You can expect Father will be pleased to see the two of you once again.”
*
“I damned well shall not take nay for an answer,” Fraser groused. “You’ve accepted. The matter’s done.”
Liam glanced heavenward in exasperation. ’Twas nearly an hour after his fight with Kenneth and he’d spent the entire time arguing with Fraser over his false claim.
Fraser flapped an arm at the men on the training grounds. “Most of them witnessed your blasted acceptance.”
Several of the warriors paused long enough to confirm the statement much to Liam’s chagrin.
Unrelenting, the older man jerked a thumb at Calum. “Even your cousin heard the damned words with his own ears.”
Scratching the back of his neck, Calum offered an uneasy shrug. “Aye, but—”
“’Tis no damned but about it! He agreed and that’s final,” Fraser insisted.
“Why are you so adamant?” Liam probed. “I cannot understand. You owe me naught.”
“Because,” Fraser bellowed. “I trust you, damn it.”
His brows shot upward at the man’s outburst. For a moment, his mouth dropped open as he studied Fraser’s harsh features.
The older man continued, “If something were to happen to me, then I need to know your mother and my clan shall be looked after. This worry presses on me. Especially after that blasted arse in my dungeons. I cannot leave your mother’s safety and my clan’s welfare in just anyone’s hands. You’ve proven you’re more than capable for the task, lad. Please, grant this boon and lay my mind to rest.”
Liam raked a hand over his face. Saints save him. Did everyone in his family have a streak of stubbornness long enough to span the length of Scotland?
“Well, I can see I’ve missed a great deal.”
He jerked toward the sound of Symon’s amused drawl. The MacGregor commander stood alongside John. A teasing, half-smile lifted a corner of his mouth.
His appearance surprised Liam. “When the devil did you return?”
The dark-haired warrior could not have been absent more than a pair of days at the most.
Symon remarked, “Long enough to house my mount in the stables.”
Curiosity prodded him to ask, “What happened with Beatrice?”
He’d asked Symon to follow the woman and make certain she departed Fraser lands. He feared the blasted wench might linger and cause difficulty for his Nora. For some inexplicable reason, he anticipated more trouble from the vile serving maid.
“Once she left Fraser lands, she managed to gain a horse from one of the neighboring clans.” Symon snorted. “She’s an enterprising sort, I’ll give her that. She rode hard and reached the MacNabs well after nightfall.”
Fraser’s bellowed curse sliced through the air. “The damned MacNabs?”
Liam frowned at the older man’s strong reaction. “Who the hell are the MacNabs?”
Sighing, Calum shook his head. “I see Nora’s not upheld her end of our bargain.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Why the devil did you not tell me?” Liam demanded of his cousin as the two of them marched through the village, bound for Nora’s cottage.
“Hell, Liam. I struck a bargain with the lass.” Calum cut him an annoyed glance. “What would you have me do?”
“Tell me the blasted truth, for a start,” he bellowed.
“As if you would’ve done the same,” Calum countered. “You and I both know you would’ve danced around the matter until I forced it from your lips.”
Liam rolled his eyes rather than continue to argue with the man.
After his cousin and Fraser promptly ran through the unsettling tale of Nora and Will’s past, he took off for the village, determined to confront the lass with the information he’d gleaned. Information she should’ve shared with him herself but failed miserably.
Christ, and to think he’d even offered the lass a reprieve the eve prior. Of course, he’d no notion of the importance of the details she’d withheld from him. ’Twas a vital matter she should’ve spoken of from the beginning. Especially since she’d harbored suspicions after Fraser’s poisoning.
Why the devil had the woman held her tongue? Did she believe he’d think less of her in some manner? Or force her and Will to leave? Too many unanswered questions spun in his mind, propelling his frustration to a steep peak.
Saints, why were females prone to concealing pertinent details? For the life of him, he could not comprehend the creatures or their haphazard reasoning.
Countless thoughts pummeled through his mind as he turned the corner, marching a straight path down the dirt trail leading to Nora’s. Beside him, his cousin kept pace with his hurried steps.
“You might wish to calm yourself before you speak to the lass,” Calum suggested.
He slanted his cousin a sideways stare. “I am calm.”
Calum snorted. “As a raging storm.”
Liam rolled his eyes at the embellishment. Given the present situation, he was as blasted calm as he could manage. ’Twas not anger that compelled him to seek Nora out, but frustration—frustration with his own ignorance. As he and Nora became acquainted, he suspected the lass concealed a host of secrets behind those dark eyes of hers, but he’d never prodded her for answers. In some instances, he’d not even bothered to inquire at all.
As soon as they reached the end of the lane, his step faltered at the sight of Nora’s door standing ajar. His hand lingered on the gate when he spotted the bucket beside the door turned over in the yard with Nora’s gardening tools scattered about the dirt. Moving inside the yard, he spied stray droplets of blood near the entrance and a swell of alarm rushed through his frame.
He slapped the back of his hand to Calum’s chest, halting his cousin. “Something’s amiss.”
Heeding the warning, his cousin unsheathed the dagger at his side, while Liam gripped the pommel of his sword.
Heart drumming a furious beat in his chest, he paced closer and pushed the cracked door wider, but an obstruction blocked the entrance. Glancing down, he sucked in a startled breath. Just inside the doorway, a booted, male foot lay wedged against the planks of timber.
Gripped by a flood of fear, he shoved the door wide enough to slip through. On the other side, Geordie lay sprawled in a pool of blood, barely clinging to life.
Shock resounded through Liam at the sight of the elderly man. His gaze swept a swift pass over the cottage, searching for Nora and her brother, before dropping to his knees beside Geordie.
“Quick, Calum. Bring my mother.”
His cousin’s head poked through the entrance and a sound curse split the air. Without another moment’s hesitation, Calum sprinted from the cottage, his booted feet pounding over the dirt.
Liam lifted the man’s crimson-stained tunic and winced at the grievous wound along his side. Ripping away a portion of the man’s tunic, he used the fabric as a compress to stem the dark flow of blood from the deep gash. A strangled moan drifted from the older man. His bleary, gray eyes cracked open, meeting Liam’s gaze.
“Laird.” His weak voice cracked. “They took them…I tried.”
Liam barely held the panic hurtling through him in check. He clenched his teeth to halt his bellow of outrage.
“Who, Geordie? Who took them?” Though, he could guess.
A tight ball of anxiety took up residence in his chest, heightening his unease.
“Fergus MacNab.” The elderly man sputtered a jarring cough, the sound rattling in his chest. “Sorry. I could not…”
Moved by the old soldier’s efforts, Liam grasped Geordie’s cooling hand in his own, hoping to infuse life into the man once more. “Your bravery is boundless, Geordie. Rest, help is on the way.”
Geordie’s eyes slid closed, and his features paled a deathly shade of white. The rise and fall of his chest grew increasingly shallow as life slipped away from the elder. Fru
strated he could do naught to save the man, Liam pressed harder on the compress while he considered the faithful vassal.
The first morn after he’d awakened in Nora’s cottage, he wondered of Geordie’s relation to Nora and Will. ’Twas not until Calum and Fraser’s explanation earlier when Liam fully grasped the depth of the elderly MacNab warrior’s devotion to Nora and her brother. Despite his advanced age, the man upheld his sworn duty, protecting his charges with his life. ’Twas hard to find that profundity of loyalty in anyone.
Liam silently cursed the damned MacNabs. Saints, he’d not known who the hell the clan was until an hour past. So many details ticked into place—Nora and Will’s guarded natures, Will’s damaged leg, the lass’ ill-tempered bouts, her usual frowning features. Everything made far more sense.
He released a harsh breath. Christ, his lass must be mindless with fright.
Faint footsteps outside the door pricked his ears. Unsure if a threat remained, he grabbed for his sword and straightened to his knees, his eyes locked on the opened doorway.
“Liam.”
Numb with relief, he sank back on his heels at the sound of Symon’s voice. The commander slipped between the parted entrance, his gaze darting to Geordie.
Symon grimaced. “Damn.”
Aye, Liam understood the sentiment well.
“Your mother’s on the way.”
Glancing down at the elderly soldier, Liam nodded, though he doubted there was much his mother could do at that point. With the wound too deep to mend, the man had lost far too much blood. His heart sank when he realized Geordie no longer drew breath.
Christ, he had not anticipated the elder would slip away quite so soon.
Resting his bloody hands flat of his bent knees, he met Symon’s dark, solemn gaze. Aside from his cousin, the MacGregor commander was one of the few men he trusted with his life and counted as a true friend. He could ask the warrior to ride straight to hell with him to slay the devil, and the man would not hesitate to join him.
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