The Saint

by Allison Butler

  Steel collided with steel, the sound a dull clang that shook the gloaming. The impact sent tremors from his sword through his fingers, his arms, his body, all the way to the muscles in his legs. Twisting his wrists and body, he turned his weapon back the other way, and with their blades locked together, Cal used his height and every ounce of strength to force the attacker’s sword downward. He drew his dirk from at his waist and sliced open the underside of the man’s sword arm. All resistance ceased as the man stumbled back with a pitiful cry, cradling his wounded arm.

  An arc of fire sailed from the rear of the cottage through the darkening sky to land on the outbuilding’s thatched roof. The next offender leapt the side fence and ran toward him. Cal lifted his sword to engage him, and for the first time since the attackers had appeared he heard Isla’s voice over the crackle of flames.

  ‘Callum?’

  ‘Stay inside. I’ll come for you.’ The flare of the feasting fire warned him he needed to work fast.

  Cal shut out everything other than where he’d wound his next victim. Neither of the first two had been poor swordsmen, but this man was better skilled. Not that it mattered. Cal dispatched him with a cut to his left thigh after a brief up-close skirmish, but another had already leapt over the wattle fence and was descending on him. The rear door of the main cottage opened and the man who stepped out briefly captured Cal’s attention. Not due to his size or the weapon he wielded or because he rushed toward Cal. He didn’t. He stood still, at least half a head shorter than Cal, with his sword sheathed at his waist, and released a humourless smile that pushed the long, wide scar on the right side of his face up until it caught the reflection of the dancing flames and appeared bloodied and new.

  A gust of heat warmed Cal’s side. The fire had taken hold of the wooden structure. He needed to get Isla out.

  He whistled for Mungo and stepped over to the door. ‘Isla, come out now.’ The door opened and a slender form collided with his chest as a mass of burning thatch fell into the small room behind her with a crackling whoosh. Glowing embers shot into the air floating against the darkness. Silken hair brushed the underside of his chin and burning straw and reeds choked his next breath. Cal turned just as the attacker who’d jumped the fence reached him and lunged. He thrust Isla behind him, keeping one arm around her as he warded off the attacker’s deadly blow, before taking the fight to his opponent. With two clashes of blade on blade and a swift feint to the right, Cal raised his leg, and with a powerful kick to the man’s chest, he sent the man headlong into the garden bed behind him. Knocked senseless, he lay unmoving.

  With a slight turn to his right, keeping himself between Isla and the next man who had come to do her harm, he braced once more in preparation to fight, but was saved the trouble when Mungo pawed the air with his front hooves and clipped the man hard on the shoulder, sending him sprawling awkwardly toward his still and silent comrade lying beside the garden.

  Mungo skidded to a halt in front of Cal as a shout sounded from the rear of the burning building and the cottage’s back door flew open again. Two more men dashed out and ran around the still and silent man with the brutal scar who continued to watch him. Cal sheathed his sword and lifted Isla up onto his horse. A rush of heat washed over his back as flames engulfed the door and front wall of the timber structure.

  He slipped his booted foot into the stirrup, grasped hold of the reins and threw himself up into the saddle behind his charge. Another two men ran toward them from the side vennel, only steps behind the two running from inside the cottage. Having no other option to escape without putting either Isla or Mungo at risk, Cal steered his horse toward the long dark ditch at the rear of the toft of land and tapped his mount’s sides with his heels.

  Despite carrying two instead of one, Mungo sprang forward and rode for the ditch. Men’s shouts joined the crackle of greedy flames lighting the night. Cal slipped one arm around the silent woman sitting before him and drew her into his body. Her back now pressed to his front, his bared knees and lower thighs brushing against her exposed legs. The woman half a score of men had come to find. The daughter he’d promised to escort south. This woman named Isla.

  Chapter 3

  Isla’s fingers clawed and clung to the horse’s thick, wiry mane. She’d never been on a horse before and didn’t care for it now. A chill swept through her and her heart pounded in her chest and neck. Everything momentarily tilted to the right and then a powerful arm circled her waist and wrenched her body back against a wall of hardened flesh as the animal beneath them, muscles bunching, gathering strength and speed, surged forward.

  A moment of still, nothingness, as if they floated, were flying. They crashed back onto the ground and only the band of steel around her, saved her from falling into the ditch the horse had just leapt across. The long, sunken pit where the cottage land ended and the marshlands began.

  She opened her eyes to continuing darkness, doubting that the man holding her was aware of the dangers they tempted by galloping over these lands.

  She tilted her head back and to one side to ensure he heard her. ‘Ye must slow yer horse.’

  ‘Soon, nae yet.’

  His reply sounded final, rumbling through her back, his breath tickling her right ear. He’d heard her, but he obviously didn’t understand. She licked her dry lips. ‘Ye must. Yer horse—’

  ‘Is fine.’

  ‘Aye, until he breaks his fool neck.’ If the man didn’t care about—

  ‘Mungo is more sure-footed than—’

  ‘The bogs and marshes are treacherous here. Please.’ She sealed her lips trying to think of what to say to make him slow his horse sooner. Now.

  His right arm brushed hers as she opened her mouth to say more, but before she said another word, the horse slowed from a gallop to a walk.

  God save her. He’d heard her. He’d listened.

  He half turned in the saddle. With his left arm still circling her middle, she had no choice but to shift with him.

  ‘Nae one follows, but we need more distance between us and them before the dawn.’ He turned back, as did she.

  Us and them.

  Isla hadn’t been part of either for some time. Always she or ye or her.

  She closed her eyes to savour the thought, but the memory of the glowing glare from the flames filled her mind. The memory of the fire’s roaring glare stung her eyes even now. Her heart hitched and resumed its pounding inside her chest. She relived the intense heat pulsing, threatening to scorch her hair, her nape. No escape from the scent of burning reeds and straw. It infused her breath, her clothes, her hair.

  Despite the flames devouring the thatching overhead, she’d done as Callum had asked and closed the door, wanting nothing but to wrench it open and run outside into the safety of the cooling night. She’d pressed her back against the wood and concentrated on the sound of men grunting with effort and the clashing of steel behind her rather than the air-stealing flames overhead.

  Someone other than Callum had come for her. She wanted to pretend she didn’t know who it was, but deep down she’d known all along he’d come. Even now she told herself she hadn’t seen him so couldn’t know for sure. Neither did she know this man who now held her and had risked his life defending her.

  Callum straightened in the saddle and his arm again touched hers. All movement beneath them stopped.

  ‘The bogs worsen here.’ The heat, a welcome heat, surrounding her middle and giving strength at her back, disappeared. ‘I’ll walk, but you can ride.’ Unbalanced, her fingers once again clawed into the coarse mane as he dismounted.

  Isla heard the unmistakable sound of her rescuer’s weight setting down onto soggy ground. She wriggled her toes inside her sturdy leather boots. ‘I’d rather walk.’

  ‘You’re safer riding.’

  Strong fingers closed about the heel of her left foot, causing a delay in her drawing her next breath. He settled her foot into the stirrup. She inhaled and swallowed the please let me walk dancing on the ve
ry end of her tongue as he squelched his way around his horse’s head to her other side and fitted her right foot into the other stirrup. ‘Push down on your feet and move back in the saddle.’ Isla did as he bid and found her fear of tumbling to the soggy marshlands had lessened with the grounding of her feet. Her bare knees clenched tight against the saddle leather.

  His large hands gently prised her fingers free of the horse’s mane. The heat of his hands and the chill of hers was as different as the night was to the day. Her fingers latched onto his.

  ‘I won’t let you fall,’ he said with a reassuring squeeze. ‘Hold onto the pommel.’ The deep, low rumble of his command captured her attention and eased some of the fear holding her rigid. He guided her hands forward and down, placing them on the smooth leather knob at the front of the saddle. She missed his warmth and strength the moment he released her. Her knees tightened. ‘I’ll take the reins and lead Mungo.’

  She was taken by the name of his horse but the loss of his touch and the sudden craving to have him hold her left her skin tingling and her mouth open. The beast beneath her moved and her fingers bit into the pommel and her mouth snapped closed as they continued deeper into the marshlands.

  With him walking ahead there was little chance of conversation. Part of Isla was disappointed, yet another part of her was relieved. She’d have to wait to discover who he was, but it also meant he wouldn’t ask questions she couldn’t or wasn’t ready to answer.

  * * *

  For what seemed the thousandth time, Callum turned and looked over his shoulder. The red-hot wall of flames he’d viewed previously in the distance was now naught more than a dagger-point of light in the darkness. The small timber outbuilding had burned swiftly and anyone who was unfortunate to be inside would have been consumed by the flames, nothing but ashes now.

  His gaze lifted to the bowed head of the silent figure sitting atop his horse. Another might believe she was sleeping, but no one could find rest with shoulders as rigid as hers had been since he’d dismounted. She was afraid of riding, but thankfully she’d done as he’d asked and remained in the saddle. She’d be stiff and sore come the morn, but she was alive.

  He faced forward and dragged another foot from the boggy marsh threatening to steal his boots at every step. Every step he took away from Aberdeen only awakened another question. Who were the men he’d been forced to fight? Why had nigh on a dozen men come for her in the night? Had they come for her and due to Cal’s interference decided to kill her instead? Or had burning her alive been their plan all along?

  Cal shut off the stream of fast-flowing questions and searched ahead into the growing light. Dawn would soon be here and with it heightened danger. They wouldn’t stay unseen on the open marshlands in daylight. He needed to find somewhere to keep her out of sight. In the near distance he could see a line of trees he hoped proved dense enough to offer a measure of shelter as well as a place to hide.

  He studied the sodden ground and continued to find the sturdiest path for his mount to tread that would also leave little trace of their passing. The small forest drew closer, and beyond it, further to the west, lay the small village of Braemar where Cal was to meet Duff and Adair and together return to Castle Redheugh in the Borders. Cal had fought off the men who’d come for Isla this night, but he didn’t know how many more would come for her. Duff and Adair were both skilled swordsmen and having them at his side would ease his mind, but they weren’t to meet for another two weeks. He had no choice but to keep her hidden and guard her alone until they reached the priory.

  He threw yet another glance behind him to ensure they weren’t being followed and was pleased to see no one. Dark plumes of smoke floated up into the lightening sky, but the view of the cottage and anyone standing by the remains of the burned outbuilding were stolen by the distance they’d travelled during the night. They’d picked their way through a swift-flowing burn and squelched their way across the seemingly endless and undulating marshlands. Isla kept her head bowed, her slender form swaying side to side with Mungo’s uneven gait.

  ‘We make for the forest ahead.’

  Her head jerked upward as if his voice had startled her, and in dawn’s grey light he caught his first glimpse of her face. High cheekbones covered with creamy smooth skin led down and along a jawline that exuded a delicate strength. Her parted lips were plump and looked soft, the top one bowed slightly in the centre. Her nose was small and evenly placed and her eyes... almond-shaped and a hue he struggled to define before dark lashes lowered and hid them once more. Her brows were even and a similar brown colour as her wavy hair, but the strands floating about in the early light boasted a hint of red like the chestnuts they roasted over an open fire at first footing. She was a woman many men would call a beauty, but to Cal she could only ever be the woman he’d deliver to Restenneth Priory in order to honour her father’s deathbed request.

  The memory of her cold fingers clutching Cal’s hands, as if his hold, his touch, was all that she needed, all that she had, returned now. He was a stranger to her, as she was to him. Why did his heart pound?

  Cal clamped his hand about the leather reins and shook off the unwanted memory and the unfamiliar sensation. He prided himself on his stalwart strength to avoid being lured into temptations of the flesh by any woman and he’d always succeeded, as he would now. The thought that he was tarred with his mother’s wanton brush was always enough to clear his head.

  With a gentle tug on Mungo’s reins, he picked up his squelching pace through the quagmire toward the forest. Just as he stepped in line with the branch tips of the outermost trees, he peered over his shoulder once more as the first glint of the sun’s rays splashed over the eastern horizon and washed everything white-gold. Including the woman riding his horse. ‘Watch for low branches.’

  When she’d lowered herself over Mungo’s neck, he faced forward, and with three steps they were out of the light and in the shadows granted by the cluster of Scots pines.

  The smell of ancient foliage long fallen from the boughs above infused the air. The ground beneath his wet and muddied boots became more firm with each step he took deeper into the wood. Cal relaxed his fingers about the hilt of his sword, then tightened his grip as he searched the dark spaces high and low and listened for anyone who might have claimed this small forest for shelter before they’d arrived. He saw naught and heard nothing.

  He led them forward, always searching. He soon found an open space where several pines had relinquished their hold within the softer ground, their limbs wasted away years before, their fat tapered trunks shedding roughened bark and crumbling in places.

  ‘We will rest here for a time.’

  Cal dropped Mungo’s reins and looked up at his mount’s passenger. She still lay over Mungo’s neck as if frozen in place. He strode around to her right. If she’d spent the last few hours of silence reliving the attack, she was likely frightened as well as exhausted.

  ‘I’ll help you dismount.’ Cal grasped the taut leather strap connected to the stirrup and pulled it upward. ‘You can remove your foot now.’ He grasped the heel of her booted foot and eased it free of the metal rest. He strode to the left side and did the same, all the while her fingers turned whiter as her death-grip on the pommel tightened.

  ‘I’m going to lift you from the saddle.’ He reached up and settled his hands each side of her waist, his fingers and thumbs almost touching. Her slender form turned rigid. ‘I have you. You’re safe. You can let go of the pommel now.’

  She released her hold the instant he’d said to let go. Her body tilted toward him, but her grasping fingers swung about. He drew his head back to avoid her hands colliding with his face and relaxed when she grasped his shoulders. A rush of warmth swept through his veins. He hadn’t expected her to relinquish her tight hold on the pommel so quickly. He hadn’t expected her to trust him so soon. Her fear of falling from the saddle was obviously greater than her fear of him.

  He lifted her scant weight from Mungo and set her fe
et on the ground before him. Her legs gave way beneath her, but he hadn’t released her waist yet and he caught her, holding her upright. Her fingers slid down from his shoulders and clamped about his lower arms, her elbows resting on his wrists.

  ‘Keep moving your weight from one leg to the other. You’ll be fine in a moment or two.’ He held her steady as she rocked from side to side. Her fingers relaxed and tightened on his arms over and over, but with her focus fixed on restoring feeling back into her legs, her chin stayed lowered, and his sudden wish for her to look at him while they held onto to one another wasn’t granted.

  She released his arms and with an indrawn breath, took a small step back. ‘Thank ye. I’m fine now.’ She didn’t lift her head and Cal decided he was relieved. ‘I need … I need to—’

  Pleased to have something other than his foolish wishes to concentrate on, he scanned the clearing. ‘Come,’ he said, taking her elbow. ‘The cluster of bushes behind you will give you privacy, but I will ensure it is safe first.’ She turned about and hobbled along beside him, much of her weight resting in the hand he used to support her. She wasn’t a woman to ask for help, but she was wise enough to accept assistance when it was offered and when she needed it.

  They skirted the tip of the largest fallen tree trunk and walked the small distance to the far side of the group of alders. Cal scanned the bushes, and satisfied there was no danger present, he released her arm. ‘I’ll leave you here and wait for you on the other side of the alders.’ He strode back around the bushes, and keeping his back to where he’d left her, he studied their surroundings.

  Mungo lifted his black-tipped nose in Cal’s direction then lowered it to nibble on the few scant sprigs of grass at his hooves. They’d stay here long enough for Isla to eat something and give her a short respite from riding and then they’d be on their way. The small forest was the first in this direction, although the attackers didn’t know exactly which way they’d headed after entering the marshlands. If they came looking for Isla, and he believed they would, they’d search this wood and every other near about.