by Nicole Locke
She didn’t have a voice. Not after that kiss. She didn’t even know how to nod, but he seemed satisfied with whatever response she gave him because he was quickly gone.
She waited. She had to. Even though everything in her screamed to rush forward, to end the nightmare. To protect Caird.
She couldn’t care for that man. But the impulse was there, inside her, just as insidious as her want for him. She couldn’t allow it. It had to be this trouble they were in that made her feel this way. When it was over, she wouldn’t feel anything for him. Nothing at all. It just needed to be over.
So she waited and she paced. When the sun’s light reached her feet and she didn’t have to wait any longer, she moved from the shadows. It was time to show the Englishman what it truly meant to be Buchanan.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun was just covering the morning in light as Mairead stood in the village centre. She was early enough for her to appear scheming, and she was late enough to be caught. She had to remember she needed to be caught.
‘That horse is no use, my dear,’ the Englishman said behind her. ‘But then you know that.’
Nerves frayed, Mairead exhaled shakily. She stopped pretending to unravel Caird’s horse from the post. When she managed to untie the reins in truth, she slowly turned around.
The Englishman was fully dressed; his cape was courtly fine. His stance was casual, but his hand caressed the hilt of his sword and his light blue eyes glanced around.
She raised her chin. He was intimidating, but she couldn’t let him see that. If she was to be brave or stupid enough to steal from him, she was brave enough to stand her ground.
‘A true Buchanan slowing me down with an ill horse,’ he said. ‘Will you assuage my curiosity about why you’d take such a risk?’
‘I doona think I got the better end of our bargaining.’
His mouth curved as if he was amused. ‘Such discourtesy when I had so gallantly let you live.’
‘But you killed my brother.’
‘For stealing from me. As you are about to do.’ He looked around him again. ‘And you are alone? You were with another when I last saw you.’
She feigned surprise. ‘That Colquhoun lump? He never woke. Just rattled away until the end.’
‘All by yourself?’ he said, his hands wandering away from the hilt of his sword, to a dagger in his belt.
Of course, he would think she wasn’t worthy of a sword fight, not when a sharp blade would end her life just like her brother’s.
Her hands and legs shook from the torrent of emotions. She felt her eyes narrow to pinpoints focused only on the Englishman. Her shaking limbs wanted her to move. But she couldn’t follow that impulse; she had to remain still for Caird.
‘Nae, not alone,’ she answered, glad to see a moment of hesitancy in her brother’s murderer. ‘With this horse, I’ll have two.’ She held up the reins.
‘So you hide the more worthy mount.’ His amused smile disappeared. ‘I am losing my patience with you.’
‘I never had any with you, so I will be on my way.’ She stepped forward even though there was nowhere to go except through him.
He didn’t move.
Mairead saw a movement across the road from her. It could be a villager, it could be Caird or it could be a soldier. But whoever it was, they gave her the courage to continue. ‘You think to kill me here, in front of all these witnesses?’
She hoped the movement was Caird.
He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘You think there are witnesses? This is almost...fun,’ he said.
It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it, that made her falter. When he smiled, she stopped pretending to move.
‘You still do not know and I know everything,’ he said. ‘It is like a game, is it not?’ He fingered his dagger. ‘And I know all the rules, because I made them.’
This was no game she wanted to play. They were close enough, he could throw the blade, but she didn’t dare move. It was imperative she kept the Englishman looking at her.
‘Tell me your rules then, and maybe I’ll play,’ Mairead said.
Before she blinked, Caird appeared, a blade drawn at the Englishman’s throat.
Not registering surprise, the Englishman’s mouth quirked at the corners. Then slowly, hypnotically, his protuberant pale eyes grew cold.
Looking into his blank stare, Mairead felt more chilled than when she’d stood alone.
‘Where is it?’ Caird demanded.
‘Under my cape. I could hardly keep it anywhere else.’ The man raised his hands, but Caird did not let him go.
‘Lift your cape,’ he ordered.
Waiting for any sudden movement, Mairead didn’t take her eyes off the Englishman until he lifted his cape above his waist. Only then did she see Caird’s pouch.
With a glance to Caird, who nodded, she stepped forward and untied the pouch. Moving quickly away, she felt the contents. There was no mistaking what it held.
Clutching the pouch, she asked, ‘What do you do with this?’
‘Nothing now.’
‘Ach, what did you mean to do with it?’
‘The same as any man with that much power, I intended to use it.’
She’d get no straight answers from him.
His posture threatening and deadly, Caird kept his blade steady at the Englishman’s neck. But the killer remained nonchalant, and no villagers emerged.
Caird argued that there were too many questions to this plan and she was beginning to agree.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘This is hardly a time for introductions now, is it?’
Caird gave a growl in his throat that raised hairs on the back of her neck. ‘I’d like to know whom I kill.’
‘Then if I answer, you’ll kill me? It makes not answering ever so easy.’
The hornets woke inside Mairead. She wished she could release them so they could attack her brother’s murderer. She had always thought the Colquhouns arrogant. And they were. Caird stood as proud as any king, his strength and swiftness a testament to hundreds of hours of training.
But this man’s arrogance was dark, sinister, like poison.
The Englishman’s hands never lowered; his eyes never left hers. He looked as innocent as he could and just as vulnerable. Which didn’t sit right. Something was terribly wrong.
‘You’ll answer him,’ she demanded.
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ The Englishman circled his right arm in the air.
Nothing moved.
Brows drawn, he circled his arm again and looked down the road of the village. It remained empty.
A grin breaking on his face, the Englishman slowly turned his head to Caird. ‘Oh, I may have underestimated you, Colquhoun.’
Caird’s stance eased. ‘Aye.’
The man’s grin didn’t drop as he turned to Mairead. ‘You posed such a pretty distraction and they were simply dispatched.’ Looking only slightly inconvenienced, he chuckled. ‘I trained some of them, too. Pity.’
‘You’ll give answers now.’ Caird’s voice was as deadly certain as she’d ever heard it. ‘Why was your accomplice returning to Buchanan land?’
The Englishman shrugged and winced as the blade cut into his neck. Caird did not ease his hold.
Not losing his pomposity, the Englishman swallowed. ‘I like the direction of these questions, so I’ll answer you this—where else would he go except to find me?’
‘Why are you here? Why was the jewel on Buchanan land?’
‘A Colquhoun asks that question?’ The Englishman did not hide his smile, a macabre contrast to the blood trailing down his throat. ‘Oh, truly, I am enjoying the direction of these questions.’
‘Enjoy nae more,’ Caird growled, pushing the Englishman away. ‘We draw swords.’
Pulling the horse, Mairead swiftly moved to the side. They’d gained no answers with their questioning. Now Caird planned to fight the Englishman after he’d fought the soldiers? She didn’t know how many he had killed. But it was more than a few and he had to be exhausted.
Sweat and dirt peppered his body. There were more bloodied scrapes along his arms and legs, but it was his side that caused her to gasp. He had reopened the wound and it bled.
He couldn’t remain standing, let alone fight their enemy.
The Englishman, ever confident, didn’t stumble as he gained equal distance from Caird and her.
‘But you killed all my men, Colquhoun. You obviously have the better sword arm.’ The Englishman reached slowly to his waist. His intent was clear to reach his dagger, but he threw it to the ground.
Caird threw his blade to the ground as well.
The Englishman simply nodded and reached for his sword.
Caird’s sword was out and ready. Mairead tightened her hold on the horse. Caird was too injured for this fight. If she had to, she’d make a distraction until they could escape. One way or another she would help end this.
But then the Englishman simply threw his sword to the ground as well.
Caird did not change his stance, but his frown increased.
The Englishman did not do what was expected. She glanced around, and glimpsed people in windows and partially opened doorways.
‘Pick up your sword,’ Caird demanded.
‘Oh, I don’t think so, Colquhoun.’
‘Pick up your sword or I’ll cleave you in two.’
‘No, you won’t,’ the Englishman replied. ‘Your sense of honour would never allow you to kill a defenceless man. So predictable.’
He turned to Mairead. ‘Frustrated, Buchanan? I killed your brother so easily. I cut into his stomach like I was cutting butter for my bread and with as little thought. This cannot sit easy with one such as you. You’d kill me, wouldn’t you?’
The hornets swarmed in answer. Ignoring the madman and the insistent feeling inside, she glanced around; some of the villagers had moved forward. Were they friends or enemies?
Caird’s tunic was saturated with blood. He’d soon weaken. She wanted to ram a thrown blade into the Englishman’s stomach and be done. But that choice would get them killed if the villagers were enemies.
‘So many decisions.’ The Englishman smirked. ‘But you cannot fight me and survive, Buchanan.’
He clasped his hands in front of him. ‘So it appears we are at an impasse.’
Caird’s stance changed. ‘Nae, there will be justice.’
‘Me, be your prisoner?’ He laughed. ‘I believe you now underestimate me, Colquhoun.’
The Englishman clapped. Loudly. The echo rang throughout the village.
Which was suddenly no longer empty. Doors opened and men stepped out of their homes. Their arms were full of weaponry: swords, daggers, farming tools. Steel and iron in different shapes.
There was too many of them and they were surrounded.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Caird did not glance at the doors suddenly opening. He’d tried counting the homes as he killed the soldiers. With his wounds, and Mairead’s vulnerability, he couldn’t fight them.
Every ounce of honour demanded he fight and kill this man. To end this. But he could never risk Mairead. Caird glanced at Mairead; her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. It was a look he never wanted to see.
‘You don’t appear to be puzzled, Colquhoun. You probably guessed my power was more. I am everywhere and where you’d least expect me. You are wise enough to guess my power goes beyond this tiny village. Taking me as a prisoner would never be an option. But I’m sure you’re relieved we are no longer at an impasse.’
Caird didn’t reply.
The Englishman gave an almost imperceptible shrug. ‘I know I am,’ he continued almost glibly. ‘Truly, if you knew how much trouble I have gone to in order to secure the dagger with its treasure again, you’d appreciate my deserving them both.’
He held out his palm to Mairead. ‘Now, I will have that jewel and let them kill you both.’
Dread held Caird still even as every instinct in him roared to slash the Englishman into pieces. ‘These are not men to fight for you.’ Caird did not lower his sword, or his gaze, which took in the village. ‘These are not soldiers.’
The Englishman’s brow lifted. ‘Yet they will kill you if you kill me.’
Caird had no doubt. They were bribed Scots. His heart broke for them, for every Scotsmen, who had lost hope. Hundreds of villages like this covered his precious homeland. He had no doubt this man, or his soldiers, had infected every one of them.
For the first time, he felt some of that hopelessness possess him, too. Then he saw Mairead take a step closer, saw her pull the horse closer as well. She was planning their escape and he felt awe.
The Englishman might have an entire village at his command but he had Mairead. As long as there was breath in his body, he would get them out of here.
Mairead, the Englishman and Caird stood in some nightmare triangle. She held the horse’s reins, but knew it was useless to run. They might have escaped if it had been just the Englishman, but they were surrounded by villagers.
She looked at every single person. They weren’t foes or friends. They were afraid, and so was she. But she was also very, very angry. This madman would never let them go. She welcomed the hornets’ stings inside her.
‘Help us!’ she cried, her voice echoing as if the village was empty. ‘We’re like you. On the other side of his sword! Like. You!’
The Englishman didn’t thrust a blade now, and her brother wasn’t collapsing to the ground, but she felt just as helpless, just as powerless.
Her nightmare. Not over and so much worse.
Desperation tore through Mairead, a longing so deep and jagged, it ripped free. It should have hurt, but the hornets made her too crazed to feel.
Pacing, ignoring Caird’s wariness and the Englishman’s amusement, she kept her eyes on the villagers. She wanted them to look in her eyes and see her desperation, her helplessness and her grief. Everything.
She also demanded they see her anger, her rage and her blinding desire for this nightmare to be done.
Everything!
She wanted this over. From the sickening despair she’d felt when her brother confessed what he’d done to the fatal knowledge he’d gambled away their home. The laird would banish them to a war-torn country with nowhere safe to go. She refused for it to happen.
These villagers thought to fight? She would fight twice as hard. Her brother had paid with his life; she’d paid with her fear, and kidnapping and weeks of desperation. She was owed.
With wide movements, she took another step. She didn’t care that the Englishman and Caird watched her anger. She didn’t care if she looked more maddened than the madman!
‘Are you just going to stand there?’ she called. ‘Watch his sword slice into our hearts? Murder us until we nae longer breathe?’
The elation of finding the jewelled dagger, the spiralling hope then horror as she watched her brother die. His eyes widening in pain before growing distant and shutting for ever. Terrified, but determined to retrieve the dagger, only to enter Caird’s room instead.
Another step. Uneven surface. She looked down to see her left foot on a thrown blade. She didn’t care if her feet took her directly in the path of a sword pointed to her. As long as she held one as well.
She heard voices then, Caird’s, the Englishman’s, but they were distant, too far away to make any difference. She grabbed the blade.
The cold blade’s power felt wonderful.
She smiled, and knew there was a fierce light in her eyes. Raising the blade over her head, she cried, ‘Are you going to follow his orders? How does your Scottish blood flow? For truth or lies? For your families or for this Englishman?’
Remaining still, the villagers stared. She wouldn’t let them see her eyes close never to be opened again. Not if she could help it.
She swung to face Caird and the Englishman. They had shifted. Now, they stood in a crooked triangle, with her at the head. Her dagger pointed at them both.
With an intelligent light in his bulging eyes, the Englishman looked almost gleeful. It didn’t matter. She knew she was more crazed than him and she relished it.
Caird was speaking his words again. Over and over until they resembled: ‘Doona, they’ll kill you, doona, they’ll kill you, they’ll kill you.’
Trying to make her see reason, Colquhoun? Didn’t he know? She’d been born making mistakes. All of it was her fault...and his. Caird, who had thrown a dagger at her, touched her, kidnapped her, kissed her, called her names, apologised, made her care for him.
Caring for this man, knowing there couldn’t be more, shredded her soul. He faced their enemies and risked his life. He could die right in front of her. Just like her brother.
The hornets flared and stung inside her. It was a mistake; she didn’t care for him. She couldn’t care for anyone any more. Not her family, her brother, Caird.
She. Was. Done.
‘You are wrong, Englishman,’ she said. ‘I’ll not be giving you the dagger and jewel.’
Grinning now, the Englishman slipped a hidden blade out of his belt. It was so small, it would only hurt Caird, but it was sharp enough to kill her. She had no skill.
The crooked triangle put Caird too far away. He couldn’t stop them without hurting her and she was counting on his hesitation to save his life.
‘These people owe me a debt. They will kill you, my dear,’ the Englishman answered.
Caird could take the horse and flee before the villagers could react.
