by Aileen Adams
“What do ye think you’re doing here?”
It took a moment for him to find his voice—when he did, it came out as a barely audible whisper. “Following ye, of course. I wanted to come along and watch, so I can do it m’self someday.”
Of all the daft things he could’ve done. She replaced the dirk with a trembling hand—that had been a closer call than she would’ve liked—while shaking her head. “Ye dinna know what you’ve done,” she hissed, eyes darting about. “This is dangerous enough while I’m working on my own. With ye, it becomes twice as much, and twice as difficult, if ye must know.”
His face fell, but she was in too much of a state to care whether she’d injured his pride. The fool had nearly gotten himself killed, and could still be the end of them both, unless she handled this with the utmost care. What to do now?
“Forgive me,” he whispered, sounding for all the world like the wee lad he was.
Now, guilt moved into her heart and pushed rancor aside. “All right, ‘tis done. Nothing I can do about it now, though I would like to know how you managed to track me.”
“On foot.” He brightened considerably. “Ye never heard me?”
She was sorry to say she had not. Were her senses failing her at the young age of one-and-twenty? Or had she been too wrapped up in her thoughts and concerns to notice her brother’s presence?
The only other alternative was to believe him a fine, skillful tracker. Perhaps he was. Perhaps his presence, and her lack of attention to it, was a combination of all three.
“Nay,” she grumbled with another shake of her head. At least he’d had the foresight to wear dark clothing, though neither of them had much to choose from. “You’ll catch your death, running about the Highlands without even a cloak to warm ye.”
“I am warm and fine,” he promised, grinning. “Are we going to do it?”
Little choice but to see it through now that they had come this far. There was still no sign of movement from the living quarters, and no light in the barn. “Aye, we shall,” she confirmed, bending to hobble the mare in place. “Come. Be as swift and silent as you’ve been all this time.”
“I cut through the woods,” he explained as they dashed across the empty space between wall and barn.
She held a finger to her lips, though at least this helped her understand how he’d managed such a distance on foot. If he’d stolen through the woods rather than taking the roads much of the way, as she had, the journey would not be such a lengthy one. An advantage of traveling on foot. Walking the horse through a pathless stretch of wood on such a moonless night was not a risk she’d been willing to take.
They reached the barn in mere moments, and Liam followed suit when she pressed her back to the wall.
“Catch your breath,” she advised, knowing as she did that every action would now have to be explained to him and would therefore slow her down. She had difficulty containing her irritation at this turn of events. If only he’d been a bit more clever.
If only he had remained at home, safe in his bed.
Once they’d quieted their breathing and calmed themselves, Anne slid down the length of the wall until she reached the corner, then rounded it and crept along until she reached one of the two great doors which led inside. A finger to her lips, she took one of the doors by its leather strap and pulled, opening it just enough for them to slip through.
It was possible to speak a bit more freely once they’d gone inside and made certain no one was lying in wait for them. Aside from the stalls of cattle, there was no other sign of life in the stone structure.
Even so, Anne kept her voice low. “I can carry ye behind me in the saddle. We shall lead a pair of them tonight.”
“Only a pair?”
She rolled her eyes at the disappointment in his voice. “Did ye think we’d be taking the entire herd?”
“Nay. But I can lead a pair as well.”
“That is out of the question.” She did not intend the words to sound harsh and cruel when they came forth, but they did, and they stung him, it was obvious from the way his shoulders slumped. She softened slightly. “It takes a great deal of practice to lead surly beasts who dinna wish to be led. Ye might ride before me and hold the reins while I lead the cattle, though.”
“Ye would allow me to ride Maebe?” he asked, awed.
Maebe was the gentlest creature in the world and would certainly offer him no resistance. Even so, she kept her tone gravely serious. In fact, the situation was a gravely serious one. “Aye, but ye must use the utmost care. I shall depend on ye to lead us home. Ye can manage that, can ye not?”
“Aye,” he breathed, all but trembling with the importance of his task. The mare would know the way home without him guiding her, but he could believe himself the hero if it pleased him.
In fact, he might do well to believe himself heroic for once.
She opened two doors, the stalls adjoining, and led two massive steers out. They would have been sold for meat, she knew, castrated as they were. And they might have fetched a pretty price judging by their size.
That price would now go to Malcolm, for the steers bore no mark declaring they belonged to MacIntosh. He could sell them and dare anyone to question where he’d procured them.
“All right,” she whispered, wrapping rope leads around their necks while whispering and patting them, comforting and soothing as best she could. If only Liam hadn’t come. If only he had not insisted on proving himself.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Keep watch. Make certain no one is coming.”
She glanced over her shoulder to find him peering out into the darkness through the crack in the door. He could do that, at least, while she tended to her task.
With the steers secure, she took the ropes in one hand. Would that they followed without a fight. She might make it through this, after all.
“Open the door,” she whispered, heart in her throat.
This was always the most treacherous time. Without the steers, the most she could be accused of would be trespassing. Now? There was no question of what she intended.
The doors were mercifully quiet, most likely having been recently hung or repaired. They glided open without so much as a squeak or grind. A small miracle, and nearly enough to make her believe this would go well.
Until the click of a pistol changed everything. “Now that I know for certain ye intend to steal my cattle, allow me to introduce myself,” a deep, male voice rumbled over her shoulder.
5
Drew leveled the pistol at the back of the lass’s head, concealed by a loose hood. Yet there was no mistaking the fact that she was female.
A lass! All along, a young woman!
And a lad no older than eight, perhaps nine years!
They’d been duped by a woman and a child!
The shame of it alone was nearly enough to make him fire, but he held back. They would be better off in the hands of the law. He, for one, would sleep better knowing they would not run free, and thieves or not, he had no desire to carry their lives on his conscience.
“Liam! Run!” the lass hissed, presumably speaking to the lad who lingered in the doorway.
Faint light revealed his shocked expression, his utter terror once understanding settled over him.
“Och, Liam. I would not if I were ye.” Drew kept his tone light, almost teasing. “If ye were to run, I would have no choice but to fire this weapon. Not at ye, but at her. ‘Tis your choice.”
The lad looked ready to wet his trousers as he stared, wide-eyed.
The lass was having none of it. “He’s lying. He will not injure me, or he would have already. Go. Go, for the love of God!”
Drew’s hand closed over one of her wrists, squeezing hard enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from her. The hood of her cloak made it impossible to see her, but he did not need to see her face to know there was pain and fury there. He could feel it all in the pulse which hammered rapidly against his fingers.
“Now, Liam,” Drew instructed, still holding the pistol high. “Ye shall return the steers to their stalls. Worry not that they shall charge ye or crush ye. Gentler beasts never lived. But take your time,” he advised. “No sudden movements, or they might react violently.”
He truly was enjoying this. What did that say for him? What would Davina think of the kind, good man she’d declared him to be?
She’d been wrong. If she saw him now, she would know better. Perhaps it was better if she did.
“Are ye armed, lass?” he murmured as Liam worked with the steer, walking it into the stall. His steps were slow, calculated, as if he was afraid to make a false move and upset the beast.
He listened to her sharp, raspy breathing. Yes, she was armed.
“Dinna make me search ye,” he warned. “I shall do it, and no one would blame me for ensuring my safety. If ye value the lad’s life, hand the weapon to me.” He released her free hand, the one not still holding onto a rope, and watched her withdraw a slim dirk from a belt around her waist.
After taking it and tucking it into his trews, he took hold of her again. “Wise lass.” She only tried once to wrench herself free from his grasp, but she offered no retort.
They watched as the lad took the second rope from the lass and led the steer to its stall where it could rest. “Remove the rope from about its neck,” he instructed almost as an afterthought.
“W-what?” the lad whispered from the shadows.
“He’s only a lad of ten,” the lass hissed, fierce.
Hmm. Ten years. He appeared younger. It was an interesting thing, how similar he was in appearance to Drew at the same age.
“Then he should not have come along with ye,” Drew retorted in spite of this. “I have no time and even less concern for your protestations. If he is old enough to engage in this thievery, he’s old enough to untie a rope from around a steer’s neck.”
To his surprise, the rope landed at his feet within moments. The lad was braver than he appeared, now that the first instance of startled dismay had passed.
“Now the other one,” he ordered. He waited until the second steer was secured before sliding the pistol into the holster at his waist and taking the lad’s thin arm in his free hand.
Which was when the mere slip of a lad turned into a rabid dog.
“Let me go!” he roared, kicking and flailing, landing blow after blow on Drew’s shoulder, back, chest, knees, and ankles. It seemed the boy had suddenly grown a few extra arms and legs, for there was no blocking him.
There was no choice but to release his hold on the lass and pin the lad’s arms to his sides in a tight hug. Not too tight, however, for the lad truly had been underfed and underdeveloped. Any further pressure might have broken his ribs.
“Run, Anne!” Liam shouted.
“I would not do it,” Drew warned, breathing heavily as he continued to struggle subduing the squirming, fighting thing he held.
For one so small, the lad possessed a great deal of strength and determination.
Once again, he reminded Drew of himself.
The lass hesitated, as Drew knew she would. There was something between the pair of them, though he was not certain what it was. Brother and sister? Most likely. While he had not yet taken a good look at her face, her hands and arms were smooth. Unlined, unspotted. She was young, too young to be the lad’s mother.
And what mother would take her son reiving?
“Ye dinna want to leave me alone with him,” Drew warned with a snarl. This was not his nature. He did not threaten children, and he very much did not bring harm to them. But she was not aware of that.
A pause. “Wh—what do ye intend to do, then?” she demanded.
He gave her credit for keeping emotion out of her voice.
“Before or after I turn him over to the local magistrate?” he snickered. “Young or no, the punishment for reiving is no laughing matter. I canna imagine the law would take pity on him for his youth. And I would not hesitate to tell them it was him and him alone who ventured onto my farm this evening.”
He looked down at the dark-haired lad who had only just begun to tire. “Something tells me he would not disagree if it meant protecting his… sister.”
Her soft gasp told him he’d hit his mark. It had been a risk, but the risk was well worth it. She was unsteady now, wondering how he’d known and how much more he knew.
“’Tis up to ye, Anne. Will ye run like a coward, or will ye accept punishment for your crime?”
She was thinking about it, her mind likely moving in all directions at once. She was no fool, this one, especially if she’d already managed to escape with so many of their herd.
Would he follow through with his threats, or was this all an attempt to frighten them?
“Well?” he barked. “What will it be, Anne?”
“Anne, dinna listen,” the lad pleaded. “Go. Go!”
“I canna.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I canna leave ye.”
He had taken a chance, and it had paid off. The lass was devoted to her brother, and he to her. If they had not both been thieves, Drew might have pitied them.
Now there was the matter of deciding what was to be done with them. It was too late to take them to the village. They would have to wait until morning, which was at least six hours away. A night spent in a barn never harmed anyone, he supposed.
After all, had he not been sitting up in the barn, waiting for them? And had he not nearly dropped off into sleep before they arrived?
“Anne, take the ropes,” he decided, looking about the barn for something to tie them to. When he could find nothing, he made a decision. “Go to the last stall at the end of the row. There was once a heifer in that stall, but ye would know that, would ye not?”
“Aye, I know it,” she muttered with a knowing in her voice. She had been the one to take it, after all, along with the rest of them. No sense in pretending not to understand his meaning.
He shoved the lad inside, then held him there with his stern gaze while tying Anne’s wrists behind her.
“Ye shall not harm her,” Liam warned, baring his teeth. “It will not end well for ye if ye do.”
“Liam, please,” Anne begged, shaking her head. With a vicious tug, Drew pulled the hood down to reveal a thick shock of dark auburn curls, and a fine profile when she turned her head to cast a doleful look his way.
He pulled his gaze from her and looked to the lad. “Ye are in no place to make threats,” he snarled. “I am the one to make threats now, for ‘tis my land and my cattle ye were fixing to steal.” He shoved her once her wrists were secure, making her drop to her knees on the straw-covered floor.
Liam lunged at him, but Drew held him off. “Save your strength for when the magistrate deals with ye,” he advised, turning the lad around that he might secure his wrists as well.
“Dinna fear,” Anne groaned, working her way into a seated position before blowing errant curls from her face. “All will be well.”
He was almost touched by her efforts to calm the lad, who all but fled to her side once Drew determined his bonds to be secure. The lad leaned against her shoulder, facing her, curling up at her side.
Was he cowering there, or shielding her with his slight body? Regardless, the image did something to Drew’s heart. He felt a twinge, a flutter. As if the lad could protect her. It was unlikely he could’ve protected himself.
“There, there,” she murmured, the tenderness in her voice entirely unlike the hate-filled glare she shot him. “All will be well.”
“Aye. Keep telling yourself it will be so,” he sneered before stepping outside the stall and closing the door. He barred it closed with great satisfaction. No cattle would disappear that evening, or any evening.
Just the same, he did not enjoy the prospect of leaving them alone until dawn. This lessened his satisfaction, as did the reality of needing someone to watch over the bairns while he took yet another ride to the village. Clyde would like as not hav
e work to do, as would everyone else on the farm.
He couldn’t very well take the twins along with them. What a thing to explain. Riding criminals into the village that they might receive their punishment. It was not as if he could trust this thieving, lying lass to avoid blurting out the truth, and he could not very well gag her in front of the twins.
Their eyes met from opposite sides of the wooden bars. She was a bonny one, to be sure, though he suspected she’d be even more so if she were not glaring in open hatred.
“Can ye do one thing for me?” she asked, lifting her chin so as not to be mistaken for a pitiful creature, begging favors. She had no shame, this one.
“Why should I do anything for ye?”
Rather than answer, she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “My mare is hobbled at the last broken bit of wall, just on the other side.”
He raised a brow. “And?”
Her nostrils flared as her chest rose and fell. She wished to kill him, that much was clear. “And the poor thing ought not be left out there. While the grass is plentiful, the air is chill and damp. She ought to be brought inside.”
He could not help but laugh. A prisoner, making demands. “It seems ye believe you’re in a position to beg my favor,” he chuckled.
“The horse did nothing wrong,” she snapped. “She is a dear old thing. Gentle and kind. I would allow a bairn to ride her. She deserves not to ache from the cold and damp. If ye have a soul, please, bring her inside. I dinna care if ye keep her from me. But I ask ye to take pity on her.”
Who was this lass? She appeared to care deeply for her mare and was fiercely protective of her younger brother, yet she’d been foolish enough to bring him along on her midnight reiving. He considered himself a fair judge of character, yet there was no putting her together.
“Well?” she snapped. “Will ye?”
He backed away, his heart hardening. “I suppose ye shall never know.”
She gasped, but said nothing. Perhaps her instinct for self-preservation advised her against it. A wise instinct.
“For all I’m aware, ye stole the mare as well,” he added as he left the barn.
