by Reece Butler
As he drove up the lane he realized Josh Gibson must have called ahead, warning them he was coming, and why. He lifted his foot from the accelerator.
Lance stood in the yard, wearing his kilt and boots. He rested a sword about three feet long over his right shoulder. The hilt, adding at least another twelve inches, shone in the sun as if made of silver. Jet swallowed, hard. He’d seen the ancient weapon hanging over the fireplace. The claymore was an ancestral sword, and had been used to kill many enemies. One of the cousins said the sheriff had done a test on it for blood residue. It had glowed blue.
Ross and Brody stood behind Lance, to one side. Ross’s raven perched on his shoulder as usual. The men had their arms crossed, waiting. So did the Elliotts, Trey and Sam, on Lance’s other side. Jet didn’t know if they were there by chance, or if they’d been called in as witnesses. He hadn’t passed them on the road, but they could have ridden their horses, since the two ranches were across the valley from each other.
Simon, waiting on the porch, was the only one showing any humor. It was almost a repeat of the first time he’d driven up.
Jet glanced at the giant bird as he climbed out of the truck. He’d loved watching crows and ravens as a boy. There was something almost magical about them. Their calls had kept him company during some lonely times. None of the ones he’d seen were this big. The majestic bird tilted its head up, down, and sideways at him. The beady eyes were bright with intelligence. He ignored the man to concentrate on this amazing creature. Last time he was there, the bird had put all his attention on Houston. This time, it was his turn.
“Aren’t you a beauty,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure why he was talking out loud, but it seemed right. As if it had been waiting for permission, the bird flew toward him.
“Hold out your arm,” ordered Ross.
The bird landed and sidled up his arm. A giant beak reached toward his right eye. It opened and a musical sound came out. A pleasant memory hit. One of his first foster homes had a baby. They had a chime ball that made the same sound as the raven. He’d spent hours playing with the little girl. The beak came closer. It made a soothing sound as it rooted behind his ear. A quick yank, and it stepped back, closer to his wrist.
“Toss her in the air,” said Ross.
He did so and watched the raven fly up, where it was joined by another. The two of them winged away, one of them flying upside down for a bit. He’d heard about that ability, but hadn’t seen it before.
“Are you up for some swordsmanship?” asked Simon. “I’ll give you the history of that claidheamh mór after my brother finishes. If, that is, you survive.” He grinned like an eager pirate.
“I wonder if The MacDougal can still hold the blade.” Even if Brody’s body posture didn’t scream “make my day,” his expression and voice would have. “Maybe his grip will slip and Lila will have to find herself a new hand.” His teeth bared in what was not a smile. “And so might you, my friend.”
“Any time, any place,” replied Jet calmly.
“This might kick up some dust,” said Simon. “Best to take your shirt off.”
Surrendering to the situation, he tugged his shirt out of his pants, grabbed the bottom, and yanked. Loud pops filled the air as the snaps came undone. He kept his eyes on Brody as he slid it from his shoulders. Simon stepped forward to take it. Nobody said a thing, but the tension increased.
Lance, sword still over his shoulder, strode past him, toward the barn. He stopped and drew an X in the dirt with his heel.
“Most times, The MacDougal uses a wooden post about five feet high to practice with,” said Brody mildly.
“Been a while since I took a chip off it.” Lance’s teeth showed bright against his dark skin.
“Been a while since you practiced,” added Ross, loudly. “What was it, September?”
Jet knew what was going on. He had to prove he was worthy of Lila. He wanted her, and would do whatever the head of the MacDougal Clan demanded. He had no doubt her fathers would also test him on their return. Eric and Matt didn’t have a sword, but they built dungeon equipment.
He moved to the spot Lance had made in the dirt. He faced the house, where the men waited. He wasn’t sure what would happen, but it didn’t matter. His pride as a man meant he’d go along with it. Too often, he’d had to swallow that pride to survive. No more. This was also to prove he wanted Lila badly enough to risk his life. There was no question of that. Without Lila, his life would be cold and empty. He would not hide in that empty husk again.
Crystal blue eyes pierced him. The man was calm, which was a good thing if he was going to be swinging that sword.
“Hands by your sides, eyes front. Do not move, no matter what.”
“How long?” asked Jet.
“Forever, and an instant.” A brief smile flitted over Lance’s face.
Jet nodded, understanding. It would last forever while Jet waited to be slashed, yet to the man performing what might well be, for him, a sacred act, time would pass in an instant. Jet set his feet in the dirt, rolled out his shoulders, and stared forward. He let his mind go and relaxed, practicing what an old man had taught him along the way. Three slow breaths in, hold, and release.
Take yourself from the place of pain and suffering. Let it happen only to your body, so it does not affect your mind, or your soul. Your physical presence may be harmed or confined, but only you can attack or cage your mind.
Lance moved to a spot directly in front of Jet, about ten feet away. Holding the sword with both arms extended, he slowly lowered the point to just above the dirt. He then lifted until his hands were in front of his face, eyes closed, the blade high. For a moment he stood perfectly still. He started to move, his body flowing as if performing a form of Tai Chi. The sword flashed in the sun, then Lance moved to one side and disappeared from Jet’s view. Rather than watch the bloodthirsty cousins, he raised his eyes to the mountains.
The only sound was the slash of a blade cutting the air around him. Sometimes far, then suddenly so near his arms would have been shaved if he’d had goose bumps. Lance’s footsteps were light, dancing around him. He let it all sink in, part of the moment.
After a time the sword flashed in front of him again. Lance bellowed a series of gutteral words and slashed the blade toward Jet’s throat. It stopped near his jugular. Jet carefully swallowed.
“Will you bleed to protect Lila?” The demand was quiet, but intense.
“Yes.” It didn’t require thought. A sharp sting woke his throat.
“Do you accept the position of guardian to my niece and her children?”
“Yes.”
“Will you obey my orders as Chief of this Clan?”
Jet stared into those bright blue eyes, startling against the wrinkled brown skin. He’d never seen anyone move with such grace and power, and Lance had done it while carrying a giant two-handed ancient sword. Even now, the blade hovered by his throat, unmoving. The depth of the man’s eyes as well as his strength called to something inside him. It was honesty, honor, and trust in a man’s word.
“As long as your orders don’t go against my values, yes.”
Lance held his gaze for another moment, then took one step back. He raised the weapon high in one hand. “Kneel,” he ordered, quietly commanding.
Jet had vowed he would bend to no man ever again. This was not a bending, but an acceptance of duty, by his choice. He lowered himself to one knee, his eyes locked on the older man’s. It meant he had to lift his head, exposing his throat. He knew it was not by chance.
“I, Lance MacDougal, Chief of the MacDougal Clan, accept your oath as guardian to Lila and her children. Should you fail, may this sword remove your head.”
Once more the long blade swung toward his neck, this time on the other side. Once more it stopped before beheading him. Jet felt a matching sting, then Lance lifted the blade straight up, following it with his eyes. Jet looked up as well. A small drop of red trickled from the blade’s tip.
“Buaidh
no bas!”
Jet’s ears rang at the roar, which somehow echoed off the distant mountains.
Lance stepped back. He swung the broad sword in a circle, then set it on his left shoulder. He stepped forward and stuck his right hand out, grasping Jet’s forearm. Jet closed his hand over the older man’s rock-hard muscles, then rose to his feet.
“Welcome to Clan MacDougal, son.”
Chapter 41
Lila had changed to work in the barn and was almost out the door when she heard the phone. Hoping it wasn’t one of her relatives, she answer briskly.
“Circle C Ranch.” She waited, but all she heard was heavy breathing. “Who is this?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. We have unfinished business, Freaky Frost.”
The line went dead. She flicked the button a few times. No dial tone. She looked out the window. She didn’t recognize the truck parked near the telephone pole at the road.
“Son of a bitch! He’s cut the line!”
It had to be Tank Jefferson. He was the only one who’d called her that name. He might have been spotted heading out of town, but he was here now, and he was mad. She didn’t have a truck to escape in. The quad was too noisy, and she’d promised not to ride Blue. Plus, the horse was so big she’d be easily seen. She had to escape on foot. Fast.
She grabbed her rifle and her basic grab-and-go bag. It held light binoculars, a survival knife, extra shells, a reflective sheet for shelter, a first aid kit, and a camo hat and shirt. She rushed out the back door, following the slope. There were rock outcroppings up a way, and a cave even farther. She’d get as far up as she could before the truck got so close he could see her move.
Lila scrambled up the hill, Rascal scouting ahead. He would warn her about rattlers. She took a quick look over her shoulder. The pickup was racing down her drive. She put on another burst of speed. By the time the truck made it into the yard she was crouched behind a good-sized rock outcrop. She panted as she dug through the bag. She stuck on the camo hat to cover her head. Next was the loose camo shirt to cover her bright T-shirt and braid.
Binoculars showed the truck parked about halfway between the barn and the house. The driver’s door opened. A familiar shape stepped out. He swaggered into the yard, looking around as if he owned the place. It was Tank, all right. He’d put on muscle, and even more arrogance, since she’d last seen him.
He wanted to get her back, did he? She exhaled in relief. She’d taken him down before, and she could do it again. She still had a good punch. She was about to stand and yell at him when he pulled out a pistol.
“Lila! Get your ass out here, now!”
She hunkered down as his gaze swept in her direction. Rascal whined in agreement. It was overcast, so there was no chance of sun bouncing off her binoculars and making her position known.
“I’m counting to three, and then I’m going to start shooting horses.”
“No!” She whispered the word rather than yelling it at the top of her lungs. She pounded her fist on her thigh, forcing herself to stay still otherwise. She wanted to run down there and take him on, smashing him into the dirt. She would have, a month ago.
“One!”
She loved her horses, but if Tank would shoot one of her four-legged friends, he’d just as easily shoot her. That meant her baby would die. She had risked her own life many times, but she would not risk that of her child. She had to find a way to shoot him first, preferably without killing him.
“Two! I’m not fooling around,” he warned. “Somebody wants you bad enough to pay me ten thousand dollars for you and that bastard you’re carrying.”
She immediately covered her belly, then rolled her eyes. As if a few fingers would stop anything. The only person who wanted her child was Houston’s mother. His father might have stopped his mom, but Tank must have already received her orders, and money.
“We’re going for a little ride, you and me. And then I’m going to have some fun before I hand you over.”
“I will kill you before you put one hand on me,” she replied, voice low.
“Three! I hear you got a sweet little colt,” he yelled. “I’ll save that one for last. Let’s see how much you care about that monster horse of yours.”
He glared at the house, where he must figure she was cowering. He put the safety on and stuck his pistol behind his back. She waited, trembling, as he went in the barn. She was sure he wouldn’t shoot a horse in there. He’d do it where she’d have to see him kill her beloved friend. She checked that her rifle held shells, took the safety off, and looked through the scope. With luck, he would stand in such a way that she could hit him without injuring Blue.
He came out of the barn, hauling on Blue’s lead with both hands.
“You fool,” she muttered.
Blue hated being pulled. Her eyes rolled, showing white, but Tank kept tugging. Blue was smart. She saw the yard and went for open space. She danced in a circle, but he tightened the reins, rolling them in his fist. He grabbed his pistol, took the safety off, and aimed it at Blue’s head.
“Call out, saying where you are, or I’ll shoot,” he yelled.
Of course Blue was in the way and she couldn’t get a clear shot!
Blue suddenly squealed and reared up. Tank jumped back, releasing the lead to get out of the way of those plate-size hooves. He raised his gun hand and pointed at Blue’s head. She had her aim and squeezed her finger first. His hand jerked. He dropped his gun, screaming almost as loud as Blue. The horse raced west, away from the road. Tank continued to scream, clutching his hand.
She looked through the scope. She was trembling, breathing so fast that it took her a moment to get a good view. Blood dripped, but it didn’t gush. That was good. She hadn’t murdered him. He cradled his hand, glaring in her direction.
“You fucking bitch, I’m going to kill you for that!”
He stomped toward his truck. She put a bullet in the front tire before he got there. He screamed something at her and jumped in. She reloaded as he whipped his truck around and headed toward the highway. She wanted him gone but she had no proof of what he’d done. He’d tried to kill her horse, and threatened to kill her!
She was an expert marksman, and now was the time to make use of it. She squeezed the trigger just before he disappeared behind some evergreen trees. Had she hit anything? The truck appeared again. The driver’s door was open, which should mean he’d bailed. Suddenly a flash hit her eyes. She cursed, pulling her eyes from the scope. A ka-boom! blasted her ears an instant later. A ball of flames and black oily smoke erupted. Echoes of the blast bounced off the mountains, rolling back at her like megawatt thunder.
She must have hit the gas tank.
Her hands trembled too much to use the rifle scope. She put on the safety and set it aside. She set her elbows on the rocks to hold the binoculars steady. Tank limped toward what was left of his truck, still cradling his hand. He detoured well around it, heading toward the road.
Her baby was safe.
“Thank God!” she croaked. Rascal whined. She dug her fingers deep into his fur and buried her face. He smelled familiar, a lifeline of normality. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she cried. She grabbed her belly with one hand, anchoring herself in Rascal’s fur with the other. He stood at her side, ready to take anyone on. She curled in a ball, and the world went black.
* * * *
“What the hell was that?” demanded Sam. Echoes of an explosion rippled around them. Jet looked northeast. A plume of black oily smoke rose into the sky.
“That’s the Circle C,” said Lance.
Jet’s heart contracted. “Lila!”
Hands grabbed him. He struggled to escape Ross and Brody’s grip.
“I didn’t tell her I love her!”
“Lila’s fine, and so’s her dog,” said a feminine voice.
Lance’s head whipped around. Jet followed. The cousins gasped and released him. A tall, blonde woman dressed in a strange costume of red velvet smiled at him. He blinked,
but she was still there. She looked back at him, eyes twinkling. Her black old-fashioned boots…didn’t touch the ground.
“My, my, no wonder Lila’s head over heels. I’d do the same if I was a hundred and fifty years younger,” she said with a saucy wink at Jet.
“And alive,” added Simon drily.
She pouted. “Well, that, too.”
“What happened?” demanded Jet.
“Some brute tried to shoot Lila’s horse,” she said. “I got Blue out of the way so Lila could have a clean shot. She got Tank right in the trigger finger. That’ll learn him.”
Lila wasn’t hurt. He pulled himself together. “And you are…?”
She looked at Simon. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce me to these fine young men?”
Simon cleared his throat. “Beth, I’d like you to meet my brother Lance, our sons Ross and Brody, Trey and Sam Elliott, and Lila’s soon-to-be husband, Jet. Gentleman, this lady is Beth Elliott. I didn’t believe her when she first showed up. I’ve come to realize she does exist, though I’m not sure what she’s doing here.”
“Of course I exist. And I’m here to help.”
“You’re in that old picture,” said Sam, frowning. “Are you a ghost?”
“Ghost, angel, whatever,” she replied, waving the question away.
Jet looked to Lance. Of all of them, he should be the most used to things like ghosts. He said nothing, quietly observing her.
“And for your information,” she said, spearing Sam with a queenly stare, “a gentleman doesn’t mention a lady’s age, or her death.” She gave a brisk head nod. “You two look a lot like Ranger and Trace, though I sense a bit of Ben in this rather serious young man.” She switched to his younger brother. “Trey seems to be a ladies’ man.” She winked at him. “Jack all over again.”
