Highlander’s Curse

by Melissa Mayhue

  “The blood on your gown?”

  Abby looked down, unable to make out any but the barest markings on her gown in the dark. If her gown was bloodied, it must have come from Fergus’s cousin when she’d climbed over him to get to Colin.

  “Not mine.”

  The thought of Colin lying in the road brought a fresh round of pain and with it a fresh round of hot, salty tears. She couldn’t fight it any longer, it hurt too badly.

  Her head lolled against her arm as she gave herself over completely to her misery. The stars twinkling above her were magnified by the prism of tears she viewed them through, as if the fates controlling her world had decided to make them extra beautiful just to mock her pain.

  “You should try to get some rest. They’ll have us marching at first light.”

  Rest? Tied up like this? No chance in hell. Besides, how could she sleep? Her heart hurt too much. She’d never sleep again.

  Her head pounded and her nose stuffed up and still the tears flowed. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Not her years of education wasted, not the damn betraying Faeries, not even being stuck in this horrible time. Without Colin, nothing mattered anymore.

  The soldiers had drifted off to their blankets, many of them well inebriated by the sound of it. Now only the sounds of snoring filled the night air, adding to her desolation. She was alone. Completely alone in this awful world.

  Her shoulders ached and her shins hurt where the rim of the bucket dug into her skin. Her face stung where she’d scraped up against the tree, and every muscle in her body bore witness to her fall from her horse.

  Worst of all, guilt consumed her that she could sit here cataloging her aches and pains while Colin. . .

  Another round of tears ran down her cheeks, raw now from the light breeze blowing over the tear-stained skin.

  Above her, her hands had gone numb and she tried straightening her back to relieve the pressure from her bindings. She glanced at her neighbor to see how the others managed to avoid cutting off their circulation.

  A twinkle at her neighbor’s wrists caught her attention and she blinked several times to clear her vision. Moonlight sparkled, reflecting off something metallic.

  Maybe he had something they could use to free themselves from their ropes? Freed, she could make her way back to Colin. If there was any chance he lived, any chance at all, she wasn’t about to let it pass her by.

  “Hey,” she hissed, leaning his direction. “Hey, you!”

  She couldn’t tell in the dark whether his eyes were open or shut, though how anyone could sleep like this was beyond her ability to imagine.

  “Hey!” Louder this time.

  “Lower your voice before you bring the guards down on us.”

  Good. He was awake at least.

  “What’s that on your arm? Is it something we could use to get loose?”

  “Is she daft or just stupid?” The question floated from the other side of her neighbor.

  This was not the response she’d hoped for.

  “Do you honestly believe that if I had the means to cut these bindings, I’d still be hanging here next to you?”

  His tone sounded just a tad snotty to her. “I was only trying to help. I want out of here as much as anyone. More, even.”

  His response sounded very much like a snort.

  “Think what you want. Those bastards left my husband on the road to die. I don’t know if he’s . . . I have to get back to him.” This time she willed herself to hold back the tears. She needed to fight this, not give in like some quitter. Even with her new determination, her voice still broke when she continued. “If you had something we could use, I only . . . I only wanted to point it out.”

  When he answered her this time, his tone had changed completely. “It’s naught but a cross, my lady. A trinket given me by my sister meant for nothing more than protection.”

  “That would be spiritual protection,” the man on his other side added. “No actual protection.”

  A cross given him by his sister worn on his wrist?

  According to her visions, there was only one of those out there. If this was Colin’s kinsman, she’d have an ally to assist her in trying to get back to her husband.

  And Ellie had told her there were no coincidences when it came to Faerie Magic. Could it be that this was the Faerie way of trying to make up for having failed her back there on the road?

  “Are you Dair Maxwell?”

  Her neighbor stilled at the question. “I am. But I dinna recall having met you before, my lady. Might I ask how you come to know my name?”

  “You’re my husband’s kinsman. We were searching for you when we were attacked. They smashed Colin in the head and left him bleeding, lying there in the road. I have to get back to him.”

  “Colin? MacAlister? Yer claiming to be wife to Colin MacAlister?” The other voice again.

  “I’m not claiming anything. I am his wife. We married at Dun Ard a few days ago and then set out to find the two of you. Assuming you’re Simeon, that is?”

  Silence again.

  “Aye. Simeon MacDowell, at yer service, my lady. How badly was he wounded?”

  “How badly do you think?” Dair interjected before she could answer, his disembodied voice sounding bitter. “How badly would he have to be wounded to allow this lot to carry his woman away? It’s Col we’re speaking of.”

  “Too bad they took the wee weapon you carried at yer waist.” Simeon spoke wistfully, as if he thought aloud.

  “Too bad,” she agreed. They’d done exactly what Ellie had predicted, overpowered her and taken the knife she had worn. All the more reason for the second. . . “Shit!”

  She was an idiot. A total freaking idiot.

  “I have another one. Hold on a minute.”

  She scooted off the bucket, teetering dangerously when she landed on her feet. Her leg muscles screamed out in agony, shooting pains pulsing in every direction. A moment to make sure she wouldn’t tip over, and then she attempted to retrieve the little knife stuffed discreetly in her bodice.

  No matter how she tried, she couldn’t reach it. Her arms were too short. She couldn’t climb up onto the bucket to get closer to the rope because of the binding around her ankles.

  Someone else was going to have to retrieve her knife.

  “If you were to stand, Dair, do you think your arms would be long enough that your elbow could bend over that rope?”

  “Aye. If I could but get to my feet. Why do you ask?”

  That was it, then, her only choice.

  Shuffling bit by bit, using the limited slack available in the rope that bound her ankles, she slowly worked her way across the ground between her and Dair. Never had twelve inches felt like such a vast distance to travel.

  “Balance against me and work your way up to your feet.”

  “I’ll brace you on this side,” Simeon offered.

  “Get to yer feet, the woman says, like it’s nothing at all to accomplish.” The last of his complaint was lost in a grunted whoosh of air as he made it to his feet. “What now, my lady? What is it you need of me?”

  “There’s a knife hidden in my bodice. I can’t reach it. You’re going to have to do it for me.”

  “In . . . yer . . . bodice . . .” He repeated the words slowly, as if he didn’t really believe her.

  “Just do it.”

  She turned her head and lifted her chin trying to clear a path. His hand was cold, eliciting an involuntary shiver the instant his fingers dipped below her neckline.

  “Sorry, my lady.”

  He apologized but pressed on. His hand was large, too. Large enough it required him to work his fingers back and forth between her skin and the tightly laced bodice in his attempt to reach lower.

  “I’m no finding any—” His words bit off suddenly as his fingers brushed across her nipple. “Apologies, my lady.”

  “Under the boob.” God, could this get any more embarrassing?

  “What
?”

  She’d never heard a whisper sound strangled before. “My breast. It’s underneath my breast.”

  Was that stifled laughter she heard coming from Simeon?

  “One thing I must ask of you, my lady. When we find Colin, you must never speak of this moment. Agreed?”

  “Or if you do, make sure to give Dair a day’s head start.” Simeon was definitely laughing.

  “I never thought to see the day I’d find myself wishing for a woman with smaller breasts.”

  “Just get the damned thing.” Someday perhaps she’d be able to see the humor in this moment, too. But today was not that day.

  She lifted onto her tiptoes, offering as much access as possible, and Dair dipped lower, his fingertips at last grazing the little knife. Cautiously he worked it across her skin until he could grasp it fully.

  “Got it.”

  Once his hand was out of her dress, she dropped back onto the balls of her feet. Just in time, too. Her calf muscles were already cramping from the time spent up on her toes.

  It seemed forever before she felt the pressure of the ropes at her feet relieved. Dair shoved the little blade into the knot binding her hands and began a sawing motion, stopping when, in the dark beyond them, a stumbling, scraping noise captured their attention.

  “We canna afford to bring down the whole camp. We canna fight them all unarmed, aye?”

  With the whispered warning in her ear, Dair left the knife tangled in the rope while he and Simeon scrambled back to their spots, dropping to their knees and lifting their hands to the bindings as if they were still securely bound.

  An instant later, a figure stumbled into view. It was Fergus, her tormentor from earlier.

  “What’s this, my bonny? Did you fall from yer wee perch? Is that the noise I heard?”

  He leaned his face into Abby’s, and the smell of stale whisky turned her stomach.

  Moving her hands back and forth above her head, she continued to work the little blade against the knot that held her.

  “All strung up here, you are, yer wares finely on display like market day in Edinburgh. Makes a man hungry, it does, to taste a sample of what’s to come.”

  “Leave her alone, Fergus. I’ve warned you before.” Dair’s voice sounded positively evil coming from the shadows.

  “Pfft,” Fergus dismissed him. “You can watch if you like. I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

  He walked behind her and grabbed her skirts, lifting them and pressing his erection up against her bottom, obviously surprised when he encountered the riding pants. “What the hell?”

  The extra moment was all Abby needed. The blade broke through the knot and her hands were free. Without a thought, she ran.

  Fergus ran, too. Much faster than she’d have expected from a drunk. He tackled her from behind, bringing her down with a jarring thud.

  “I likes my women to be lively,” he said, as he pushed up to stand over the top of her. A drunken grin split his face and he grasped the hem of his plaid to lift it upward, revealing his swollen manhood.

  Beyond him, Abby could just make out the figures creeping in their direction. Dair and Simeon. They’d want to take him without any noise. All she had to do was keep Fergus distracted until they reached him.

  Clutching the little knife in her hand, she remembered her encounter with Jonathan in another forest, seven hundred years away. If it had worked once, it could work again.

  She rolled to a crouch, and the man in front of her laughed.

  “Aye, lassie, I like the idea of you on yer knees even more. Fergus has a surprise for you.”

  “And I have a surprise for you, too.” She lunged forward, slicing the little knife downward toward his thigh.

  “You whore!” he hissed, spittle flying from his mouth.

  Unlike Jonathan, Fergus moved. The blade sliced along the side of his leg, but didn’t imbed in the flesh. Instead of falling to the ground as Jonathan had, he drew back his leg and kicked.

  Abby rolled to protect herself, taking the full force of the blow in her side rather than her face. Pain, white-hot in its intensity, blazed through her chest, driving the air from her lungs as his foot connected a second time.

  “You’ll pay for that, you little—”

  His voice abruptly silenced in a snap and a gurgle. Abby could only assume her husband’s kinsmen had reached her tormentor.

  “Can you stand?”

  Dair lifted her to her feet, even as she fought to catch her breath. It felt as if the knife she’d held had been driven deep into her side with each breath she took, and only when Simeon picked up the weapon from the ground beside her was she sure she hadn’t stabbed herself.

  Within minutes, Simeon returned, the other prisoners he’d freed slipping past them to melt away into the inky night.

  Dair took her hand to pull her forward and the pain nearly doubled her over. He ran his hands quickly down her arms and around her middle.

  “Ribs,” he announced. “We’ll need a mount. She won’t be able to keep up on foot.”

  “Leave me,” she panted. “Go find Colin. See to him. These guys won’t harm me. They want me for a ransom.”

  Simeon snorted his reply before disappearing into the dark.

  “Obviously, my kinswoman, you have no concept of what yer husband would do to us if we left you behind.”

  Gently, Dair lifted her into his arms, but even gently hurt like hell.

  They waited under cover of the trees until Simeon returned, leading two horses.

  Only the knowledge that she’d know Colin’s fate within the hour was enough to get her up on that horse. Anything, even the searing pain she felt with each breath, was a small price to pay if there was any way to save him.

  Thirty-five

  It was the mother of all headaches awaiting Colin’s return to consciousness. He lay very still, knowing there was something important he should remember, something urgent, something just beyond his ability to pluck from his memory.

  An incessant buzzing plagued him, finally forcing his eyes open.

  Memories swam before him, clicking into place sharply.

  “Abby.” Her name was on his lips though he struggled to make any sound.

  He rolled to his side, struggling to push to his knees. He had to find his wife.

  “Abby!” He could hear his own voice this time. That had to be a good sign.

  His foot slid, jamming against something heavy, and he swung his head to investigate.

  Big mistake.

  The world swam around him again, the fly-infested body of the man at his feet the last thing he saw before the dark overtook him once more.

  The sun hovered halfway down beyond the horizon the second time Colin awoke. Fortunately, this time his memory returned more quickly. Very slowly, he pushed up to his knees and crawled the few feet to the nearest tree. He propped himself against it and surveyed the road while he waited for his strength to build.

  The only body he could see was that of the man he’d killed. The man’s companions likely hadn’t thought much of him to leave him there in the road.

  Of course, they’d left his body here, too.

  There was no sign of Abby. He hoped that indicated she lived. And as long as she lived, he’d find her.

  For now, he had to get off the road. If the men who’d ambushed them had been here once, they might well return.

  Using the tree for balance, he pulled himself up to stand. A wave of nausea swept over him and he bent from the waist, waiting for the sickness to pass. Once he felt strong enough, he headed into the woods, stumbling from tree to tree to keep himself upright.

  Dusk had settled over the land by the time he heard the first noises. A rustling, as if someone carelessly made his way through the brush.

  He scanned the area at his feet, searching for anything he might use as a weapon, finally deciding on a stone the size of his hand. Clutching it tightly, he dropped to his belly, inching his way forward until at last a small clea
ring lay ahead of him. There he found the intruder.

  His own horse stood next to a small stream, nibbling at the leaves of a small bush. Dried blood streaked the animal’s flank. He remembered that now. An arrow. It had caused his horse to rear, unseating him.

  He waited, overly cautious perhaps, to make sure the animal was the only occupant of the clearing. Satisfied at last, he again pushed himself to his feet and joined his mount at the bank of the stream.

  Dropping again to his knees, he dunked his head in the cold water. Once, twice, a third time, the swirling waters carried the last traces of his blood away.

  For once he was thankful for his Faerie heritage. Without it, he’d likely have died of his wounds. As it was, he’d live. He’d live to find Abby or her murderers. If the latter, he’d pluck their eyes from their heads and stuff them down their throats.

  The vision gave him determination and with that determination, strength.

  With the discovery of his horse, he had the means to travel. Now he needed only to decide where to travel to.

  Considering where they’d been assaulted, the attackers were likely MacDougall’s men, waiting to pick off any of Robert’s stragglers who might try to turn back to escape the ambush awaiting them at King’s Field. That being the case, any captives would likely be taken to the MacDougall stronghold, Dunstaffnage.

  The likelihood of his success if he single-handedly stormed the keep at Dunstaffnage? None at all. He could not do this alone. Then again, he wouldn’t have to.

  His brother Andrew resided not too far from the MacDougall castle. He needed only to make his way to MacQuarrie Keep. From there he could send a messenger to Dun Ard, requesting that his laird send men to assist him in confronting the MacDougall.

  He pulled himself up onto his horse and set out. If he kept his distance from the main road, he should be able to avoid any other men the MacDougalls or their allies the MacNabs had left on watch. If he rode hard, by this time tomorrow he would reach MacQuarrie Keep.

  For now, he wouldn’t allow himself to consider how his laird would react to his request for men. He wouldn’t think on whether or not Abby had been hurt in the ambush. For now, he would simply concentrate on his plan and on staying on his mount.