She paused beneath the spreading branches of a large yew until her eyes adjusted to the damp, earthy-smelling darkness of the wood, then strode toward the horses as fast as she dared. They stood quietly, only one bothering to glance her way and whicker softly in greeting.
At the noise, Robbie squirmed in her arms. “Are we going to steal a horse?” he piped, obviously forgetting his promise to keep quiet.
Linnet clamped her hand over Robbie’s mouth and froze, fear of discovery sending her heart straight to her throat.
A great bear of a man slept nearby, his head resting on a saddle, his slack mouth emitting a sputtering chorus of snores.
Praise be the saints he slept on.
Unfortunately, his resting place was but a few steps away from her chosen mount, a fleet-footed courser she’d had her eye on.
Linnet eyed the proud-looking horse again, weighing her chances, but when the man groaned and rolled onto his side, she abandoned any and all designs she’d had on the courser and lifted Robbie onto the bare back of the nearest beast, a gentle-eyed palfrey.
The only horse among the lot who appeared to be long of tooth and swaybacked.
It scarce mattered. With a last glance at the sleeping giant and a silent warning to Robbie to keep still, she used the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree as a mounting block and scrambled up behind him. Sliding an arm about his waist, she drew him against her. To her immense relief, he appeared calm.
Would that she were calm.
Ne’er had she ridden without a saddle.
Truth to tell, she doubted she could, ancient-looking nag or nay.
At least the beast wore bridle gear. Saving her relief over that particular blessing for another time, she took the reins in her free hand and urged the horse forward.
God willing, the palfrey possessed a stout enough heart to carry them a goodly distance before Kenneth regained his senses and discovered them gone.
19
duncan reined in his mount as soon as he spied Sir Marmaduke galloping his horse down the slope of a nearby hill, thundering back from his scouting foray with a speed greater than if all the hounds of hell were upon his heels.
Such haste bode ill, and Duncan wasn’t wont to ride ahead and hear dire tidings a moment sooner than necessary.
Then the Sassunach was upon him, jerking his steed to an abrupt halt before Duncan’s. “They are not among them,” he reported, dragging his arm across his damp brow.
The words hit Duncan with the ferocity of a well-executed blow to the gut. He stared hard at Sir Marmaduke, searching for a sign, any evidence his friend was mistaken.
Sadly, he found no such indication.
Sir Marmaduke sat straight in his saddle, the expression on his scarred face, stony… grim. Further, his mount’s heaving sides and sweat-lathered coat bespoke the truth of his words, gave proof of the urgency with which he’d hastened back with his grave news.
Duncan’s heart—the selfsame one he nigh wished he’d ne’er rediscovered for the suffering it now brought him—lurched cruelly within his chest.
“You are certain?”
The Sassunach nodded, and Duncan knew what it was like to die.
Anger, rage, and stark terror—a darker fear than he’d ever known—consumed him. Dread welled up inside him until he almost gagged, and a red haze of fury clouded his vision, near blinding him.
When the haze cleared, he felt naught. Not the agony of his still-fresh and aching wounds, nor the jagged shards of fierce pain lancing through his very soul.
“How far?” he asked, his tone flat… cold.
“A short ride. The whoresons yet sleep, with but a few seasoned men, I can dispatch them with ease.”
“‘I’?” Duncan pushed up in his stirrups and leaned towards his friend. “Think you I would allow other men to avenge the taking of my wife, my child? Whilst I stand peaceably aside? God’s blood, ’tis dead they may be, now, as we speak!”
Clamping his mouth shut, Marmaduke wheeled his horse to face the line of grim-faced MacKenzie warriors. “’Tis by the good Lord’s grace, your laird has ridden thus far without sliding from his saddle.” He shot a reproachful look at Duncan. “His wounds bleed anew, and his anger, justified though it may be, dulls his senses. Should he continue, should he fight, we may lose him.”
Duncan eyed his men and waited.
Not a one spoke.
“I was asked to ride ahead and locate Kenneth’s camp,” Marmaduke went on undaunted, his tone compelling. “I have done so. The lady Linnet and Robbie are not there.”
He raised a hand for silence when angry words rose from the gathered men. “That does not mean aught has befallen them. I propose some of you accompany me to exact our revenge. The remainder, including Duncan, shall stay behind and search for them.”
Again, thick silence met his words.
“Fergus,” he called, ‘’tis a wise man you are. What say you?”
Once more, Duncan waited. Only this time he held his breath. Fergus was e’er fond of gainsaying him. But the old goat sat firm, his bony shoulders thrust back, the glint in his hawklike eyes, fierce.
“Well?” Sir Marmaduke prodded.
Fergus edged his mount a few steps forward, then spat on the ground. “I say you have a bonnie way with words, and yer a good man, but Scotsman ye ain’t.”
To a man, the clansmen roared their approval, and Duncan let out his pent-up breath.
“So be it,” the Sassunach conceded. Duncan thought he heard him mutter something about a “band of stubborn fools” before he grudgingly bid all follow, spurred his horse, then tore off in the direction whence he’d come.
They’d covered but a few leagues before Sir Marmaduke signaled a halt. “They are there.” He indicated a thick wood in the distance. “Their camp is—”
Duncan dug his knees into his horse’s sides, not waiting to hear more. He gave his mount its head, allowing the swift courser to charge unrestrained toward the enemy camp.
His men chased after him in fast pursuit while he pressed onward, not even slowing as his horse plunged into the trees. Branches slapped into him, one almost unseating him, but he rode on, spurring his mount until the great beast burst into a clearing.
Kenneth sprawled near the smoldering fire. Roaring his fury, Duncan kicked his horse in the sides, driving the courser straight at the bastard. He reined in at the last possible moment, and so sharply, the animal reared, its powerful front legs cleaving the air.
Now fully awake, Kenneth scrambled wildly to the side, barely avoiding the horse’s hooves as they slammed into the earth where he’d lain a mere heartbeat before.
Heedless of the screaming agony of his reopened wounds, Duncan flung himself from his saddle. “Here’s a foretaste of hell, you bastard,” he swore, kicking hot ash into Kenneth’s face.
The bastard yelped and scooted backward. “You’ve blinded me, you son of whore!” he bellowed, grinding his fists into his eyes.
“Nay, he has not, but I shall,” Sir Marmaduke corrected, swinging down from his own steed and drawing his sword. “’Twill be a fitting revenge. For myself and for my lady wife, whose blood stains your foul hands.”
“Awaken, you fools! Seize them!” Kenneth called frantically to his men. Still scooting backward, he clawed at his eyes. “Kill them! My whoreson brother before his bawd’s very eyes!”
Several of the men stirred and groped for their weapons, but the thundering sound of approaching horses stilled them. “Cuidich’ N’ Righ!” Duncan’s men cried as their horses crashed through the underbrush. “Save the king!” they repeated, their swords drawn and ready.
“Cowards!” Kenneth cursed his men, squinting furiously at them, fumbling wildly for the dagger tucked beneath his belt. “Can you not see the bastards mean to kill me?”
Duncan slammed down his foot on Kenneth’s left arm. “’Tis you who are the bastard, and ’tis blinded you are to be, not killed. Your fate is Sir Marmaduke’s call, not mine. I will not soil my han
ds by taking the life of my own father’s seed, much as you deserve to die.”
“E’er the noble,” Kenneth sneered, his voice dripping contempt. “Yet you’d have my eyes put out whilst you pin me down?”
Duncan ground his foot into the bastard’s arm. “Tell me what you’ve done with my wife and child, and you’ll be allowed to stand and fight like a man.”
“I’ve done naught with them,” Kenneth rasped. “Take the prickly wench and the snot-nosed brat. ’Tis more trouble they make than they’re worth.”
Duncan dug his heel into Kenneth’s arm until the bone cracked with a sickening snapping noise. “Where are they?”
“You’ve broke my arm!” Kenneth howled, writhing on the ground.
“Cease shrieking like a fishwife and answer me,” Duncan roared. “Where—are—they?”
“Have you grown as blind as the one-eyed worm you call friend? The sharp-tongued ogress and the whelp yet sleep by yon tree,” he sputtered, nodding toward a tall birch at the edge of the clearing.
A tattered and soiled blanket lay on the ground at the base of the tree… nothing else.
Kenneth’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “What witchery is this? They were there,” he stammered. “I vow they we—”
Duncan’s anger surged. “Do not insult me with the worthlessness of your word. If my lady or the child bear one mark, I shall forget my honor and slice you to ribbons.”
Barely keeping his temper in check, Duncan withdrew his foot and stepped back. Glancing at Sir Marmaduke, he said, “Give him a sword and do with him what you will. But make haste. I would that we scour every hillock and vale for my wife and son.”
One of Duncan’s men stepped forward with a spare blade, but Kenneth sprang to his feet, shoved the man aside, and lunged at Duncan just as he turned away. “’Tis you who’ll die this day,” he cried, raising his dirk.
His face contorted in rage, he made to plunge the dagger into Duncan, but the blade slipped from his hand, tumbling to the ground as Kenneth doubled over, a bloodied sword protruding from his gut.
His eyes bulged, already glazing, as he gaped, disbelieving, at Duncan. “I’ll wait for you in hell,” he wheezed, then fell silent.
Behind him, Sir Marmaduke withdrew his blade, allowing Kenneth’s body to topple to the ground. “I would’ve much preferred taking his sight,” he said simply, wiping the blood from his sword with the edge of his tunic.
To Duncan’s great surprise, he felt a flicker of remorse, a twinge of sadness, if only for the youthful companion his half brother had once been. But the feeling was gone as soon as it had come, replaced by the more urgent need to find Linnet and Robbie.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the clearing, and Duncan’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword. He scanned the faces of Kenneth’s men. Some appeared stunned, others showed no emotion at all. None seemed bent on avenging their leader’s death.
“Where is my lady?” he asked, his tone icy.
“’Tis the God’s truth Kenneth told you,” a giant of a man spoke up, hitching his ill-fitting braies into place as he stepped from the trees. “Stole a horse, yer lady wife did,” he added. “They must have escaped in the night.”
Relief washed over Duncan, swelling his throat and making his heart slam roughly against his ribs. “The men you lost whilst attacking my castle shall serve to avenge the lives of my crofters. Should any of you care to seek revenge for Kenneth’s death, step forth now,” he challenged Kenneth’s men as soon as he could speak. “Otherwise, cast down your weapons and be gone. You may go in peace. But be warned, if e’er you set foot on MacKenzie land again, you will not live to regret your mistake.”
One by one, Kenneth’s men nodded humbly, relinquished their arms, and departed. When the last one was gone, Duncan turned to Fergus. “See he is properly laid to rest,” he ordered, glancing briefly at Kenneth’s still form.
To the rest of his men, he added, “We shall search without cease until we find my lady and child. Pray God they are unharmed.”
She’d taken the wrong direction.
For hours, it seemed, they’d ridden in circles, covering a great distance but going nowhere. Linnet’s frustration reached unbearable proportions as her surprisingly able mount carried them past the same landmarks… over and over again.
Let the plague take her if her ineptness caused them to fall back into Kenneth’s hands!
Then, just when the shards of her dwindling hope began to give way to desperation, riders crested a far-off ridge. They rode slowly, obviously searching, scanning the landscape.
Linnet’s breath caught in her throat, and sheer joy filled her to bursting. ’Twas Duncan. Even at such a distance, she could tell. He’d come for them at last. And with him, what appeared to be his entire household.
Nay, their household, for ne’er had she felt more a MacKenzie than at this moment as her husband shielded his eyes and pointed in their direction before tearing down the hill toward them.
“Robbie, we’re saved! ’Tis your father,” she cried, kicking the palfrey into a swift canter. “Hold on, laddie, we’ll soon be home.”
Impatient to reach Duncan, Linnet repeatedly dug her heels into the horse’s sides. When a rock-strewn burn suddenly loomed up out of nowhere, ’twas too late to swerve, too late to do aught before the palfrey sailed across the stream, flinging them both from its back.
“Nay!” The denial ripped from Duncan’s throat as he witnessed Linnet and Robbie hurtle through the air, then plummet to the ground… his lady onto a grassy embankment, his son headfirst onto the ground near a large boulder.
Dizzy with horror, sick with dread, he spurred his horse toward where they lay, still and unmoving, near the innocent-looking burn that might have brought about what Kenneth had failed to do: rob him of his loved ones… his life.
His men rode heavy behind him, but his was the first horse to plunge into the burn. Duncan swung down from his saddle midstream. “Linnet! Robbie!” He crashed through the rushing waters, his chest so tight with anguish he could scarce breathe.
When he reached them, he took one quick look at Robbie then tore his gaze away, unable to bear the sight of the lad, his body limp and twisted, his head resting at an odd angle against a large rock. Terror and remorse clawed at his insides, killing him as surely as Kenneth’s dagger would have done had the blade sank into his heart.
Bending over Linnet, he grabbed fistfuls of her cloak and buried his face in the silken warmth of her hair. “God in heaven don’t let them be dead,” he pleaded, his voice thick with pain. “Dinna take them from me now.”
“Duncan?”
His wife’s voice, faint but oh-so-precious, reached through his grief, a shining beacon spilling light onto the darkness threatening to consume him.
If she’d survived the fall, mayhap Robbie had, too.
Unable to stand it otherwise, and his throat too constricted for him to speak, Duncan scooped them both into his arms, holding them as tightly as he dared, willing them whole.
He had no idea how long he held them thusly, but of a sudden the pounding of horses’ hooves, the sound of splashing water, and a chaos of men’s raised voices was all around them.
“Have a care, laddie, or would you squeeze them to death?” Fergus scolded, reining in beside them.
The old man’s voice held a peculiar note, causing Duncan to glance up at him. “Close yer mouth, boy,” Fergus snapped, wiping a tear from his leathery cheek. “Or have you ne’er seen a man show his feelings? ’Tis something I’d hoped you’d learned by now.”
Learned by now?
Saints a-mercy, could the old fool not see the tears swimming in Duncan’s own eyes?
Did he not ken Duncan held his dear ones so fiercely because he feared what he might see when he released them?
Dreaded he might discover Robbie’s chest no longer rose and fell with the sweet breath o’ life?
“’Tis hurting me, you are,” Linnet breathed, her words so
soft he scarce heard her. “Let me see Robbie,” she urged, her voice stronger.
Duncan released her at once, then watched, his fear a cold weight on his shoulders, as she slowly pushed to a sitting position and eased Robbie onto her lap. Gently, she smoothed her fingers over an ugly bluish lump on the boy’s forehead.
Then a tiny smile curved her lips.
Before Duncan could digest what the fleeting smile meant, she clutched his arm. “We must be gone from here, Kenneth could be upon us any moment.”
“Kenneth is dead,” Duncan said, his half brother’s fate far from his mind as he continued to stare at the knot on Robbie’s head. The lad’s eyes were closed, his face, pale and waxen. And, saints preserve him, his wee chest still.
Too still.
’Twas just as he’d feared.
With great effort, Duncan tore his gaze from the boy, his heart unwilling to accept what his eyes would have him believe. “Is he… will he live?” he forced himself to ask. “Can you… can you see if my son will live?”
His wife returned his penetrating stare, a question of her own in her eyes. “Did you say your son?”
“Aye, my son,” Duncan said, his voice loud and bold, as if he’d dare any and all gathered round them to deny it. “He is my son no matter from whose loins he is sprung.”
No sooner were the words spoken than Linnet’s eyes filled with tears. She gave him a wobbly smile and simply stared at him, her lower lip trembling, whilst his men pressed closer, the lot of them making all kinds of womanish noises.
Sniffles and snorts.
Babble.
Duncan glared at them, then wished he hadn’t.
There wasn’t a dry eye amongst them.
He looked back at his wife. “I asked you a question. I would that you answer it.”
“And I shall. With the greatest pleasure. Robbie will live. I have seen and am certain.” She paused, beaming at him. “Your son will live.”
A great resounding cheer rose from his men, and it was a good thing, for Duncan himself was speechless. The heart he’d been cursing but hours before swelled to a most painful degree, and the tears he’d been trying not to shed flowed freely down his cheeks.
Devil in a Kilt Page 33
