by Katy Baker
The Murray forces formed a pike wall and turned to defend the entrance to the causeway. Iron tipped pikes, longer than a man, bristled in a thicket that would skewer any horse foolish enough to try to jump it. So, as Quinn, Robert and the others reached the line, they kicked their feet free of the stirrups and leapt from the saddle, hitting the ground in a roll and coming up with swords swinging.
The pike wall was too ungainly to bring the weapons to bear quickly against the MacFarlane warriors. Quinn swung his sword, cutting cleanly through a row of three pikes and slammed into a warrior, knocking him to the ground and moving on to the man behind.
The Murray line buckled under the MacFarlane onslaught. All around him Quinn heard the clang and clamor of battle. The shouting of men, the clash of weapons, the tramp of feet, but he didn't dare spare a glance for his comrades. All his attention was focused on the foes in front of him.
Realizing their pike wall had failed, the Murrays threw down the ungainly weapons and drew their swords instead. Quinn ducked under the swinging blade of a shaven-headed warrior and then caught the next downswing on his own sword with a clang of metal. Pivoting to his left, he brought his sword around in an arc and ran the man through. He yanked his sword from the man's body as he fell and spun to meet his next opponent.
Quinn’s world shrank to the tiny space around him in which he fought. He kicked, punched, parried with his blade and cut down any who stood in his way. A thought kept going round and round in his head, driving him on.
Must reach the gates. Must reach the gates.
Soon his lungs were burning and sweat was dripping down his forehead into his eyes. He dashed it away angrily and looked around for his next opponent. All around him Murray warriors lay groaning on the ground. Some would never rise again and Quinn was sorry for that but they knew what the price might be when they rode against Dunbreggan. A space had cleared around him and he took the time to get his bearings.
He’d managed to fight his way through the line of Murray warriors and was halfway along the causeway. And he was alone. He’d fought clear of his comrades who were engaged in battles of their own further back. Ahead of him was a line of hostile warriors with weapons bristling.
The end of the causeway was in sight and through the besiegers Quinn could see the gates of Dunbreggan. Thankfully, they still held although that wouldn't be the case for much longer if they didn't stop that battering ram.
Quinn raised his sword over his head and bellowed at the top of his voice, "To me! Warriors of MacFarlane, to me!"
With a roar they answered him. Robert, Fraser and two dozen others dispatched their opponents and surged towards him. Quinn felt carried up on their battle cry and he turned, howling his fury, and led his men, his brother at his side, to crash in to the Murray lines that were assaulting the gates of their home.
Quinn fought with redoubled fury. Must reach the gates, his thoughts went round and round. He looked intently at the face of each man he fought, hoping to come across John de Clare but he didn't see him anywhere.
"Where is yer leader?" he shouted at a Murray warrior as they traded sword blows. "Where is John de Clare?"
The man didn't bother to answer. His attention was focused on deflecting Quinn’s attack. Quinn dropped to the ground, spun with one leg out, and took the warrior’s legs out from under him. Then he dispatched him with a quick thrust to the gut.
"Where is John de Clare?" he bellowed at the next man.
"How should I know?" The man grunted. "I'm the man’s warrior, not his nursemaid!"
"Quinn!" bellowed Robert. "The gates!"
The battering ram thudded into the gates with an ear shattering boom. To Quinn’s horror the gates split, sending splinters of wood showering over the attackers.
But if the attackers thought that breaking the gates meant taking the castle, they were in for a surprise. The garrison that Robert had left to defend Dunbreggan poured out of the breach, weapons swinging. A melee erupted, fierce close-quarter fighting that left no room for mercy.
"To the gates!" Quinn bellowed. "Don't let them get inside the bailey!"
His men redoubled their efforts and fought furiously. At last they reached the end of the causeway and threw themselves into the fierce fighting in front of the gates. Quinn lost all track of time. His world became one of screaming muscles, glittering blades, the stink of sweat and the clash of weapons.
But then suddenly, finally, there were no more enemies to fight. Quinn found himself face-to-face with the defenders right outside the breached gates. In a daze, he stumbled to a halt and turned. The Murray warriors were fleeing along the causeway and back up into the hills. The MacFarlane warriors jumped onto their mounts to harry them as they fled and ensure they left MacFarlane lands.
Panting, Quinn leaned on his sword. Robert staggered up, looking as exhausted as Quinn felt, followed by Fraser and then Dougal.
“Well met, my lord,” said Cameron, the captain of the castle garrison. He sported a cut along his forehead but seemed otherwise unharmed. "They came without warning but we managed to get the villagers inside the castle before they arrived. Thank the Lord ye arrived before they managed to breach the gates."
Robert clapped the man on the shoulder. "Thank the Lord indeed. And thank ye and yer men as well for yer quick thinking and bravery. We'll go to the main hall where we'll take tally of the casualties." He smiled wryly. "A cup or two of ale wouldn't go amiss either."
The ruined gates were opened and Robert led the way back into Dunbreggan. Quinn was exhausted. His limbs felt like they were made of lead. And yet, at the same time, excitement bubbled in his stomach. Darcy would be waiting for him. He couldn't wait to take her in his arms and then carry her up to their chamber and spend a good while showing her how much he’d missed her.
As Robert led the victorious warriors into the outer bailey a cheer went up. People thronged the courtyard and the battlements, all waving and calling out greetings to the returning warriors. Quinn’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for one face.
At the top of the steps leading to the keep stood Rebecca and Lily. Darcy wasn’t with them. Where could she be? Probably tending to some sick animal knowing Darcy. Still, he would soon hold her in his arms and everything would be all right.
He, Robert and Fraser made their way up the steps. Rebecca threw her arms around her husband and Lily greeted her betrothed in a similar fashion. Then the two women turned to Quinn with a look on their faces that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
“Quinn, I’m so sorry,” Rebecca murmured, laying a hand on his arm.
“Sorry? For what?” He looked around again. “Where’s Darcy?”
Rebecca shook her head. “They took her. De Clare took her.”
Quinn’s blood went cold. His heart was suddenly thundering against his ribs. It was all he could do to croak out, “Where? When?”
“Just before the siege began,” Rebecca replied. “She went back to find William. The boy managed to escape but Darcy was captured. We don’t know what’s become of her. Quinn, I-”
Quinn didn’t hear the rest of Rebecca’s words. He was already sprinting back down the steps, bellowing for his horse. Robert and Fraser caught him before he’d even made it to the causeway. They ran beside him, keeping time with his urgent stride.
“Don’t try and stop me, brother,” Quinn growled at him. “I’ll nae rest until I find her.”
“I wasnae gonna try and stop ye, brother,” Robert replied. He shared a look with Fraser. “We’re coming with ye. De Clare must be made to pay for this.”
Quinn met his brother’s stern gaze and nodded. Together the three of them jogged back across the causeway to where their horses were being held by grooms. They swung into the saddle, spun their mounts and charged off.
Quinn could barely think for the blood roaring in his ears. If anything befell Darcy...
He wouldn’t let it. She was his woman. His love. He would rescue her or die in the attempt. It was as s
imple as that.
Chapter 18
DARCY GRITTED HER TEETH as the motion of the trotting horse made her bounce around like a sack of potatoes. Her back ached and she was sure some of her teeth must be loose from the endless jolting.
John de Clare took no notice of her discomfort. She sat in the saddle in front of him, wrists tied, gripping the pommel for dear life. John de Clare himself was a cold, hard presence at her back. He didn't speak to her. In fact, the only time he opened his mouth was to bark orders at his men.
They’d ridden hastily south along the shores of the loch, and ironically along almost the same route that Darcy had taken when she had fled Dunbreggan. They'd encountered not a soul. All the crofters roundabout had been evacuated into the castle and Quinn’s force was further east, riding for the spot where they believed the Murray army waited for them.
Which was a trick, of course.
Darcy's stomach turned over as she thought of Dunbreggan under siege. Was everyone safe? Had the gates held? How was Rebecca? Lily? William? If anything happened to them she didn't know what she would do.
And then there was Quinn. Her heart ached at the thought of him. She had to force herself not to keep glancing over her shoulder, hoping to spot him galloping after them.
Will I ever see him again? Darcy asked herself. She pressed her lips into a hard, flat line. Of course I will! She told herself savagely. I'll get out of this somehow and find my way back to him. Remember the brigands on the road? I got out of that all right didn't I? This will be no different.
The thought steadied her a little and she forced herself to look around, trying to figure out where they might be headed. But the Highlands spread out around her, purple and green under the summer sun, and she could see no landmarks to speak of.
"Where are we going?" she asked John de Clare.
She'd asked this question countless times and he'd ignored her each time so she was surprised when he said, "My stronghold, of course."
"You realize Quinn and Robert will be coming after us you don't you?"
"Oh, I'll be counting on it."
The coldness in his voice made her shiver. "Why? What have you gained from any of this?"
His hand tightened on the reins. “Vengeance. The MacFarlanes took everything from me. Because of them I was left a destitute beggar, stripped of all but my name. I’ve worked for years to repair the damage they did to me. And my resurrection will be complete when I drive my sword through Robert and Quinn MacFarlane's hearts."
A shot of fear went through Darcy. The man talked about killing Quinn and Robert as easily as if he was discussing the weather.
"You killed their elder brother," she said. "Isn't that vengeance enough?"
"Enough?" he barked. "It will never be enough! Quinn MacFarlane escaped me that day. He won’t escape again.”
"And then what?" She forced herself to ask. "Say you do manage to take vengeance on the MacFarlane brothers? You think it will end there? The feud between the Murrays and the MacFarlanes will only escalate. Their people die. Your people will die. How can that benefit anyone?"
"Enough talking!" he snapped.
He kicked his horse into a canter and Darcy was forced to cling onto the saddle pommel even harder lest she lose her seating and go crashing to the ground.
The loch shone off to her left, glimmering silver in the sunlight. Darcy found herself gazing at it, almost mesmerized. Then something caught her eye. There was a reflection in the water. The reflection of a tall creature. Darcy's head whipped around and there, sure enough, a red deer was stood on an outcrop of rock, watching them pass. She didn't seem afraid of this group of armed men passing so close below. Her liquid eyes tracked them as they moved and Darcy could have sworn her eyes were fixed on Darcy herself.
"Did you see that?" Darcy asked.
"I saw nothing," John de Clare growled. "And I said no more talking!"
Darcy craned her head to look over de Clare’s shoulder. She could make out the rocky outcrop but nothing stood there now. She shook her head. It hadn't been her imagination, she was sure of it. It was a red deer with a white stripe down its nose.
Just like the one she’d followed through the stone arch and back in time five hundred years.
Despite the long ride John de Clare and his men didn't stop to rest. Darcy's body felt like one long ache and her throat was parched. Despite this, she started to drowse in the saddle. She was jolted out of her stupor by a sudden cry.
"What's that?"
Her eyes flew open to see one of the men pulling his horse roughly to the right, out of the way of the creature standing calmly in their path.
The red deer.
It stood there, nose twitching as it watched them, large eyes scanning the group. Then it turned and bounded away.
One of the men untied his bow from his saddle and looked around eagerly.
John de Clare scowled at the man. "We don't have the time to go hunting, you fool! Put the bow away!"
The man frowned at his leader but did as he was bid without argument. De Clare gave the signal and they broke into a canter once more. Darcy was beginning to lose hope of Quinn catching them before they crossed into Murray lands. De Clare was relentless and they traveled swiftly, and with a head start. Even if Quinn was following, even if he was driving his horse to exhaustion, he still wouldn't be able to catch them.
Don't think like that, Darcy told herself. Quinn will come. He will.
"Look!"
One of the men was pointing towards the loch. A white mist was rising from the water. It rose like steam from a bubbling kettle and coalesced to form a thick white blanket hanging low over the surface. Then, as Darcy watched in fascination, the fog began to move. The breeze blew it inland towards Darcy and de Clare. The fog spilled over the shore of the loch and up over the surrounding heathland.
Wispy white tendrils touched Darcy's skin and hair, leaving tiny droplets of water behind. In only moments the Highlands and even the loch itself had disappeared, enveloped in whiteness. Around her, de Clare’s men became indistinct shadows.
“What is this?" De Clare growled. "Sea fog on a loch? I've never heard the like." He scanned around, searching for his men. "All of you, in a line! Stay close! If anyone gets lost I'm not coming back to find you!"
"We can't keep moving in this!" one of his men replied. "We could easily lose our way, get turned around and end up going back the way we came!"
"Or worse," another man called. "We might tumble down one of the hills and into the loch. I canna swim!”
“We keep moving!" De Clare bellowed. "You'll do as you’re ordered, damn you!"
Grumbling under their breath, the men did as they were told. They formed a line, each rider moving in single file with the nose of each horse to the rump of the one in front. They moved at a snail's pace. Any faster and they risked losing each other in the thick white fog.
Darcy’s mind raced. Could she somehow use this to her advantage? Could she slip from the saddle and run? Would she be able to lose herself in the fog and find a hiding place where John de Clare wouldn't find her?
"Don't get any ideas, girl," he growled in her ear. "Any hint of disobedience from you and I'll tie you up and sling you across the back of my horse. Clear?"
“Clear," Darcy said through gritted teeth.
So much for a chance at escape. De Clare would be watching her even closer from now on.
Please hurry, Quinn, Darcy thought desperately. Because this advantage won't last forever.
QUINN RODE LIKE A MAN possessed. John de Clare had made no effort to hide his trail. He wanted Quinn to follow. Quinn knew very well that this was a trap he was riding straight into. He didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting Darcy back safely.
The thought of her in danger made his stomach clench with fear. If de Clare harmed her...
He gritted his teeth, pushing that thought away. Mud flew from beneath his horse’s hooves as he thundered down a rise, Robert and Fraser close be
hind.
He had to catch up with de Clare before he passed into Murray territory. If he did that de Clare would have the full backing of Murray forces and Quinn would find himself trying to orchestrate a rescue in hostile lands.
But he was beginning to despair of catching them in time. De Clare had a significant head start and from the width of the horses’ hoof prints Quinn could tell that they were moving very quickly indeed. De Clare wouldn't care if he killed the horses in his mad dash to safety. Just as long as he got home with his prize that was all that would matter to that snake of a man.
"Brother!" Robert called. "Watch out!"
Quinn looked up to see a deer standing directly in the path of his horse. It didn't bolt as he approached, just stood there calmly watching him. With a cry, Quinn yanked at the reins, sending his horse veering off to the left, avoiding the beast. As he thundered past, Quinn glanced over his shoulder and realized that not only had the deer not ran from the men, but that it was now shadowing them, matching their pace easily just a few paces to the left.
The hairs rose on the back of Quinn's neck. Thoughts of Irene MacAskill entered unbidden into his mind. He'd been thinking of the strange old woman more and more lately.
What do ye want, Quinn? She had asked him. He'd been unable to answer at the time. Now, if she asked the question again, his answer would be easy. I want Darcy. I want a simple life with a wife and bairns.
"What's that up ahead?" called Fraser suddenly.
He was pointing to the loch. Several leagues away to the south, a mist had gathered above the water. It boiled up from the loch and covered the shore and the hills beyond. It was many miles away yet but if it didn't dissipate soon they'd be forced to ride through it.
"Would ye look at that?" shouted Fraser. "I've never seen the like! It'll make riding pretty damned difficult!"
"Aye, it will," Quinn agreed. "For de Clare as well as for us. Unless I miss my guess, the head start de Clare had would put him right about where that fog has developed."
