by Beth Trissel
“Pilfered it from m’ chapel. And nae.”
Morley wasn’t budging and neither was that stole. She’d expected him to flaunt it at her, to wave the coveted possession while keeping it just out of reach. Enough for Fergus to snag—but no.
Desperation surged in her. There was nothing for it other than to play her trump card.
All thoughts on Uncle Ru, she said, “Fine. This map is a fake anyway.”
If Fergus overheard, he must think she’d run mad.
Morley arched reddish brows at her. “How so? ’Tis the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Since when were you the first at any prime info?” She tapped her chest. “Me, Morley. I’m the one who ferrets this stuff out. The map’s meant to mislead us from the true site.”
“’Tis an aged document. Genuine,” he reasoned.
“Yes. The parchment dates back to the 14th century. And you don’t think a Templar Knight might have purposely deceived us?”
“I suppose ye know sech a knight?” he scoffed.
She eyed him as if he’d missed the obvious. “Of course.”
“Indeed? And now ye know where the treasure really is?”
“Yes. Information I’ll exchange for the stole.”
“And I should believe you because?”
Uncle Ru, Uncle Ru, she repeated like a mantra, blocking all other images. “You aren’t as smart as you think. I’m a fricking genius in comparison. Always did get there before you.”
A wicked smile showed perfect white teeth. “Aye, ye did that. Useful to me.”
“I’m through being useful,” she hissed, throwing down the map to emphasize its worthlessness. “And I’m not telling you a damn thing until you hand over that stole.”
He hesitated, as if considering whether the deed might be done and just as quickly undone. The arrogance she’d anticipated curled his lip. His face flushed in a telltale sign. “Always did have too sharp a tongue in yer mouth, ye harpy.”
But he didn’t stop with the insult. Drunk on power, he loosened the stole and waved one long end at her. Ye want this? Come and take it from me.”
No need.
A length of plaited leather lashed—cracking—from behind the Rowan tree and whipped the cloth from Morley’s hands. Much as he’d snatched it from Uncle Ru. Fergus must have jerked for all he was worth, empowered from above. A shimmer flashed through the mist like rainbows on lake water. Morley’s vaulted ego had cost him dearly and shock starred his eyes. He swung from Beezus to charge after his treasure.
Too late.
No opportunity for fire arrows. But Fergus was a step ahead of him, trapping the stole under his foot. Lighter in hand, he flipped it and touched the tiny spark to the cloth. Then sprang back. It went up in flames as if drenched in kerosene. A burnt offering.
Her soaring relief plummeted to dread at Morley’s fury, like a bull pawing the ground before it lowered its horns.
“You.” He leveled his narrow gaze at Fergus, and drew the broadsword from over his shoulder.
“Who else?” Determination in every line of his face, Fergus activated his lightsaber and launched himself at Morley.
Green light glowed from the luminous blade. As before, with Red MacDonald, he dodged the lethal sword swinging at him. He pivoted and leapt across the whistling steel. Then caught Morley off guard and drove the taser into his gut.
The big man bellowed, but didn’t go down on his knees. Again, Fergus attacked in a garish sizzle. He unleashed the full power of the taser, sparing Morley nothing.
Any normal man would writhe on the ground, or lie unconscious at this point.
Not Morley. He fought like a bull on crack. The taser didn’t halt him. Was he still empowered from the stole? Battling the Red MacDonald was bad enough, but he didn’t have super powers as Morley still seemed to.
Fergus side-stepped another stroke. Morley swung again. Though Fergus evaded the deadly point, the flat of the blade caught him and flung him to the bracken. He lay sprawled on his back gulping like a stranded fish.
If the taser didn’t work on this menace, maybe her knife would. Beezus closed her fingers around the dagger, snatched up her skirts, and ran at him—right as the MacDonalds tore whooping from the trees, sweeping her aside. She collided with a trunk. Hard. And it took her a winded moment to recover. Not one of the men bolting past her tried to take her prisoner. Did they assume Morley had gotten what he wanted, or figured they’d capture her later?
Either way, a fierce cry greeted them from MacKenzies coming furiously to life. Grunts, howls, and the clang of metal erupted behind her.
She shook off the knock and pelted ahead. Let the others battle it out. Morley was hers. And she doubted any of his men would object to his demise.
Niall sprinted past her, sword in hand. “Allow me, Beezus!”
She paused at the clash of steel. Morley swung so hard Niall staggered back. He spun around and rushed back at his arch nemesis. Again, the two men came together. Again, Niall was sent reeling. Then disarmed. This wasn’t possible. Niall was an expert swordsman. The effects of the stole had to wear off soon. Morley wasn’t the Hulk. Rage couldn’t fuel him indefinitely.
Fergus rallied and scrambled to his feet. He dove at Morley, his lightsaber glowing with renewed promise. A slash of Morley’s blade and the taser was no more. Fergus threw down the broken lightsaber and grabbed his whip.
He was no match for this monster without a superior weapon, preferably an AK-47. In a moment, Beezus had an arrow on the string.
Calum didn’t wait for her to send it winging into Morley’s heart. Or Fergus to wield the whip. Or Niall to recover his blade.
Sword upraised, Calum hammered toward him on sturdy legs in green trews. “Ye want to fight a MacKenzie! Try this one!”
Beezus recoiled at the invitation. That smirk at Morley’s lips—it was as if he knew what was at stake. Terrible thought. Maybe he did.
Calum held his own on the first swing, even drove Morley back with the second and third blow. Or maybe that’s what Morley wanted him to think. Niall was running at them when it happened. How, she didn’t clearly see in the confusion. Only that Morley thrust his sword into Calum’s chest.
Horrified cries of ‘No!’ escaped her and Niall. Fergus was white and silent.
Gloating in his face, Morley pulled out his blade. Scarlet stained the point and several inches up the length.
Calum staggered and sank down onto his knees. The sword fell from his fingers and he clutched the right side of his chest. Not the heart, but it was a critical, perhaps mortal, injury.
Dear God. All had been for nothing if he died.
By heaven, Morley wasn’t getting away. He’d pay for this with his worthless life.
Down went the bow and Beezus clasped the hilt of her dagger. A lioness couldn’t have struck faster. She sprang at Morley, slashing out wildly. Not caring what she cut. Tearing him to ribbons was fine with her. She sliced through his leather sleeve and across his arm. Without pause, she thrust her blade into his side. His heart was next. She’d do it, just as Mrs. Fergus said.
He flattened her before she got the chance.
Why he didn’t outright kill her, she couldn’t imagine. Then realized, she was the only one he knew of who could tell him where to seek for that blasted treasure.
Fergus sprang back into action while Niall knelt by Calum. A trained medic in his former life, Niall opened the leather pouch hanging around his shoulder and took out gauze. He must’ve stocked it when he came here two years ago, or took it from Fergus’s refreshed kit. He pressed the wadded cloth to Calum’s wound to stem the blood.
Beezus pushed herself up stiffly in the fronds, sporting more bruises than she could count. She shifted her rapid gaze between Niall and Calum, and Fergus. Yowling like a banshee, Fergus snaked his whip around Morley’s bleeding middle and jerked him to his knees. He cracked the bigger man in the jaw. Go Fergus! This time, she saw Morley felt it. Like a drug leaving him, the high from the
stole must be seeping away. And she’d injured him. Blood ran from his arm and midriff. Together, she and Fergus would finish this demon off.
Rising like an incensed panther, she lunged.
Not soon enough.
With a giant wrench, Morley tore free from the whip. Fergus dove aside and just missed the slicing steel. Then Morley grabbed Beezus. She hadn’t seen that coming and shrieked, twisting like an eel in his grip. Before she could slash him, he pinned her arms at her sides and dragged her back.
The coiled whip in his hand, Fergus flew at them—the raven in human form.
Morley forced the blade from her fingers and held it to her throat.
“He won’t do it. Take him down,” she gasped at Fergus.
But he faltered in midflight.
“Morley!” It was Hal. He’d ridden into the small clearing among the trees on Awin, guided, Beezus presumed, by the device for canines that alerted him to their location. They’d left the mare behind in case Hal had need of her. Appears he did.
Shouting, “Turn her loose! You have me to answer to!” he arrested Morley’s attention.
The beefy man reared around. Something in Hal’s demeanor must’ve caught his eye. A glimpse of the former Templar Knight, maybe. That aspect of Hal struck Beezus more forcefully.
In that distracted instant, Fergus, who never missed an opening, snapped the whip around Morley’s legs. Thrown off balance, her assailant shoved her aside. Then braced himself and hacked at the taut leather with his sword. Another of Fergus’s cherished weapons was in shreds.
He chucked the whip handle at Morley, bruising his cheek. Then dipped into a pocket, likely for mace, while Beezus scrabbled for her lost blade among the leaves.
Morley must’ve had enough. Not waiting for Hal—off the mare and on the ground—to make good on his threat, or Fergus to blast him with spray, he shot out a meaty fist. Fergus staggered back, shaking his head.
“Come away, lads!” Morley loped off into the trees.
Seeing their normally undaunted leader in retreat mode, his retainers turned on their heels and legged after him. Morley was still in command.
The MacKenzies gave chase. Half-heartedly. None had wanted Calum to fall. He was popular in the clan. And they didn’t begin to realize his full importance.
Despair threatened to overwhelm Beezus; she fought to think. “Fergus, are you OK?”
Fingering his jaw, he grunting an assent.
Hal met her as she rushed at him. “Calum’s badly hurt,” she panted, blinking back the tears.
“I know. Margaret MacKenzie saw in that way she has. He needs more medical care than we can provide here. Another thing—the portal’s shifted.”
“Where, now?”
“The small croft where Niall goes when he hunts. Calum too. Not too far from here.”
She gaped at him. “You mean send him back through the portal?”
“I’ll go too and apply first aid. Mrs. Fergus and Wrenie are on standby.”
“You alerted them?”
“With Margaret’s help. We’ve got to get Calum to the hospital for emergency surgery. Maybe if we’re quick enough—”
Beezus didn’t wait to hear more. If they had even that long, her gratitude would know no bounds. Fergus was unsteady from that last blow, but she wouldn’t put it past him to go in pursuit of Morley.
“Fergus! Look to Calum.” Everything depended on him now.
Chapter Twenty
Fergus was as good as dead, or whatever happened when you went poof. He really ought to ask Niall. He remembered him vanishing in the middle of a swordfight with Red MacDonald and leaving his clothes behind, but never inquired what that had been like for him. Niall mightn’t recall, anyway. Now definitely wasn’t the hour for inquiry. His best friend and brother’s blood-streaked face was as forbidding as Fergus had ever seen.
Niall knelt on the leaves cradling Calum who clung to life. But only just, laboring for each breath as if it were his last. His lung must be punctured. Fergus didn’t know what else, only that it was bad.
Hal ran up to him, panting, “Fergus—the croft. We’ve got to get Calum there.”
“What?” He didn’t want to arouse suspicion among the small assembly of devoted Highlanders hovering over the MacKenzie brothers.
Hal gave him a significant glance; coupled with his insistence, that could only mean the portal had shifted. Under his breath, Fergus muttered, “It’s flashing around like a seismic storm.”
“Exactly. No time to lose.”
“You really think taking Calum there is wise?” Fergus pressed. Translated it meant, are you out of your mind?
“What else can we do?”
Beezus was adamant. “It’s the only way.”
Fergus wasn’t a doctor and the nearest they had to a physician didn’t hesitate. Keeping the crimson gauze in place, Niall said, “They’re right. But I can’t move or he’ll bleed out.”
Hal knelt beside him. “I’ll help.”
“Good man. Slip yer hand beneath mine and press firmly while we hoist Calum up onto me horse. We haven’t a moment to spare.” He waved his free arm at the lingering men. “See Calum safely mounted before me, then route any MacDonalds left harassing ye and secure Donhowel. We four shall tend to m’ brother at the wee croft.”
Whether or not they’d need extra men to ride shotgun was beside the point. No one else could accompany them. The fewer aware of the portal, the better. As far as these onlookers were concerned, it was simply the shelter where Calum would breathe his last, or recuperate. They trusted Niall’s skill with healing, and getting Calum out of the cold and under cover made sense to these solemn clansmen. Affirmation by way of nods or grunts traveled the loyal circle and they lent their aid to get him up on the steady horse, awkward as hell with Hal trying to keep the gauze from slipping. Calum gasped and groaned as they settled him in front of Niall, who switched places with Hal somewhere between the ground and the saddle in a jumble of arms and faces. Calum’s was drained of color.
Fergus pitied him. “He needs morphine.”
Niall’s eyes mirrored the pain in Calum’s. “He needs a heap more than that. I’ll not lose ye both. Mount up. Let’s ride.”
If Calum died en route to the croft, it might be the last time they spoke. Fergus had to say something. “And may the force be with us.”
“May it indeed.” Niall’s voice was thick.
Fergus fought for control over debilitating emotions. “Dang, I’ll need a new lightsaber.”
A faint smile from Niall.
Beezus tugged at his arm. “Fergus, get on the damn horse!”
“Yes, milady.” She had a way of cutting to the chase. Together they sped through the leaves and bracken to the waiting mount.
Hal did the same, and it occurred to Fergus that his visually impaired friend certainly could see a lot better now.
Fergus sprang into the saddle of the docile chestnut mount Niall had selected for today’s adventures. He held out his hand to Beezus and swung her up and in place behind him. “Let’s get this baby into hyperdrive.”
“I’d settle for a brisk canter.”
Fergus would settle for his life.
*****
“Finally.” The ride hadn’t lasted more than an hour, but seemed an eternity to Fergus. Beezus must feel the same. And he hated to think of the effect on Calum.
Mist blanketed the stone croft tucked among the trees. Steep hills rising on either side were lost in the clouds. No welcoming peat fire glowed through the small window like his last trek into the Highlands.
“There.” He pointed out the tiny cottage to Beezus.
“I see it, just beyond Niall.” He rode ahead of them, supporting Calum as he guided his mount over the trail.
“I remember this place from before,” Fergus said. “But Margaret MacKenzie isn’t here to greet us as she was then.”
Beezus tightened her grip on his waist. “I wish she were. But she’ll be at Donhowel. We’ll make
it back there.”
The doggedness in her voice bordered on the desperate, a state Fergus battled like a pack of jackals snapping at his heels.
“At least the portal’s still open,” evidenced by the magnetic energy field detector clicking away in Hal’s pocket from behind them where he rode Awin. The noise intensified as they neared the croft.
Beezus sighed in grateful agreement. “And lies on the other side of that weathered door, I assume.”
“It must. There are no other doors inside the croft. It’s only one room as I recall.”
“Such a humble entry. It’s never led through anything rustic before, has it?”
“Not to my knowledge. But portals and wormholes are unpredictable. This one might shift again without warning.”
“Thank God Hal had the technology to track it. But Calum’s running out of time—”
She broke off and didn’t voice what they were both thinking; so was Fergus. Calum’s breathing hurt just to listen to. How much longer could he last?
Fergus offered comfort he didn’t really share. “Mom’s waiting on the other side of that door. Wrenie with her. I’m sure they’ll call the rescue squad the moment Calum’s through.”
“And Hal’s going.” Beezus didn’t quite keep the tremor from her assurance. “Wonder what explanation they’ll offer for a man pierced by a sword wearing Old World Scot’s dress, speaking the lingo, and totally confused?”
“They’ll say he’s off his rocker. Worked for Mora. Then hustle him back home as fast as possible before too many questions. Assuming…” Fergus didn’t bother to complete the obvious.
Niall reigned in before the croft. Fergus and Beezus halted behind him, and Hal brought up the rear. As cold as it was, Fergus wished they could go inside and light a fire. But that wasn’t their purpose in coming. And the cozy shelter he recalled would be transformed.
Fergus dismounted and reached up for Beezus, holding her to him an instant longer than necessary. She held to him in return. It might be their final embrace. Two lifetimes wasn’t enough to spend with this amazing woman, and he possibly had only seconds left.
Hal slid off Awin. The three of them reached up to help lower Calum from Niall’s stallion, while keeping the scarlet compress in place. His face was ashen. Ruen had appeared stronger than this. Fergus would give the invalid better odds of survival at this point. A dismal thought.
