by Willa Blair
Ewan finally chimed in. “Ian is right, Andrew. You’re not helpin’ anyone by standing in our way and wastin’ time. Go back to your cottage.”
“No, I’ll stay here and watch over Alannah.”
Ian and Ewan looked at each other in shock. “The hell you will, old man,” snarled Ewan. “The lass has been through enough for one night. She doesn’t need to wake up to the likes of you, sneerin’ down at her.”
Andrew lowered his eyes. “I know I’ve spoken ill of her, and treated her worse. But she’s the daughter of my daughter, and as such, she is under my protection. As is Abby. I know I’m in no shape to ride with you, so the only way I can offer my help is to stay here with Alannah.”
Ewan opened his mouth to argue again, but Ian stopped him with a hand on his arm. “No, Ewan. He’s actually got a good idea. We can’t spare a warrior to stay here, and there’s no time to fetch anyone else. Let him do this.”
After a moment, Ewan nodded his assent. “Aye, all right. Take care of her, Andrew.”
The old man nodded grimly. “I will. Go find my granddaughter.”
****
Abby slowly regained consciousness, first becoming aware of a pain in her shoulder, and then realizing her head didn’t feel so hot either. She couldn’t figure out why. Then the memories rushed back and a wave of dizziness swept over her.
Alannah! Abby opened her eyes and tried to call out her friend’s name, but her mouth was gagged. She looked around, and though it was dark, there was enough moonlight to determine that she was on a horse, sitting in front of someone whose thick arm encircled her waist in a vise-like grip. Her hands were tied in front of her, which did not help her aching shoulder. She started to turn her head, and the arm around her waist tightened even more as her captor realized she was awake.
Evidently, Ewan’s messenger hadn’t been well-received by the Mackenzies. She closed her eyes in despair. It would be morning before anyone knew they were gone. Where was Alannah? Did they have her as well? And what of Conall? The last thing she heard before the man barged into the cottage was Conall growling and then yelping as though he had been hurt. She hoped he was all right; Alannah would be devastated if anything happened to him.
There was nothing she could do in her current position; she would have to wait until they stopped to rest. She could only hope Alannah was unharmed, and that Ian would soon realize she was gone. Worried and exhausted, she closed her eyes, hoping that morning wasn’t too far off.
****
Ewan and Ian rode at the front of about 25 of Ewan’s men, with Conall trotting beside them, his nose to the ground. Ian estimated that their quarry had at least two hours’ head start. They were moving as fast as they could in the dark, and could only hope that the Mackenzies were moving slowly as well.
Ian tried to quell his fear. Most likely, their plan was to ransom Abby, not harm her, but they were armed and dangerous. They clearly hadn’t been opposed to using whatever means necessary to overpower Abby and Alannah back at the cottage. No matter what their intentions were, when weapons were brought into the mix, anything could happen.
Although Ian had participated in countless mock swordfights over the years, the possibility of being involved in a real one made him sick to his stomach. There would be no do-overs, no stunt doubles, no well-rehearsed swordplay. He had to be willing to inflict real injury, even death, upon another human being, one who wouldn’t jump to his feet unharmed after the scene was filmed.
He reached up and touched the pommel of the sword that was strapped to his back, taking comfort from its presence. If those men had dared to harm Abby, he would gladly take them apart, piece by piece.
CHAPTER 22
Abby had fallen into a half-sleep, lulled by the motion of the horse. After the initial hard run away from the village, the men had slowed their horses to a walk, clearly not wanting to risk their animals in the darkness.
Her captor stopped his horse and handed her down to another man. She was carried to the tree and deposited on the ground at its base. The man said something to her in Gaelic that she did not understand. She assumed it was something along the lines of “Stay where you are or I’ll hurt you.” As if she would run off into the unknown, hands tied, mouth gagged, legs rubbery from sitting on a horse. She pulled the linen strip from her mouth with her bound hands and worked her jaw from side to side to ease the ache caused by the gag.
She tried to work free the knots binding her wrists, but without being able to see what she was doing, it was futile. She slumped against the tree and closed her eyes. Maybe when she woke up, this would all be a bad dream. They hadn’t harmed her, aside from the initial attack, but she was surrounded by hostile men whose speech she did not understand. She could only rely on reading their body language to determine if she was in danger from them.
Abby reached up with her bound hands and touched the pendant that lay against her breast. It comforted her to touch the silver, warm from where it lay against her skin.
When Abby opened her eyes sometime later, the sky was grayish-blue with the approaching dawn, and more men had arrived to join their captors.
She wondered what had become of Alannah. Had she been able to alert Ian and Ewan, or was she lying injured somewhere? She wondered how poor, brave Conall was doing. She’d had grand thoughts of the wolf fetching help, but that didn’t seem possible.
As the darkness faded from the eastern sky, Abby was lifted onto a horse once more. A man swung up behind her. It was now light enough to see where they were going, and the troop took off at a canter, each stride of their horses bearing Abby further away from Ian.
****
Ian and the men had ridden through the night, stopping a few times to briefly rest the horses and their furry guide. It was now light enough to see, and they rode faster without fear of risking the horses. No words were spoken, as each man prepared himself for what was to come.
The sun ascended in an explosion of colors as Conall continued to lead the way. Ian couldn’t believe the wolf was still going strong after his injury. Their trail thus far had been circuitous; doubling back on itself numerous times—no doubt a ploy by their quarry to lead them astray. If Ian’s sense of direction was accurate, they were not far from Loch Ness, though had they gone in a straight line, they would have reached it hours before.
Suddenly, Conall yipped and began to run even faster. Ian and Ewan exchanged startled glances at the wolf’s stamina and urged their horses to a gallop, the others following close behind.
****
Now that it was light out, Abby took in every detail of her surroundings, trying to determine if anything looked familiar, if there was any clue to where they were. They passed a copse of trees, and she did a double-take.
Wait a minute, I know those trees!
There was one that was bare and twisted, as if it had been struck by lightning, and she knew she’d seen it before. She narrowed her eyes, squinting to see in the distance. Blue water peeked out from among the trees. It could be none other than Loch Ness, though it shouldn’t have taken them this long to reach it. Unless they’d deliberately taken an indirect route to throw off their pursuers.
They stopped near the edge of the water, and Abby was handed down. The man groped at his belt, withdrawing a dagger. Abby sucked in a breath, which she exhaled in relief as the man cut the rope binding her hands. He took her arm and led her to the trees. He gestured for her to go behind a bush and then turned his back.
Thank God! She’d had to pee for so long that her bladder ached from holding it in. Should she try to make a run for it? She hesitated for a split second too long, and the man turned around once more, taking her by the arm and leading her back to the others.
****
Ewan called the men to stop for a moment to discuss their approach, sending one man ahead for reconnaissance. Conall paced back and forth, snarling, ears laid back against his head. The horses stamped restlessly, picking up on the excitement of their riders.
; Ian leaned forward on Jack’s sweaty black neck, murmuring softly to the horse, whose ears swiveled back to hear his master’s voice. He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew his flask, taking a long swig of whisky. “Fortification,” he muttered, drinking deeply once more before returning the flask to his saddlebag. He wished Robbie was there with him, to fight at his side. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses from years of training together. But then again, did he really wish his brother was there to face possible injury or death?
The scout returned. Ewan conversed briefly with the young man, and then rode over to Ian. “They’re down by the loch, havin’ a wee rest. What do you think? Should we fan out and approach quietly, or ride straight in?”
Ian thought fast. Though he was an expert horseman and could hold his own with a sword, he was not battle-trained. He had no experience with planning an attack or deciding strategy. But now was not the time to let Ewan know that.
He decided to take a gamble, using whatever logic he could come up with, as well as his knowledge of historical battles. “I think the best way would be to fan out until we surround them, and then ride in hard. If we simply ride straight in, they’ll scatter and we could lose Abby. We have the element of surprise in our favor, and should make the most of it.”
Ewan grinned, a quick flash of white, surprisingly even teeth amidst his shaggy mustache and beard. His brown eyes lit with approval. “Aye, that’s what I was thinkin’ as well. You’ve a good head on you, Mackenzie.” He took a moment to divide his men into groups, directing each as to how they should approach.
The men began to fan out. Ian stayed beside Ewan, his hands clenching the reins so hard, he could no longer feel his fingertips. The horses pawed the ground and snorted impatiently, eager to be off and running once more. Conall paced back and forth anxiously.
Finally, the men were in place. Ewan raised his sword high over his head, and then brought it sharply down. Jack needed no more than the slightest pressure from Ian’s legs before he leaped forward in a gallop. The riders rushed forward simultaneously, forming a semicircle that would essentially trap the Mackenzie men in front of the loch. Conall joined them, his lean, gray body a shadowy blur as they charged ahead.
****
Abby sat on the boulder near the water’s edge. She’d had a strange feeling since they’d stopped there to rest, but she couldn’t quite figure out what was bothering her. Their captors had left her hands untied, but were watching her closely. There was no opportunity to escape.
Suddenly, it felt as though the ground was shaking beneath her.
The men drew their weapons and turned just as a swarm of horsemen came crashing through the trees on all sides at a gallop, yelling and brandishing swords.
The man who seemed to be the leader of the group that had abducted her came rushing over to Abby, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to her feet. He was older than the others, a lean, gray-haired man in his fifties, and he started to pull her towards the trees as the two sides met in a clash of steel.
Abby gasped as she spotted Ewan’s tall, shaggy form as he engaged one of their captors. How had they gotten here so quickly? Where was Ian? The man pulled her through the forest.
She finally tore her arm free from his grasp and shoved him hard, wincing as she wrenched her already sore shoulder. She ran back the way they had come, emerging through the trees.
****
Ian rode through the fray, knocking men aside without a backward glance in his frantic search for Abby. There! He saw her, huddled on the ground, cowering as fighting men moved closer and closer to her. One man came running out of the trees, heading right for her!
Ian touched his heels to Jack’s sides, and the big stallion leapt forward, galloping towards Abby as Ian drew his sword, raising it in the air. A few men tried to get in his way, but he dispatched them with a few quick slashes, hoping that he hadn’t delivered any fatal blows in his attempt to get to her.
****
Abby felt the thundering hoofbeats and raised her head warily. Had someone just yelled her name? The sun was in her eyes, and all she could make out was the backlit figure of a rider on a huge horse careening towards her. She could see the glint of silver as the sunlight reflected off the sword he brandished over his head. He would trample her!
Suddenly, the figure before her came into focus. He was kilted, like everyone else, and his white shirt was splattered with blood. His sword was held high, and his green eyes seemed to glow as he drew ever closer to her, his long hair flying behind him as his black horse charged.
Ian had come for her! Abby rose, a smile on her face.
“Abby, get down!” Ian shouted urgently, his gaze focused on something behind her. She whirled around and screamed as she beheld the gray-haired man, just a few feet away, his sword in hand. She threw herself to the ground, her hands covering her head.
****
Ian pressed his heels to Jack’s sides, and the stallion leaped over Abby’s prone form. As the horse’s hoofs touched down, Ian launched himself from the saddle. He hit the ground rolling and came up swinging, engaging the gray-haired man, who quickly brought his own blade up to defend himself.
The impact of steel on steel rang in Ian’s ears and sent shock waves up his arms, but he held tight to his sword. He danced back and swung again. Again, the older man met his thrust in a deafening clash of steel. Ian could think of nothing beyond taking down this man before he could harm Abby. He was a worthy opponent, and Ian’s arms soon tired from swinging the heavy sword.
But youth was in his favor. As Ian swung his sword once more, the older man stumbled, and he heard the thwack of steel meeting flesh as his opponent screamed in pain. Something sprayed up at his face, and Ian instinctively closed his eyes, feeling droplets hit his skin. He smelled something metallic, and realized he’d just been hit with blood splatter.
There was a thud, and Ian opened his eyes to see the other man lying on the ground, writhing in pain as he held his hands to his bleeding side. Ian stared at him in horror as the reality of what he’d just done sank in.
He’d just struck a man down with his sword. That wasn’t a blood pack, made to explode on impact; that was real blood. Even now, he could feel its stickiness on his face and arms, smell its cloying scent.
That wasn’t a stunt double, trained in how to make it look like he was hit; that was an ordinary man, lying prone on the ground with a real wound, writhing in real pain.
Ian’s sword dropped from numb fingers.
As if someone had flipped a switch, Ian suddenly heard MacNab’s voice in his head.
You must take care. Anything you do can impact the future. The simplest action could have ripple effects all the way through to the present. Don’t ever forget that.
As Ian stood frozen in horror, staring dumbly at the man he’d just struck down, the man opened his eyes. They were glazed with pain, but as they focused with effort on Ian’s face, the man gaped in shock.
“Duncan?”
CHAPTER 23
“Duncan? Nay, it cannot be!” The man’s tremulous voice calling his father’s name finally roused Ian from his stupor.
He dropped to his knees beside the wounded man and pressed his hands to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. The man winced at the pressure, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
He reached up with one hand, and pulled Ian’s head down so he could look more closely. “Am I dead? I must be dead if you’re here, Duncan.” He grimaced. “But I thought that it wouldn’t still hurt if I was dead.”
Ian pressed his hand tighter against the man’s side. “Nay, you are not dead. And I’m not Duncan. I’m his son, Ian.”
The man’s eyes widened with shock. “His son? I don’t understand. Duncan had no son, and he’s been dead for over thirty years. How can you be his son?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Duncan Mackenzie is not dead.” Before the man could speak again, Ian interrupted. “Listen, I need to get you help for this wound
. Lie back and rest, and I will explain everything later. I promise.” To his relief, the man did just that, lying back and breathing shallowly, his eyes never leaving Ian’s face.
Ian looked around for Abby. She was standing by Jack, looking worried. “Abby! Can you bring my saddlebag over here?”
Within moments, she was on her knees at his side. “Ian, he’s the man that was leading them.”
“I know. He knows my father. We need to help him. There should be a spare shirt in that bag. Can you take it out?”
Ian directed Abby to tear off the bottom of the shirt and fold it into a pad. She pressed the pad to the wound as Ian gingerly moved his hands away. “Keep pressure on it.” Abby nodded in understanding.
Ian wiped his bloodstained hands on his own shirt and dug in the saddlebag. He came up with his whisky flask and eyed it thoughtfully. Should he give the man a wee nip to dull his pain? No, he was smart enough to know that he didn’t know enough about how the alcohol would affect a man in this condition. He’d leave that to someone else to decide.
He replaced the flask and took out his waterskin. He cupped the back of the man’s head and raised him up so he could drink. He quickly pulled off his shirt, folding it into a makeshift pillow and placing it under the man’s head.
“What’s your name?”
“Angus Mackenzie,” was the weak reply.
“Angus, I’m going to get help. Abby’s going to stay with you, all right?”
“Aye.”
Ian squeezed Abby’s shoulder in thanks and grabbed his bloody sword from the ground. He ran to Jack, nimbly swinging up into the saddle and guiding the horse toward the melee. He scanned the scene before him, and seeing an opening, he urged Jack forward at a gallop, hoping the thundering hoofbeats of the huge horse would attract the men’s attention.
He rode straight into the fray, men on both sides leaping aside in fear of being trampled. Brandishing the sword over his head, he pressed his knees tightly into Jack’s sides as he yanked back on the reins, pulling Jack up on his hind legs as the horse let out a surprised neigh. Ian balanced his weight and shortened the reins, keeping the horse in a rearing position, feathered hoofs pawing the air, for as long as he could hold it. He wanted to have everyone’s attention.
