by Aileen Adams
Neither good options.
Both clans fought dirty.
None of them had the courage to face an opponent alone. They traveled in packs.
He only saw three riders yesterday, but there could be more. Under normal circumstances, he had no doubt that he could take on three enemy clansmen, but in his present weakened state, his leg threatening to buckle beneath his weight with every step?
He had little choice. He could only hope that Heather had the good sense to stay hidden.
Unless they had spied her up on the cliffside at some point yesterday, and watched from below as they had made their way slowly up the cliff face, they would likely assume that he was alone.
He stepped from the small copse of trees, sword in hand, shield slightly lifted in front of him, but not in full defense position.
He saw three horses and riders, maybe thirty yards away, standing single file near the top of the trail that led to this small flat area atop the ridge.
Two clansmen in the lead, a smaller figure with a heavy cowl-necked cloak behind. He studied the rider in the lead, and stiffened with recognition.
Clyde McGregor.
Though banished from his clan, he obviously had convinced another clansman, one of his many cousins perhaps, to ride with him. When the third figure straightened in the saddle and lifted a hand up to remove the hood, he felt another shock of dismay.
He stiffened as he struggled to keep all emotion from his face. His blood boiled. It was difficult not to react.
Ceana!
Not the Ceana that he remembered, the happy-go-lucky girl he had grown up with.
Not even the healer that had hovered over him only months ago, as he lay struggling for life in his bed.
Her normally beautiful face was smudged with dirt, her beautiful red hair untangling from the braid she usually wore close to her head. The look in her eyes… an utter look of hatred she sent his way.
Her cheeks glistened with the dampness of the early morning mist. Dark circles smudged her cheeks beneath her eyes. Her lips were no longer pink and lush, but hard and downturned. She looked like a wild animal, baring her teeth in a soundless snarl.
“Well, how about that?” she muttered. “I told you I saw something up on the ledge, didn't I?”
She wasn't speaking to him, but to the McGregor.
He turned to look back at her over his shoulder, grinning as he nodded. “You've got a good eye, lass,” McGregor praised before turning his gaze back to Jake.
“Now what shall we do with him?”
As he spoke, the two in the lead dismounted, ground-tying their horses.
Jake eyed them warily. He had left his bow and quiver of arrows under the tree. He carried only a short sword, a dirk in his waistband, and his shield.
If any of them armed themselves with a bow, he was in trouble.
The two McGregor clansmen watched him, legs spread, Clyde with his arms crossed over his chest, the other standing with one hand grasping his own short sword with his left hand, his right laying on his saddle.
Jake was not fooled by their feigned easiness.
Ceana slowly dismounted.
Neither of the McGregors looked her way.
He wondered about that.
Was she riding with them or was it the other way around?
Neither of the McGregors spoke as Ceana stood in front of her horse, also ground tied.
She walked up to Clyde, hands on her hips as she stared at Jake.
“You are not looking very well, Jake,” she said, her tone soft, but clipped. “I can see you still favor your leg.” She made a pout. “What’s wrong? Didn't your wound heal properly?”
Fury threatened to overtake Jake's calm mien, but he tamped it down. It would not do to let her see his anger toward her.
His resentment.
The betrayal.
“And you, now turned fugitive,” he commented. “And it doesn't appear the environment suits you.” He gave her a deliberate, searching stare, from the top of her mussed hair down her dirt-smudged cheeks, and her cloak, coated with dust and twigs and leaves, hanging limply from the damp air and then back again.
Her cheeks reddened. She stiffened and lifted her chin haughtily. “At least I’m not a cripple,” she snapped.
“Aye, I may be a cripple, but at least I’m not being hunted like a rabid animal,” he replied calmly.
His words evoked the response he desired.
Her face flushed red with anger as she gestured toward her companions.
“Kill him,” she ordered. She stood, arms now crossed over her chest, glaring.
Clyde grinned and reached for a leather thong draped over his saddle.
When he turned, Jake saw the battle axe. He almost smiled. Close quarter combat. Just the way he liked it.
“What’s this?” he taunted Ceana. “You failed once, so now you rely on others to do your dirty work for you?” He shook his head, tsking softly.
She uttered a choked gasp. Her hands balled into small fists as she turned once again to Clyde. “You can take him, Clyde. He's nothing more than an invalid now.”
Jake knew that Ceana taunted him, trying to get under his skin, but he refused to let her. He shook his head with disappointment.
What had she become? His childhood friend. His paramour, for a time. Had she always been so ugly, deep inside? Her facade was cracking. Her banishment had taken a toll. She had become nothing more than an outlaw.
An outcast.
Both McGregor clansmen stepped forward, and then separated, moving to flank him.
Ceana watched calmly.
Jake took a deep breath, calmed his nerves, and carefully eyed every move the two McGregors made.
While Clyde looked confident, cocky even, the other one looked less certain.
“Watch his sword arm, Kent,” Clyde warned.
Kent stood at least a head shorter than Jake.
Jake decided he would take him first. Then he would deal with Clyde.
Mindful of his right leg, knowing that it was weak from the efforts of climbing up the cliff late yesterday afternoon with Heather, he positioned himself on the ball of his left foot, his right still resting on the ground but with most of his weight balanced on his left leg. He could shift easily in either direction, taking a quick step with his weaker right leg and then lunge forward with his left.
He didn't wait for the McGregors to charge him, but took the aggression to them. He swung wide with his short sword, a deliberate move that put the McGregor on notice before he quickly turned to his companion, who bit back a yelp of surprise when the tip of his sword sliced through his tunic.
Kent gazed down at the blood oozing through the fabric, stared wide-eyed at Jake for a moment, and with a roar of rage, lunged forward.
In an instant, Jake's anger subsided. He was used to fighting in close-quarter battle, in hand-to-hand combat. The calmer he remained the more alert and focused he would be.
Clyde shouted at Kent to go for his leg.
The man hesitated only briefly, and then lunged forward again, wildly swinging.
While slicing with his sword at a downward angle to keep Kent at bay, Jake lifted his left arm in defense, taking the brunt of the short-handled axe that Clyde swung at his head.
The axe sideswiped his shield. Hit it with a dull thud.
He took a quick step left and swung his sword at the McGregor, who sucked in his stomach and leapt backward just in time to miss being disemboweled.
He too growled with anger.
Jake turned his attention back to Kent. Without hesitating, he took several quick steps forward, swept his sword arm behind him and then swung his arm forward, the sword low, tip angled slightly upward.
He caught Kent in the side. He felt the temporary resistance as his blade pierced flesh and sank deep. The man howled in pain and rage. Jake's sword protruded from his back, its tip reddened with blood before he pulled it back out. Kent stood stock still, eyes wide, face pale as he star
ed down at the blood streaming from the wound in his side.
The man glanced quickly at Ceana, but she wasn't watching him, her eyes were riveted on Jake.
“Kill him! Kill him!”
Jake, experienced from years of combat on the battlefield, focused only on the enemy. He didn't want to kill either of the McGregors unless it was absolutely necessary.
The eruption of a renewed animosity between the two clans would affect more than himself, it would touch everyone living on Duncan lands.
It could get ugly.
“She's using you, you know,” Jake grunted as he turned toward Clyde, his reddened sword held out in front of him, daring the McGregor to swing his ax again.
Once again, Clyde attempted an overhand blow.
All Jake had to do was lift his shield to take the brunt of it.
Clyde swung downward with all his might, trying to cleave Jake’s skull in two.
Jake felt the brunt of the blow down to his knees.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that Kent was making another rush toward him, sword now in his left hand, his right tightly clasping the wound in his side, blood streaming through his fingers.
“Let's make a go of this,” Jake snarled. “Come on, let's make this quick!”
Kent hesitated.
At the same time, growling with frustration, Clyde McGregor tried another swing with his axe.
Jake easily blocked the blow and thrust forward with his sword at the same time. He caught the McGregor in his shoulder.
The clansman howled with pain, jumped back, and stared at Jake, then at the blood streaming from his shoulder wound.
“Kill him! Quickly, finish it!”
Ceana was out for revenge, and nothing would get in her way.
Except the two clansmen were now injured, both wearily backing away from Jake.
Clyde glared at him as he stepped out of Jake's reach, and turned his head toward Ceana.
“You said he was a cripple! That he would be easy!”
Jake laughed, turned slightly as he shifted his weight and made another slash at Clyde's companion.
This time, the side of his sword opened a gaping wound in the man's torso, just beneath his ribs.
Kent cried out, stumbled back and fell to a knee. Abruptly, he threw his sword to the ground, shaking his head.
“I want no part of this!”
He had laid down his sword, so Jake turned his attention to the McGregor.
Jake didn't turn his back completely on Kent; he wasn't that foolish, but the man was sorely wounded now.
He didn't want to die. Not for someone else's revenge.
He turned back to Clyde, eyebrow lifted. “Well? What's it to be then?”
“I'm getting out of here—”
Jake heard the whiff past his head, recognized it, and, still not turning his back to Clyde, quickly shifted his gaze toward the wounded clansman. An arrow protruded from the middle of his chest. Dismayed, he turned toward Ceana, now holding a bow, prepared to nock another arrow.
“You're a dead man, Jake Duncan,” she swore.
He had no shelter. He shifted his shield, at least protecting most of his torso as he turned to face Ceana.
At that moment, Clyde rushed forward, a garbled cry erupting from his throat as he took another swing with his axe. J
ake had no choice. He lifted his shield to block yet another blow and thrust forward with his sword arm. This time the point sank halfway into Clyde’s left thigh. Now he would know what it felt like.
“Who's crippled now?” Jake snarled.
Something hard struck him in the right shoulder and spun him half around.
He stared at the arrow that had embedded itself deep in his right shoulder, then turned to stare at Ceana.
She gazed calmly back at him, nocking yet another arrow. Clyde tried desperately to stay on his feet, his left hand tightly clasping his leg as he gazed between Jake, Ceana, and his wounded companion, breathing heavily and wincing with pain.
Through it all, Ceana riveted her gaze on Jake, her features twisted with hatred.
“You imbeciles! Do I have to do everything myself?”
Calmly, she nocked the arrow and pulled back the drawstring.
Pain surged through Jake’s body. He felt warm blood streaming down his chest, blossoming through and darkening his tunic. Too late, he realized he had taken his eyes off Kent. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his lower back. Turning, he swiped his sword downward at an angle and caught the edge of Kent’s neck with it.
Blood spurted.
The man fell back at the same time Jake stumbled to his left, his right leg unable to bear all his weight.
He fell to the ground, trying to lift the shield to protect himself as best he could. He tried to scramble sideways as Clyde once again tried to take the advantage. He lifted his battle axe, prepared to smash it down onto Jake’s head.
An arrow flung Clyde off balance, striking through his lifted arm. He cried out in startled pain.
Jake glanced quickly at Ceana. What compelled her to attack her own? Then he noticed that she stared at Clyde in dismay.
What was happening—
Heather!
He didn't dare glance behind him, didn't dare pull his gaze from Clyde nor Ceana. Kent lay dead on the ground, his blood slowly pooling around his head.
Ceana came to her senses and pulled back the bowstring; the arrow aimed directly at Jake. A satisfied smile lifted her lips, and her eyes shone with victory. Her eyes were wild and dark like those of an animal.
Jake twisted sideways, collapsing to the ground and trying to make himself a smaller target. He saw the flash of movement charging forward between him and Clyde, rushing toward Ceana. He caught the glint of the dirk in Heather's hand, shining in the early morning sunlight.
“Heather, no!”
His shout was ignored as Heather flung herself against Ceana.
They both fell to the ground and rolled. He tried to get to his feet, but his body refused to obey his commands.
Blood streamed hot against his skin.
Darkness crept around the edges of his vision, blurring as he felt himself toppling onto his side.
No!
He fought against the blackness that hovered on the edges of consciousness. He had to help Heather!
The two women were entangled a short distance away, both uttering shrieks of rage.
He tried to get his feet under him, but again they refused to obey his command. He redoubled his efforts.
Clyde scrambled back away from Jake, eyes wide with panic, staring at the two women fighting a short distance away. He cast a glance at his dead companion and then quickly scrambled toward the horses. It took him two tries, but he managed to pull itself up into the saddle. Without a backward glance at Ceana or his dead companion, he urged his horse down the trail. He disappeared before the sound of the horse’s hooves faded.
“Heather!”
Through sheer force of will and terrified that Ceana would kill Heather, he managed to scramble to his feet. Pain racked his body, shooting shards of pain along every nerve. Hunched over, shuffling sideways, barely able to bear his own weight, he made his way toward the two women. Each had their hands wrapped around the other's neck.
Garbled sounds of fury issued from Heather's throat.
Curses from Ceana's.
Ceana managed to get Heather onto the ground, flat on her back.
He saw the knife in Ceana's hand.
Heather’s dirk!
“No, Ceana, no!”
The knife slashed downward.
17
What had she done?
What had she done!
Heather lay flat on her back beneath a crazed woman trying to kill her. She hadn’t thought this through. Hadn't thought about anything but doing something to help Jake. It had been difficult enough to watch him fighting two against one, but when she saw that the
woman was crazy enough to kill her own companion, she had panicked.
In the next second, the woman had shot Jake with an arrow at fairly close range.
At that moment, Heather had felt a rage stronger than reason.
As Jake fell and the woman nocked another arrow, she had not thought of anything but doing something to interfere.
Interfere she had, but to what end?
Her heart pounded.
So frightened she was amazed that she had been able to stop the downward thrust of the dirk that Ceana had somehow managed to gain hold of.
Above her, the woman screamed her rage, filled with so much hatred that the emotion fueled her strength.
But Heather fought back.
She wouldn't let this woman hurt Jake. She had dimly heard him call out to her once, and then to Ceana, but nothing more. She didn't dare risk a glance in his direction, didn't dare take her focus off the woman attempting to kill her.
She blocked the thrust of the sharp blade, but only momentarily. Her arms trembled with weariness. Her legs felt heavy, refusing to move as fast as she wanted them to. She tried but couldn’t roll the woman off her. Still, her desire to live outweighed the fatigue and her sore and lethargic muscles.
She fought for her life.
For Jake’s life.
She had no doubt whatsoever that if she lost this fight, Ceana would turn again on Jake.
Was he alive? He had been shot with an arrow and stabbed in his lower back by one of the attackers.
She didn't know how severe either wound was. Already exhausted from climbing up the cliffside with her, Jake would not be in the best of physical condition. The cold night air, the damp chill, his leg… it dawned on her, after she managed to grab hold of both of Ceana’s wrists, that she had forgotten the pain in her own leg, so infuriated and afraid for Jake that she had raced forward, flinging herself at the woman before she could let loose with another arrow aimed at his heart.
She found a sensitive spot on the back of Ceana’s hand and dug her finger deep, causing Ceana’s fingers to open and release the dirk.
It fell into the soft dirt beneath them.
Heather desperately needed that dirk. She didn't want to kill Ceana, had never killed anything on purpose in her life, but at this moment she had little choice.
