by Tarah Scott
The blade of Ian’s sword made contact repeatedly as he battled several men. Like flies to food, more Sutherlands joined the fight. Ian had no idea from where they came. Stepping in a pool of blood, bodies lay slain on the forest floor, including a few of his own men. Ian wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm, and continued fighting.
The sound of battle was deafening and the thunderous clashing of metal drowned out the grunts of exertion and the screams of the fallen. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him, but he continued to swing his sword. Battle not only caused a man to grow physically weary but dulled his mind, as well. Ian fought his body’s responses as diligently as he fought the attackers.
The Sutherland clansmen successfully herded Ian and his men out of the forest and back out into the open clearing. Ian heard a volley of arrows whistling in the sky just before they rained down upon them. Without the protection of the forest canopy, Ian thought perhaps death had finally come for him. Making peace with himself, Ian rejoiced at the thought of reuniting with his sweet Sarah. With her death, she’d taken his heart; he’d been left with an aching void that nothing seemed to fill.
It had been almost eight years since he’d lost her. Seven years, nine months and twenty-six days, Ian corrected himself. Damn it Sarah, why did ye leave me?
Contemplating death brought Ian back to the matter at hand. He refused to die by the hand of a Sutherland. As the arrows flew toward the apex of their arc, Ian warned his men and they scattered back into the woods for cover. As the Sutherland men chased after them, several of them were hit with their own men’s arrows, allowing Ian and his men enough time to return to the horses and escape.
“Did ye see that?” Daven laughed out as they quickly mounted. “Foolish bastards killed their own men!”
“They killed plenty of our own as well,” Ian replied as he noticed only five of them returned to the horses. Two of the five were from his own clan, his younger brother Leland and longtime friend Rylan. The other two men, Alec and Daven, were warriors from the Mckenna and MacLachlan Clans. “Let’s get this bloody mission o’er wit’ so we can go home!”
“What about the dead?” Leland asked.
Ian knew that with Sutherlands crawling all over the surrounding area there was little they could do. The only available option they had was to wait for the Sutherlands to leave in order to offer the dead a proper burial, but they had little time to wait and they’d already wasted enough time as it was.
“Tis nothin’ we can do, but pray fer their souls,” Ian bitterly replied.
Had the men been alive, they would have agreed. Staying would put the survivors in danger. Those who’d died knew the risks they faced with every mission.
Walking past Leland; he continued toward his horse and mounted. Leland turned his head back toward the trees where their dead lie upon the forest floor. Ian watched his younger brother as he slowly sauntered back to his horse. The men they had lost today were brave men. Their laird would have been proud.
Though Ian knew little about them, he felt the burden of their loss as if he had lost his own brothers; because in a sense, they were. They were sons of Scotland; Highlanders who fought together against tyranny and injustice.
The five remaining men rode in silence as they continued searching for the campsite they were sent to find. They had ridden more than three hours with no further sign of the Sutherlands, or the campsite.
Following the riverbed, Ian smelled smoke from an extinguished fire lingering in the air. Slowly and carefully, he scanned his surroundings; checking the trees, the hills, and even looking for strange movement in the tall grass. It was deathly quiet. Not even a bird’s sweet melody filled the air.
Ian was not about to chance his men traveling through yet another clearing. With a nod of his head, Ian and his men dismounted and stepped forward, following the scent of smoke. Keeping a watchful eye, they moved through the long grass to the grove of pine trees ahead. This has to be it, Ian thought. Releasing a deep breath, he felt relieved when they found a series of tents up ahead.
For weeks, they had searched for this campsite and now they had finally found it. From the plaids that were hung out to dry, Ian knew for certain that this was the campsite of Laird Chisholm and his men. Hell, their clan tartans were left out on display like flags waving in the air. The only problem was, the camp was vacant.
The tents were still erect and the embers in the fire pit still smoldering, indicated the occupants left in a hurry and were clearly expecting to return. It was odd, however, to find an abandoned camp. Surely, one or two men would have been left behind to secure what meager valuables they had. Even within the enclosure of the trees, the situation did not sit well with Ian. The scene had “trap” written all over it.
Ian and his men searched the tents for good measure but they were empty. Glancing over to Rylan, his most trusted, longtime friend, Ian could sense he had the same concerns about the potential for an ambush. With a sharp nod, Ian and the four other men snuck back to the horses they’d left grazing near the river. Now that they knew where to find the encampment, they would return at dusk. Stealthily, they crept through the bramble of broken tree limbs and fallen leaves until they returned to the river.
Though finding the camp was a success, finding it unoccupied made that success hollow to Ian. He was beginning to tire of this game of “hunt and chase” with Chisholm. Ian was sure of the facts his informant had given him, as he was a man of proven integrity and devotion to their cause. He swore to Ian that Chisholm was on his way to Inverness but had that been true, Ian would have crossed paths with him long before now. Something must have tipped him off that Ian’s men were close on his trail.
“Where do ye think they went?” Rylan asked.
Ian’s brow creased as he slowly shook his head in response.
“I dinna know, but they have no’ gone far. We are only a few miles south of Sutherland land. It is conceivable that they have gone there for supplies as Chisholm is in bed wit’ Sutherland. Based on the tracks we followed, it looks as though they have been camping there for quite some time, or at least ‘tis a favorable spot. Now that we know where to find ‘em, let’s head back to the road. We will return before nightfall. It’s only a matter of time before Thomas returns and,” Ian stopped in mid-sentence when he heard the sound of horses’ hooves kicking up gravel from the road in the distance. “Do ye hear that?” Ian asked as Rylan tilted his head toward the noise.
“Get down! Get down!” Ian called out as his men bolted to the ditch alongside the road.
As the noise came closer, Ian spotted two horses pulling a small carriage. Two young men dressed in Chisholm plaid sat on the bench holding the reins. Just when Ian thought his luck had completely run out and that he would never have the chance to confront Thomas Chisholm, fate had brought Thomas to him instead. For months, they’d played this cat and mouse game, but finally the tables had turned.
As the carriage came in full view, he could see that it was nobly decorated. It was apparent that Chisholm was not trying to conceal his whereabouts riding in such an ornately designed carriage. Had the man wanted to travel incognito, he would have ridden in a whiskey cart with a disguised monk at the helm; unless this was yet another decoy to throw off Ian and his men. After all, the carriage wasn’t riding particularly fast, but at a slow and steady pace. A smart man would have known it was dangerous traveling through this part of the Highlands. God damn, Thomas was a tricky man!
Ian had actually never met the man he was hunting. He did not even know all of the charges against him, nor did he care. Thomas Chisholm was only a target. Ian, along with his men were to detain Thomas and return him to Inverness; dead or alive, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
Crouched down in the tall thick grass, Ian and his men quietly waited for the carriage to come closer. Ian looked at Rylan and Leland, and at the nod of his head, they knew to be ready to mount their ambush. For years, these men had fought together. Like a band of brothers, th
ey’d developed the ability to read each other with a mere glance. Within moments, all five men jumped out onto the road, blocking the path of the carriage. The horses veered to the side of the road, startled by the sudden appearance of the men.
Ian drew his weapon before either of the Chisholm men had a chance to remove theirs. Their eyes met Ian’s with cold terror. From the other side of the carriage, Rylan stepped up onto the drivers’ platform and disarmed the scrawny one. The driver on the right did not hesitate to throw his weapon down. He knew he had no chance with five armed men circling around them.
“Chisholm!” Ian growled out, waiting for him to come bursting out the door of the carriage demanding an explanation for why they had stopped.
But the door remained closed.
“Tis no’ Laird Chisholm we are escorting,” the younger man replied, his voice shaken.
“Get down,” ordered Rylan, keeping the tip of his sword pointed in their direction.
The two men did as they were told; dropping the reins and shuffling past one another. Ian let Rylan do as he wished with the men, for he knew Rylan would not kill them. Their mission was to capture Chisholm and take as few lives as possible.
Ian’s eyes diverted back to the carriage. If it was not Chisholm they were escorting, who was inside? These two men were certainly not guards by any means. They were as timid as field mice. Chisholm would have demanded his best guards protect him. It was clear that whoever sat inside the carriage was not someone Chisholm felt was valuable enough to send more than two young lads.
“Get o’er there!” Rylan shouted to the frightened young men as both Leland and Daven sifted through the luggage strapped to the back of the cart. Alec stood back as look out.
“Remove yer garments and take off that bloody Chisholm tartan. Yer braes too,” Rylan demanded.
“We will do no such thing!” one of the lads replied.
“Laddie, if ye dinna remove them, I will cut them off ye myself,” Rylan warned.
The lads looked at each other, then looked down with shame and did as they were ordered.
“Ian,” Daven said as he held up a ladies’ nightshift in his hands, draping it across the front of his body as if he was trying to model it.
The shift was white and trimmed with delicate blue lace, with tiny blue flowers stitched along the neckline. For the briefest of moments, Ian’s eyes shied away as a memory of his late wife, Sarah crept to the forefront of his mind. Thinking of her was just too painful and he’d tried so hard to forget that God awful day. The moment he saw the nightshift, Ian’s chest began to ache as if a sword had just run him through.
“Everything in these bags belongs to a woman!” Daven continued.
Ian glanced back at the carriage door. Why would a woman be traveling unprotected to Chisholm’s Castle? Whatever the reason, Ian would make certain she did not reach her destination.
Chapter 3
Keira felt as if she was venturing to a new world; a new life. It was both exciting and frightening. Since they’d left Inverness her stomach felt cramped and twisted like a wet rag being wrung out to dry. Was this how all brides felt before they pledged their life to another?
As the horses began to move, the potholes and bumps in the road jostled Keira from inside the small carriage. For most of the trip, Keira found herself glancing out the small window, the landscape flying past in a blur as she was swept away with daydreams.
She did not know what to expect when they reached Erchless Castle. Rumored to be a majestic fortress, it was inhabited by the entire clan. With no nearby villages, the Chisholm Clan was a mysterious bunch who did not take well to outsiders. She figured that was the reason she was not allowed to bring her own personal attendant.
Keira’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the carriage began to slow. They could not have arrived already. The distance between Inverness and Laird Chisholm’s Castle was at least a good three hour ride and they could have only ridden half of that journey.
Just as Keira was about to scoot over to the window, her bottom slightly lifted from the seat. Jostled around, she hit her shoulder and the side of her head against the carriage wall.
Her hand flew to her forehead to where a slight headache was beginning to form. What the bloody hell was that? She wondered as she felt the carriage slowing to a halt. The only logical explanation she could think of was that they had either broken a wheel or a wheel was stuck in a pothole.
Keira heard men speaking but the voices were not those of her two escorts. The voices she heard were deep and angry. They were thick with a Highland brogue and resonated with authority. Though she could not make out their words from inside the carriage, their tone did not sound friendly. Something did not feel right. Too much time had passed and neither escort had come to check on her or summon her. Were they being attacked?
No matter how hard she tried, Keira could not calm her labored breaths. From the small window slit, she could see two men standing to the side of the carriage. But they did not look like ordinary men. They were broadly built, like oxen, and as tall as trees. Hearing the different voices speaking back and forth, her imagination ran rampant. There could easily be ten of them out there, but what if there were more? Why would anyone want to attack her carriage? She was of no consequence, nor did she travel with any coin. Her scattered thoughts overlapped one another as scenarios came to mind.
Were they thieves, highwaymen, the English? Keira’s stomach churned. She took a chance and peeked out a small covered window at the back of the carriage. The two men she saw looked ragged. Their clothes were dirty, torn, and plain in color. Further, they bore no clan colors or insignia. Her mind settled on outlaws. Though she believed they would be quite disappointed when they found out that they’d attacked a mere woman of no consequence or coin.
Their features were hidden behind a thick layer of dirt, thick grown-out beards, and long tangled hair. They were taller than normal men, with muscles that looked as if they could break the trunk of a small tree with their bare hands. Men like these, she imagined, pillaged villages, raped women, and killed unarmed men for pure pleasure; and now, she feared she would be their next victim!
Pressing her body tight against the inside wall of the carriage, she inched as far away from the door as possible. If the outlaws had not surrounded the carriage, she could have made an attempt to escape, but even if she slipped from the confines of the carriage the thick, heavy skirt of her dress would not allow her the freedom to run.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” she whispered, clutching the small silver cross hanging from her neck; though praying now seemed as useless as a blind dog.
As she heard heavy footsteps near the door, Keira grasped the bench tightly. She would not leave this carriage without a fight. Her eyes locked on the handle as it jiggled. The clatter of metal on wood only added to her consternation. Her hands and knees began to shake violently as her breaths became increasingly unsteady. What ever could they possible want?
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our-er, my death. She finished the prayer in a rasping whimper as the rattling of the handle suddenly stopped and the door flew open.
In a flash, Keira stared into the dark blue eyes of an emotionless face. His sandy blonde, unkempt hair and thick beard gave him the appearance of a large bear, a beast if she had ever seen one. He wore a brown leather vest that lay over a saffron shirt with a braided leather belt tied around his waist. A rabbit fur lined sporran dangled to one side and the brown of his trews matched the color of hewn red oak.
He was a beast in every regard! His body alone was a weapon in its own right. Large, rounded muscles filled the sleeves of his tunic and the vein along the side of his thick neck was pulsating. The girth of his broad shoulders and chest seemed twice as wide as one could wrap their arms around and his height seemed at least a foot over her head. Even his features seemed sharp and dominating, right down to the slight crook in his nose, which appeared to have been broken at
least once.
The look in his eyes and twitch of his lips made him hard to read. She could not determine if he meant to harm her or not, but either way, he scared the hell out of her. Biting her bottom lip, she met his gaze and quietly waited for his next move.
~*~
The moment Ian swung open the door; the lass who occupied the close quarters looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her face drained of color and she was heaving loudly with each breath as if she was lost in a state of panic.
Ian had certainly not expected to find a lass in the carriage; let alone one so young and without the company of at least a handmaiden. The lassie couldn’t have been more than eighteen summers. What kind of a man would allow a woman such as her to travel without real protection? A bloody senseless man, that’s who!
Her thin arms and narrow waistline were so small it gave her an unhealthy appearance, as if she had never had a full meal a day in her life. Assessing her looks further, her copper-colored hair was up in curls and braids and her royally inspired gold and red dress was far fancier than was appropriate for a trip such as this.
Ian spat on the ground. She was far too lovely for a Chisholm lass but coming upon her was good fortune. She would be his means to lure Laird Chisholm out from hiding.
“My lady,” he said as he reached his hand inside the small carriage to grab her.
As if she had the instincts of a woodland animal, the lass raised her leg to block him and kicked him with the heel of her slipper square on the jaw. Ian stumbled back a step as pain radiated along his check down to his neck. Jesus and all the saints!
Ian twitched. He had not expected her to get the best of him. The lass had the kick of a horse, he thought, as he rubbed his hand over his jaw. He would have to keep a watchful eye on her going forward.
