Hannah Howell

by Highland Hearts

  “Ye canna take me back to Uncle Fergus,” she protested as Thomas tightly bound her wrists together with a length of coarse rope.

  “I can and I will. She is secured, Donald. Ye can get up now.”

  Donald hopped to his feet, and Thomas dragged her to hers by the rope about her wrists. Tess tried to kick him, but he held her at a safe distance from him. She knew she would get no sympathy or mercy from the man. However, she decided to test his love for his own skin by reminding him of how he was aiding her uncle in his crimes.

  “Ye will be a party to murder, Thomas.” She felt her brief hope die when he just smiled.

  “ ’Twill be your fine knight who is blamed for whatever fate befalls you.”

  “My uncle is the one who wants me dead.”

  “Canna say I much blame him for that,” muttered Donald.

  “Ye willna find it such a great jest when ye are dangling from the gibbet for this crime. Aye, hanging like carrion and without having enjoyed any gain for all you did.”

  “ ’Tis your pretty Sir Halyard who will hang,” snapped Thomas as he dragged her toward the doorway.

  “Aye, Sir Thurkettle has it all planned,” agreed Donald as he fell into step behind them.

  The two men in the doorway stepped back outside. Tess cursed viciously as she was tugged out of the cottage, stumbling over the threshold. The fools thought her uncle so clever he could consistently thwart justice. She tried very hard not to think about how often her uncle did just that.

  “My uncle will be caught some day, and ye will both fall with him.” She tried to drag her feet, to slow Thomas’s dogged march toward the tethered horses. “He would throw both of you to the dogs without hesitation if he thought he could save his own hide.”

  “Shut your mouth, wench.” Thomas picked her up and roughly set her on a horse as Donald and the other two men mounted theirs. “Ye willna talk us out of this, and if ye keep trying, I will shut your mouth for you.” He briefly shook his fist at her before mounting behind her.

  Tess decided to be quiet. She did not know what sort of hold her uncle had on his men. It could be a simple matter of their believing that they were already so deeply involved in her uncle’s plots that they could not untangle themselves now. They could also believe that Sir Fergus could do exactly as he pleased, especially since Fergus had already broken many a law over the years without suffering in the slightest. Unless she knew why they would not heed her, she could make no substantive arguments. Even if she did know, it might not do her any good anyway. Her uncle could have as deadly a hold on these men as the Douglases had on him.

  “He means to drag you into treason against the king,” she said. She wanted to make one last attempt to sway them from blindly obeying her uncle.

  “I told you to shut your mouth.”

  She gasped and quickly grasped the pommel of the saddle when Thomas suddenly kicked his horse into a gallop. As her four captors made their somewhat reckless way through the wood, she chanced a brief glance over her shoulder. The cottage was almost out of sight. Thomas cuffed her offside the head, and she faced front again, her head throbbing slightly from the blow.

  It puzzled her a little that the men were not setting a trap for Revan. She knew her uncle wanted Revan as much—if not more—than he wanted her. Tess prayed the four men she was with were all there was, that no more waited out of sight at the cottage for an unwary Revan. It was important that Revan remain free, important for Scotland. She was but one tiny cog in the wheel. Her life was nothing compared to the need to stop the Douglases from grasping all of Scotland. That would be the way Revan would—indeed, had to—see it.

  A sense of utter defeat washed over her. She fought to push it aside. It was true that Revan could not risk himself to save her, that he had to think of Scotland and King James before her, but that did not mean she was ultimately doomed. She was still alive. Where there was life, there was hope. That was the thought she had to cling to. She must not let despair weaken her.

  Tess forced her attention to studying the trail they took. She knew she had an abominable sense of direction, yet knew she would have to find some scrap of one to depend upon. If she was able to extract herself from her predicament, she would have to make her way back to Revan or to her father’s kin. She tried her utmost to keep her full attention upon the route they took and not on the fact that she might never see Revan again.

  Revan pulled his mount to a halt and stared harder at the ground. For several moments he had been watching the mossy damp ground beneath his horse’s hooves. Now, with a thrill of alarm, he realized what it was that had caught and held his attention—hoofprints. Since he was certain they did not belong to his mount, it could only mean that someone was or recently had been in the area.

  The joy he had felt over catching two birds faded immediately. Whoever had drawn near could be an innocent traveler, but Revan dared not trust in that. There were far too many people hunting him and Tessa. While still out of sight of the cottage, he dismounted and secured his horse to a stunted hawthorne tree.

  When a closer inspection of the tracks revealed that four horsemen had approached the cottage, Revan’s alarm grew. As he crept up to the tiny house, being careful to remain hidden, he searched for some sign of the intruders themselves.

  By the time he was able to see the cottage, Revan was certain that whoever had ridden up to the house was no longer nearby. He remained watchful as he hurried across the clear front yard. The moment he stepped inside the tiny cottage he knew Tess was gone. He discarded caution as he searched the place and its surrounding lands to gain some idea of how she had been taken and in what direction.

  It was easy to see from the devastated house that Tess had gone unwillingly. Tracks outside of the cottage revealed that she had briefly dragged her feet from the threshold to the men’s waiting horses. The men had then ridden southward, back over the trail he and Tess had ridden, back toward Thurkettle. There was only one thing Revan was able to find some comfort in—there was no blood, no sign at all that Tess had been hurt. As he scooped up their belongings and hurried back to his mount, he used that knowledge to calm his fears. He may yet have a chance to save her.

  Once mounted, he followed the men’s trail. They had made no attempt to hide their tracks; the damp muddy earth was clearly marked by their passing. When he was certain there were just four men, Revan began to plot.

  Although he felt a twinge of discomfort over turning his back on the king for even a short time, Revan decided he had no choice. Without his help Tess would die.

  “We will camp here,” announced Thomas as he reined in his mount and looked around.

  Tess almost thanked the man but told herself not to be such an idiot. They had ridden all day over rough and dangerous terrain. She was relieved to be through with that for a while—but not grateful. After all, if these curs had not kidnapped her, she would not have had to suffer through the uncomfortable ride, she thought crossly. She glared at Thomas, who, after he dismounted, roughly yanked her out of the saddle.

  “Be careful, ye great boar,” she snapped as she fought to stand despite a trembling weakness in her legs.

  “I would watch how ye talk to me, woman.”

  “Would ye, now? And just what can ye do to me? Ye are taking me to my execution. There canna be much worse than that.” Tess struggled to maintain her haughty calm when Thomas narrowed his beady eyes.

  “I can make your last miles pure hell, lassie.”

  “Since I have to make my journey within sniffing distance of you, I would say that ye have already done that.”

  Thomas flushed as his companions snickered. “Shut your mouth and go sit by that tree.”

  “What tree? We are in a forest, fool. There are dozens of them.”

  He shoved her toward a stunted pine that was more dead than alive. “Sit there.”

  She decided to do as she was told. It gave her some mild satisfaction to insult and harass the man, but it was dangerous. Carefully, h
er bound wrists making it a little awkward, she sat down by the gnarled tree. For a little while she rested, paying no heed to the four men setting up camp. Then her attention was firmly caught by what they were saying.

  “He will come after her,” Thomas insisted as he squatted by the newly made fire and took a long drink from his wineskin. “A man like Sir Halyard will believe it his duty.”

  Donald shook his head, his stringy dark hair swaying with the movement. “He has to get to the king. That is what his duty is. He willna set that aside for some wee brown lass.”

  “Nay, but he is arrogant and will think he can rescue her without losing much time.”

  “Well, ’twillna hurt to be ready,” grumbled one of the two men Tess did not recognize. “None of us can say for certain what the man will do.”

  Thomas nodded vigorously at this sign of support. “Heed our friend John, Donald. I may be wrong to think we can entrap that knight by holding the lass, but we canna take any chances now. Time is running out. Thurkettle is getting very nervous.”

  “So, how do we set this trap?” asked Donald. “The man willna just walk into our grasp. If he is after the lass, he will be wary. Halyard has enough wit to ken that we will try to use her to reach him.”

  “Aye, but there are four of us and only one of him. Two of us will keep watch just beyond the campsite. And two of us will remain close to the lass. We can change watches every few hours.”

  “And when do we sleep?” demanded John.

  “There willna be much of that, I fear,” admitted Thomas. “But if we gain hold of both Halyard and the lass, Thurkettle will be certain to reward us well, indeed. A night without sleep willna kill us.”

  Tess battled to hide her fear. Incompetent though they were, they did have the advantage of numbers. No matter how good a soldier Revan was, he would be but one man against four. She prayed she had been right when she had decided he would not come after her, that aiding the king and Scotland would be the path he chose to take. Tess shuddered at the thought that she might be the cause of Revan’s capture and, far worse, of his death.

  Revan cursed as he overheard Thomas’s plan. He had hoped that the men would not have expected anyone to chase after Tess. That they had not only expected it but wanted him to do so would make Tess’s rescue much more difficult—if not impossible.

  Lying on his stomach in the midst of a thicket and hidden from sight, he had a good view of the campsite. He tried to bolster himself with the fact that he had managed to draw so close to the camp he could hear the plots against him yet had not been espied by his enemies. There was too much to worry about, however. Was his mount far enough away to remain undetected? Would Tess be hurt or killed in the course of any rescue attempt? Each plan of action he devised held more chance of failure than he would have liked.

  The plan he finally chose also held a great opportunity for utter failure, but he had no choice. He would decrease the numbers arrayed against him by silencing the two men sent outside of the campsite. Revan was confident he could do that much without difficulty. The problem would come when he went to fetch his horse. He would have to hope that, in the interval between silencing the guards and riding in to grab Tess, no one thought to check on the two sent out to be sentries. He also had to hope that Tess had the wit to react immediately and properly when he did ride into camp. Bursting into the camp would give him the element of surprise, but that would be lost if Tess did not react as he needed her to. All he could do was pray that all went well, and that Tess’s wit was as strong as ever.

  He silently cursed again. His chosen hiding place was almost painfully uncomfortable. Sharp sticks and thorns jabbed at him from all angles. It was going to be a long night, he decided as he prepared to await his chance.

  When Thomas set a tin plate of lumpy porridge in her lap, Tess stared at it a moment before looking up at him. “I canna eat this.”

  “ ’Tis all ye will get, wench. So eat it and shut your mouth.”

  “I intend to eat it, ill-made though it is. But I canna do so with my wrists bound, can I?”

  “Ye must think I am as dumb as mud.”

  Tess forced herself not to respond. Insulting Thomas was all too easy, but it would gain her nothing. She needed her wrists untied and not simply to eat the poor fare he had set before her. Her hands would soon be useless, and, when and if she had a chance to escape, she might not be able to grasp it if she did not get some respite from her bonds.

  “If ye willna untie me, then someone must feed me. I canna feed myself with my wrists bound like this.”

  “All right, curse you, but just until ye have finished eating.” He untied her, then ordered, “Donald, ye come and sit by this wench and watch her closely.” The moment Donald was squatted by Tess, Thomas went back to the campfire to talk to the two men still seated there.

  It was several moments before Tess could even begin to eat. She needed to rub the feeling back into her hands. Grimacing as she picked up the spoon, she ate the porridge, idly wishing that her ability to taste had become as numb as her hands had been. The porridge was gray, stodgy, and lumpy, as well as cold, but she was hungry. It was undoubtedly the worst porridge she had ever eaten. She concentrated on what Thomas and the other men talked of in the vain hope that she could forget what she was putting into her mouth.

  “John, I want you and Wallace to take the first watch outside the camp,” ordered Thomas.

  “Why must we be the first?” complained John.

  “First or last—what matter?”

  “If it doesna matter, then ye and Donald can take the first one.”

  Thomas spat out a foul oath, then called to Donald, “Come with me. We are to take the first watch.” When Donald stood up and started toward him, he snapped, “Tie the bitch back up first, ye great fool.”

  Tess winced as Donald roughly yanked her hands in front of her and tightly rebound them. She had not been granted as long a respite as she had hoped for. As Donald and Thomas disappeared into the night-shrouded forest, she looked toward John and Wallace. The way the two men were staring at her and exchanging hurried whispers made her nervous. She was suddenly convinced that the condition of her hands and wrists would soon be the very least of her troubles. Tess recognized the narrowed glances they were slanting her way. Lust, in its ugliest form.

  Attempting to distract them, she struggled to her feet. Both men immediately stood up and took a few steps toward her. For a brief moment she thought about calling out to Thomas and Donald but quickly discarded the idea. She could not be certain those two would stop these men from raping her. They could just as easily join in.

  “And just where do ye think ye are going?” demanded John as he cautiously edged toward her.

  “To Canterbury to have a wee chat with the archbishop.” That he was so clearly prepared for her to try and bolt did not bode well for her chances of eluding him and his hulking companion. “ ’Tis about time I took myself a pilgrimage.”

  “Ye are a saucy wench. Too quick of tongue by far.”

  “I need to walk about some. Riding all day as we did has left me sore and cramped.” She began to slowly pace in a circle; John and Wallace moved to flank her.

  “A wench like yourself ought to be well accustomed to that. I wager ye have been riding Sir Halyard day and night.”

  “Such wit. Ye must have the guardroom at my uncle’s keep rocked with hilarity day and night.”

  Wallace chuckled and John flushed, glaring even harder at Tess. “Ye are a sour-tongued wench. I mean to mend that, I do. I have got something here that will sweeten you up.” He leered at her.

  It was difficult to stifle her panic, but Tess maintained a calm facade as she continued to idly pace. “So, ye mean to rape me. My, how surprising.” She paused briefly to send him a hard, cold stare. “Ye touch me, lay even one filthy finger upon me, and I shall see ye roasting in Hell’s fires.”

  For a moment both men simply stared at her, their mouths slightly agape, with a look of shoc
k and a hint of fear. Tess began to walk again. She knew that soon their torpid minds would conclude that her threat was heartfelt but empty. Since the moment she reached her uncle’s she would be murdered, there would be no chance for her to avenge whatever indignities they now forced upon her. As far as she could see, only a miracle could save her now. Such things had been very scarce in her short life. She prayed that, if she was unable to escape rape, it would not scar the memories of all she had shared with Revan.

  Revan carefully lowered Thomas’s limp body to the ground. He knew it would have been wiser to kill both Thomas and Donald instead of just rendering them unconscious. However, he had never had the stomach for slipping a knife into an unsuspecting man. Wrapping his arm about their throats and banging them offside the head with a rock was about as underhanded as he could tolerate. As he took one last look at Tess before he retrieved his horse, Revan decided it was time he overcame such niceties of feeling.

  When he saw what was happening in camp, Revan nearly charged straight in. Neither man was touching Tess, yet their intentions were blatantly clear. He ached to end their slow advance on Tess, wanted to stop them before they could even lay a hand on her, but he knew that would be a mistake. The two men had the look of mercenaries and were both older and heavier than he. For them to have survived so long in such a brutal craft, they had to have skill. He dared not chance a direct battle with war-hardened men. It might be more heroic, but right now it was far more important to free Tess.

  He took one brief but close look at her. She appeared unaware of the danger, calmly walking in a circle, but then he saw her hands. Tess had them clasped together so tightly her knuckles were bone white. She knew exactly what was about to happen and was fighting to be brave. He was filled with admiration for her but knew now was not the time to indulge in it. She was more in need of rescue than respect.