“Those were your last words,” Sorley snarled, the fury in his voice echoing as he kicked back his heels, sending his horse charging forward. He let the beast hurtle on, leveling his sword like a spear, striking the noble before he could finish his cry, plunging Dragon-Breath right through him. Slewing the horse round, Sorley grabbed the blade and pulled it free, not waiting to watch Sinclair crash to the ground. The rush of blood and gore from his belly left no doubt of his death.
Yelling protest, Sinclair’s men surged forward, their swords drawn and slashing. Sorley galloped straight at them, arcing left and right with Dragon-Breath. He caught the first man to reach him with a fast slice across the back of the guard’s neck, almost severing it. Clearly dead, the man slid from the saddle as his horse bolted into the trees.
“Come, you worms!” Sorley let the charger rise and toss his great head, cleaving the air with his huge, iron-clad hooves. “Prove what it takes to steal a helpless woman. I challenge you to show me!”
“You’ll rot for cutting down a lord,” taunted a big, heavy-muscled man. He circled Sorley, coming closer with each pass.
“I define a man of worth differently.” Sorley cut the air with his sword, the blade gleaming red in the mist. “Fight for thon miscreant”—he flicked a glance at Sinclair’s body—“and your guts can join his. The price for your loyalty.” On the words, Sorley lunged, sweeping Dragon-Breath in a lightning-fast blow that would’ve sliced the man in two if he hadn’t veered away with equal speed.
“No man has ever cut me,” he taunted, wheeling his beast back at Sorley, his sword raised again. “Yield now and I’ll make your end swift.”
“I cannae, for my blade is too thirsty.” Sorley swung again, so fast that Dragon-Breath’s steel was a blur of silver and red before it grazed the giant’s shoulder, breaking his record and sending spray of blood fountaining in the air.
The big man bellowed and stood in his stirrups, taking a mighty swing, his blade hissing past Sorley’s ear, missing him by a hair.
They clashed again and again until Sorley drew back his sword, sweeping it round for a scything blow to his opponent’s midsection. Just as the blade struck, a spear pierced the man’s shoulder and his eyes rolled back in his head, his sword slipping from his fingers as he toppled to the ground.
At that, two of his companions fled, galloping off the way they’d come, racing through the trees, heading for the river.
Two yet remained and they still looked bloodthirsty, their swords held high. Sorley flashed a glance at the trees, hoping to see who’d thrown the long spear so well. He knew only one man who could.
William Wyldes.
Then the warrior-innkeeper was there, bursting through the trees. He held a second spear couched at the ready, his red hair unbound and flying behind him, his face murderous.
“I had a time of it catching up with you,” he shouted to Sorley. “Glad you left me some o’ the work!”
Spurring his horse, the innkeeper made swift slaughter of the man who’d turned to challenge him.
“You haven’t lost your skill,” Sorley called after him as he raced off again, seemingly to follow the two riders who’d escaped into the woods.
It was then that Sorley caught the clashing of two swords coming from the edge of the ravine. He glanced round to see Grim, in full Vikingish war gear, parrying his opponent’s sword swipes not with a blade, but with a huge Viking war ax. Grim clearly didn’t need help, so Sorley swung down from his saddle and thrust his own sword into the earth, resting his hands on the hilt as he watched the Nought man fight with Sinclair’s henchman.
Then, as if weary of circling round with the swordsman, Grim raised his great Norse ax and with one swift downward slash nearly cleaved the man in two.
“Ne’er did care for swords,” he called to Sorley as he pulled his ax free from the deep gash in the dead man’s shoulder. He wiped the ax-head on the slain man’s tunic and then strode over to Sorley, clapping him on the back. “I knew there was another reason I felt a need to come down here. Fate, we say at Nought, is inexorable, my friend.
“No’ that you needed the help.” Grim stepped back, looking around. “Or perhaps you do? Thon spear-throwing innkeeper”—he jerked his bearded chin in the direction William had disappeared in—“will surely be back anon, bloodied from putting the other two out of their misery. We spoke on the way here and thought, as your usual friends are away, he and I might be of assistance clearing up this fine wood for you. Unless you’d rather we go looking for your lady instead, and bring her back to her father?” Grim cocked a brow, waiting. “That might be best, eh?”
“Try and you’ll have a fight with me, my friend.” Sorley glanced at the trees, hoping to see Mirabelle returning.
But the woods were empty, quiet now, though the mist was thinning.
It was then that William returned, grinning ear to ear. “Sakes, lads!” He swung down from his horse, his spears notably missing. “That was a fine day’s work.”
He strolled up to them, taking a leather-wrapped flask from his sword-belt. “It’s been a while since I’ve had cause to wield a long spear. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy a good fight.”
“Did Sinclair’s two men feel the same?” Sorley knew the answer.
Wyldes winked and handed him the uisge beatha. “They felt the wrath of my spears, they did.” He looked pleased as Sorley took a swig of the fiery spirits, then passed the flask to Grim. “Just now, they’re enjoying a swim down the Forth. By nightfall they’ll be fish fodder.”
“Aye, well, that’s two less to be rid of.” Sorley glanced at the others, not wanting Mirabelle to see the carnage if she returned before he could find her.
“Sorry, lads…” Sorley never let others do work he should do himself, but he couldn’t stay a moment longer. “I have to find Mirabelle. A word, before I go…” He jerked his chin toward the slain men, the ravine behind them. “Sinclair has a family, and a good one, save for him. I’ll speak to the King myself, and the Wolf. Otherwise, I’d have no one learn of what happened here.
“Or”—this galled him, but felt right—“of Sinclair’s other transgressions.”
Grim and Wyldes exchanged glances.
Grim spoke first. “We of Nought are well used to ridding the land of pests, leaving no trace to mar the beauty of our glen.” He rested his ax-head on the ground and settled his hands at the top of the long hilt. “If you ken what I mean?”
“I do, and I thank you.” Sorley meant more than riding up to join a fight.
“Aye, well.” Grim nodded. “Then I’ll see you at first light on the morrow?”
“Nae, you willnae.” Sorley shifted in his saddle, eager to be away. “I’ve other, more urgent matters to address, though”—he reached down and gripped Grim’s shoulder—“I’ll make the journey when I can.”
At that, William grinned. “I was thinking he’d say that.
“If you’re wondering how Grim and I came to be here, you can thank Maili.” He winked. “She’s a lass of many talents, she is! Ne’er have I seen a woman ride into the inn’s stableyard at such breakneck speed and with such a flourish. Looked like a fury, I tell you.”
He chuckled, glanced at Grim, who also smiled.
“That she did.” Grim shook his head and touched his Thor’s hammer. “Though I’d have likened her to a Valkyrie. Be glad she was at the castle stables when you ran down there. She said the lad—Lyall?—fell asleep again as soon as you rode away.”
“She was at the stables because I’d sent her there,” William put in. “One of the stable dogs has a new litter and I’d asked Maili to pick out a whelp for the Red Lion.”
William leaned in, affection in his tone. “She’s a sensitive lass and would be offended if you thought she’d have aught to do with Lyall.”
“I ne’er did.” Sorley wasn’t about to admit otherwise.
“Och, one other thing.” William grinned. “Your lady is waiting deeper in the wood, in the clearing where the two
burns come together.
“I gave her a plaid and some oatcakes and cheese, two good-sized flasks of my best Rhenish wine.” He winked, glancing at Grim. “Should the like be needed.”
“You’re a good man.” Sorley grinned, picked up the reins.
Then he lifted a hand in salute, spurred his horse, and galloped away.
Not toward the river and the castle beyond, but deeper into the wood.
Mirabelle was waiting there.
And once he reached her, he wasn’t ever going to let her from his sight again.
Chapter Nineteen
If Mirabelle thought she’d been filled with happiness when Sorley made love to her, admitting his feelings for her, the joy inside her nearly burst her heart when he galloped out of the trees and into the clearing where she’d waited for him, fear and worry nearly maddening her.
“You remembered the reel, lass,” he called to her even as he reined in, leaping down from his saddle. “Praise all the gods for your wit.”
“I thank them for you.” She pushed to her feet, running to him, her arms spread wide. Relief and exultation swept her, her heart beating hard against her ribs.
“I am the lucky one.” He strode toward her, his own arms outstretched, his smile flashing so broadly, so triumphantly, that she almost melted there and then.
She stopped where she was, pressing her fingers to her lips. She stood in the middle of the grass-grown clearing, just staring at him, the love and hunger for her on his handsome face so wondrous she could scarce breathe. Her pulse raced, her emotions whirling. She didn’t know what she’d have done if he hadn’t come for her. For sure, she wouldn’t have been able to live without him. Overcome, she was also sure he’d never looked more magnificent.
His MacKenzie plaid was still flung proudly across one shoulder, but it was mussed and bore the stains of battle, of shed blood. But not his, she thanked the gods, aware he wouldn’t be coming at her so boldly, so powerfully strong, if he’d been injured. His sword was sheathed at his hip, the leather-wrapped hilt likewise dark with remnants of a hard fight, won. As if the gods indeed were smiling on him, the mist was thinning and cold autumn sun spilled across him, gilding him like a pagan Celtic god of old. His hair swung loose about his shoulders, the morning light giving the rich raven strands a gloss of ebony-blue.
Mirabelle’s heart fluttered. “I feared for you, worried—”
“You had only to wait.” He was almost upon her, his smile gone now, replaced by an expression so fierce, so possessively claiming, that her soul soared. “Think you I’d let a coward like Sinclair keep me from making you my bride at last?”
“Oh, Sorley…” Mirabelle blinked, her entirely body quivering.
Then he reached her, grabbing her to him so swiftly she only knew that, of a sudden, she was crushed against his chest, his arms like iron around her as he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her hard and fast. It was a bold, devouring kiss, savage in its ferocity, and so thrilling she could only cling to him, returning his hunger with equal fervor.
“Ne’er forget this day.” He tore his lips from hers, took her face between his hands. “No man, nothing under the heavens, will keep me from you, Mirabelle. So long as I live and breathe, no one will e’er harm you.” He pulled her closer, kissing her again, long and deep.
“You were outnumbered.” Her voice was shaky, emotion thickening her throat as she pulled back. “Sir John had men—”
“Did you no’ hear a word I said?” He set his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. “The true mark of a man is no’ how many stalwarts ride under his banner, carrying their swords and spears into battle with him, but when he will fight against the odds, accepting any outcome, because he’s doing what he kens is right. I would gather every stone in Scotland and toss each one into the sea if you asked it of me, lass.” He touched her cheek, lit his knuckles along her jaw. “I’d draw my sword on the Horned One himself to protect you. Though…” He stepped back, taking her hand and tugging her along with him to the plaid by the two burns where she’d waited for him. “As you saw, my friends did ride in to stand with me.”
“William didn’t seem too worried.” Mirabelle remembered her relief to see the big-bearded innkeeper thunder up to her in the wood, leaning down with one strong arm to snatch her onto his saddle as he stormed past.
She glanced at Sorley as they neared the spread tartan, quickly telling him of his friend’s rescue. “He said he was riding back to you ‘for the joy of a good fight, not because you needed an extra sword.’ ”
“Aye, Wyldes would say the like.” Sorley stopped before the plaid, glanced down to where Little Heart slept on his back in the middle of the tartan, his wee legs sticking up in the air. “I’d no’ speak of him just now, or thon Grim Mackintosh who accompanied him. I’ve other matters on my mind.” He bent to scoop up her kitten in one big hand, holding Little Heart against his chest as he used his other hand to unclasp the brooch at his plaid’s shoulder.
Striding a few paces away, he dropped to one knee and swirled his plaid across the grass at the edge of one of the burns where wild thyme and orchids swayed in the chill autumn breeze. Lowering the kitten onto his new bed, he stood and dusted his hands, a wicked smile curving his lips as he strolled back to her.
“I’d no’ crush the wee bugger if I rolled on him when I’m kissing you.” He winked, glanced at her kitten before taking her in his arms again. “But first”—he reached for the small leather pouch that hung from his sword-belt, untying its string to retrieve his bronze stag’s-head brooch—“I’ll return this to you. It must’ve fallen when you ran into the trees.” He took her hand, placing the MacKenzie pin on her palm, then closing her hand around it. “I’ll have the clasp fixed. It must be broken.”
“The clasp is fine.” Mirabelle tightened her fingers over the beloved brooch. “I dropped it on purpose, hoping you’d find it and know the way I’d gone.” She looked down, carefully fastening the pin to her cloak. “Should anything have happened to William and he hadn’t been able to tell you where I was.”
To her surprise, Sorley threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, rich sound, its masculine warmth delighting her, melting her to the core.
“William was ne’er in danger.” He pulled her down onto the plaid with him, drew her onto his lap. “I swear he’s invincible. Or mayhap the gods think he’s too full of himself to allow him to die and enter the Otherworld. You ought to know”—he touched a finger to the stag’s-head brooch, his eyes darkening as he held her gaze—“I would find you if you were trapped on the far side of the sea, lass. I wouldn’t have needed the pin to track you. All I’d have done was to follow my heart.”
“Will you tell me what happened?” She didn’t really want to know, but felt she must.
“Later, sweet, then I will recount every detail of the fight if you so desire.” He smoothed her hair back off her face and dropped a kiss to her brow. “For now, it’s enough that you know Sir John is no more, and neither are his men. None of them will threaten you again, nor any woman.”
“I would like to hear…” Mirabelle glanced aside, glad for the clearing’s beauty. Its splendor chased the last of the day’s horror. The morning was perfect, the mist and clouds shimmering, while a scatter of autumn leaves dotted the dew-kissed grass. The surrounding beeches glowed red and the chill air held the first hint of the winter to come. Mirabelle smiled, imagining those long, dark nights. How she and Sorley would spend them…
Sure she couldn’t conceive a greater bliss, she reached to pour two cups of the fine Rhenish wine the innkeeper had left for them.
First, they had this day to celebrate, here in such a fine, blessed place. So she breathed deep of the clean, fragrant air and started to hand Sorley his wine, but a terrible thought struck her before she could. Setting down the cup, she looked at him, her heart seizing.
“Sir John is gone, I know,” she voiced her concern, gripping Sorley’s arm, “but what of the poor women he kept a
t Dunraine? No one knows they’re there. They are prisoners, may wallow there all their days.”
“They’ll be fine, ne’er you worry.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “They’ll be freed anon, returned to their families or otherwise cared for, depending on their circumstances. I’ve already set their rescue in motion; they’ll no’ suffer much longer.”
“I am so glad.” Mirabelle was.
She lifted a brow, delicious shivers rippling through her because of the stream of light kisses he was planting up and down the inner side of her forearm. “Why am I not surprised? I should have known you’d thought out a plan to help them. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” She watched him carefully, noting how his expression changed, turning shuttered. “Can it be your friend William and a few others will ride with you to free the Dunraine captives?”
He glanced aside, his gaze on the red-leaved beeches. “I didnae say I’d be doing aught, only that I—”
“Arranged a rescue,” she reminded him, watching him draw a tight breath.
When he exhaled gustily, she knew she’d won.
That she’d guessed rightly.
“You’re planning a Fenris mission to save those women.” She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “It’s one of the reasons you delayed our departure from Stirling. You and your Fenris friends meant to—”
“What we do”—he looked at her, his fierce gaze locking with hers—“is ne’er spoken aloud, though I’ll ne’er hide anything from you,” he said, doing just that, his promise warming her to her toes.
“Nor shall I.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Aye, well, as my soon-to-be-wife, you ken fine why I postponed any travel.” He stood and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the grass. “Arrangements must be made for our wedding, plans for feasts and celebrations, decisions about where to hold such revels. One faction will approve, another may feel slighted.”
“No they won’t.” She rose and went to him, smiling. They—”
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