Peering through the thicket, they saw the outline of the group. Seven of them, and Argyll, sat around the fire. They had not tied the Earl of Argyll up away from them, in fact, they had not tied him at all, which would make freeing him more complicated. Just out of the circle of light cast by the campfire, the reivers provisions sat atop a large flat rock.
"You stay back, and I’ll approach the food," he whispered to her, while he kept his eyes on the men around the fire.
"It won’t work. You’re much too large to be quiet in this brush. Let me put the draught into their wine flagon. Besides you do not ken how much of it to use. Once they drink it, they’ll tumble off to sleep, and in an hour we should be able to walk in and take Archibald."
"Go then, but be careful. I’ll watch you from here." He brushed her cheek with a kiss before she carefully moved away from him picking her way through the forest undergrowth. For a moment he panicked, second-guessing their plan, but it was too late.
He watched her hand as she reached through the brush and grasped the wine flagon from the provisions. Ian’s gaze flicked to the men around the fire. One of the larger men hefted himself up and approached the food. Fear sliced through Ian. He knew that at any moment the flagon would appear again. Could she see the man approaching her? Did she know enough to hurry before she was discovered?
The man came closer, the flagon appeared, settling down against a fat circle of yellow cheese.
She shrieked as his beefy hand grabbed her slender wrist and hauled her from the bushes.
"Hoy, what have we here?" Every man turned to look as she leveled a glare at the hand holding her wrist, but did not fight her captor, as if she intended he should find her all along.
The most slender man in the group scratched his face.
"Ye gads, Burke, it’s the lass you nearly nabbed for us."
The large man holding Sorcha pulled her closer to him.
"So it is." He brushed the dirty dark brown lock of hair from his face and grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "Perhaps we’re to have a bit of sport after all, eh, lads?"
Ian notched his crossbow and took aim, watched the others and noting their positions so he could quickly kill the ones closest to Sorcha.
Her next words stunned him.
"I think not. The commander of the two dozen men who surround you would not appreciate it."
What in the devil did she think she was doing? Surely she knew he would find a way to save her. Well, regardless of the current situation, he had to give her credit for her swift thinking.
The man they called Burke stopped in his tracks.
"I dinna’ see any but you, lass."
"We’ve come to retrieve The Earl of Argyll. Surely you’d know we’d come for him."
Eyes darted to the dark forest that surrounded them and a nervous murmur swept among the bandits. Ian took a step back toward the horses, making them move against the brush, hoping it sounded as if several of them waited in the wood, going with whatever she was trying to accomplish.
"But we’re willing to make a bargain with you. Should you be willing to give him up peacefully, we’ll be kind enough to spare your lives."
Burke stepped closer, and pulled his dirk. The lethal edge of it glinted in the firelight.
"That’s an interesting story coming from a lass trying to steal our wine."
"I’d put that dirk down before one of the bowmen lodges a shaft in your throat."
He put the blade away, but did not look any less menacing. His uncertain gaze darted to his men, then quickly back to her.
"If you’ve a garrison with you, then why would they send you out to us and not the commander?"
Sorcha lifted her chin and donned her most regal stance. "I am representative of the earl’s guardian, the Chamberlain of Argyll."
Burke lifted a bushy brow, crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels.
"Aren’t we honored then?"
"I would like to be assured that no harm has come to the Earl."
Burke stepped aside so she could clearly see Argyll, his arms tightly held by two men.
"He seems unharmed. You may release him and we will leave you at peace."
Before she could move away, Burke grabbed her arm.
Ian pulled back the bow and let the arrow fly. The arrow whizzed past Sorcha’s left ear and burrowed into Burke’s chest. In moments, two more men fell to the dirt.
Sorcha bolted. One of the brigands grabbed her, hauling her to her feet and sliding the dirk beneath her throat as he clasped her to his chest with her arm twisted behind her like a live shield.
"Come out ye devil. Do it! Or I’ll kill her where she stands!" the outlaw shouted to the darkened forest.
For a moment nothing moved. Ian stepped from the bushes, his sword drawn, the blood rushing in his veins, but his mind cold and sharp as his blade
"Let them go peaceably, and you may still live."
He saw dirk pressed into her flesh, making Sorcha gasp, and red rage popped behind his eyes, crowding out the cold reason.
"Is she worth it, lad?"
Ian paused. The muscles in his jaw flexed, trying to pull his focus together and push away the ache of fear gnawing at his belly. His sword hand went whitish as he gripped the weapon harder. His eyes darted at the men. He flicked his gaze back to the brigand.
He could take them all, but would Sorcha be sacrificed as a result?
"It depends on how you want to die, and how quickly." He was moving slowly toward her, crouched to spring, sword outstretched.
"I think I could neatly slice her from ear to ear before you could get to me." To emphasize his point he pressed the blade deeper, eliciting a trickle of crimson that ran along the edge of the blade.
Ian froze. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears. He wanted to hack them all to pieces. Every last bloody one of them. But the bastard was right. His dirk would move faster than Ian’s sword, and Sorcha would die. He ached to do battle, but for Sorcha’s sake he throttled his instincts.
He could not risk that she would be sacrificed to win the battle. Ian clenched his jaw and then did something he never had before. He dropped his sword to the dirt. Instantly two of the remaining brigands were by his side, but none dared touch him.
"Aye. That’s better," the man muttered, but still didn’t let her go.
Ian moved a step forward. He was going to break the brigand’s arm if he didn’t get it off Sorcha. And then his neck. He tensed, waiting for the right moment.
"Let us go. We’ve coin to pay you," Sorcha rasped.
"Coin is it? Well, that’s a might more appealing." The bandit cocked his arm to drive the blade home into Sorcha’s throat as a threat. "What’s it to be, yer money or yer lives?"
Ian dug beneath his coat and pulled out a leather pouch heavy with the coin MacIver had given him as well as most of what he had saved over the past several years.
"A reasonable enough bargain. The money is yours, providing you let the lass and the lad go before I hand it to you."
"Hoy, who’s holding the blade here? I’m the one to make the bargains. Not you. Och, what a right bugger you are." He nodded to his comrades to loosen their hold on Argyll. "We’ll let the lad go, but not the lassie. I’ve taken a fancy to her. Unless, that is, you’ve extra to pay for her?"
Inside him, everything exploded in a fireball of rage. Ian pounced, driving his fist into the brigand’s face with one hand and pulling the deadly blade away from Sorcha at the same moment with the other. Hot blood spattered over Ian as he shoved Sorcha toward the horses. The rest was a blur as he snatched up his sword and began sweeping strokes at anything that moved.
A bite of fire tore through him as a blade sliced his back. He spared a glance toward the horses to make sure Argyll and Sorcha had made it.
"Ride!" he yelled as the last two men came at him. Ian circled the blade in a wide arc hitting one and swung back diving his blade into the other man. He could hear the hooves of the horses pounding off.
; He dashed for Merlin and kicked back a man as he mounted into the saddle. The shouts from the camp were drowned out by the thunder of Merlin’s hooves as he pushed his horse through the thick of the forest following after Sorcha and Argyll.
They met up at the stream. Sorcha dismounted and came running to meet him.
"You’re alive!"
Ian swept down out of the saddle and grasped her to him, lifting her up from the ground. She was trembling.
"I thought— " her voice broke with a sob as she pulled close to him.
The experience had rattled them all and for the moment and he dared not put her on her horse. Ian placed her up into his saddle then mounted behind her, lifting her onto his lap as he slid forward into the smooth leather seat.
"You’ll ride with me until we can make camp."
For once, Sorcha did not argue.
They rode along the road, Argyll pulling Sorcha’s mount behind his own. The uneasy feeling that had plagued him throughout their encounter with the reivers did not abate as they left the stream’s edge. Pain seared along his back where he had taken a blow, but he remained tense.
Whether from exhaustion or comfort, Sorcha fell asleep in the saddle leaning against him. Her warmth soothed him, like a warm liniment on aching muscles after a battle. She was healing to him in body and soul. He would have been content to finish their journey to the road in silence, but Argyll spoke first.
"My thanks seem paltry, Hunter."
"‘Tis no matter. Sorcha is safe and so are you. That is what we came for."
"Was that all your coin to emigrate from Scotland?"
"Aye. But I was in no position to retrieve it."
"‘Tis a shame."
"‘Tis more than that, Argyll. It is a curse." They rode in silence for a time before Argyll spoke again.
"Why did you come back for me instead of making way to Abercairny?"
"Sorcha and I had no way of knowing how long they would keep you alive without good cause. Abercairny would have been too dangerous. It seems you fared well enough. How is that, Argyll?"
"I promised them they would be rich if they kept me unharmed and ransomed me. Once they knew I was heir to clan Campbell they knew that I was worth much more alive than if they killed me for my clothes alone."
Even though his story made sense, Ian’s instincts told him there was more that Argyll had left unsaid.
After about an hour, they reached the road. They kept on for another two hours before his guard relaxed enough to think them safe.
"We’ll make camp here," Ian announced. "Take the roll from behind Sorcha’s horse and spread out a place for her to sleep, then set to work on the fire." Argyll nodded and did as he was told.
Ian tried to disturb Sorcha as little as possible as he dismounted, then lifted her to a pallet Argyll had arranged near the mossy base of an enormous oak.
She stirred for a moment as he laid her down, but quickly fell fast asleep. He covered her with the blanket, then kissed her temple. His chest tightened as he realized how close he’d come to losing her.
Behind him the fire crackled as it came to life, and the light from it threw his shadow in silhouette over Sorcha. He fisted his sword hand and released it. He should have done better to protect her.
He turned to Argyll, who crouched near the fire.
"You’d best get some rest."
"Aye," the lad responded, flinging a small stick into the leaping flames.
There was a long pause as both men stared into the dancing light.
"Would you have come for me if it hadn’t been for her?"
"Aye." He paused, wondering if he should say more. "I’m a man of my word and I offered to keep watch of your back on this trip."
Argyll nodded. "I’m glad of it."
He looked up, locking his gaze with Ian’s.
"Will you come with me to Edinburgh? Bothwell’s wounding is bound to stir up divisions at court."
"I can’t." Ian said no more. The suspicions about the lad were still rolling around in his head. "I’ve a very short time to earn back the money I need."
"You’re shortly to leave for France, then?"
"Aye."
"When do you leave?"
"As soon as I can. I must be there before autumn."
Argyll nodded in understanding.
"How much did you give the reivers?"
"About eight hundred pounds."
Argyll’s brow furrowed, and he tapped his lip. "I can raise the funds you need, but it will take me some time."
Ian looked up at Argyll. He was on the cusp of manhood, a young face touched, especially in the eyes, with a serious, much older expression.
"Can you do that?"
"I think I can, but I will need you to go to court with me in Edinburgh."
Ian looked back into the flames. A gnawing ate at his gut, but competed with the glimmer of hope in his heart. If he went to Edinburgh there was always a chance that Lord Hunterston might be at court as well. Just the thought of a meeting brought bitter bile to his throat. But the risk was worth it, especially if Lord Argyll could refund the monies he’d lost.
He looked back at Argyll.
"When do we leave, my lord?"
Chapter Twelve
They made it back to Ballochyle by the next evening. Sorcha was bruised and sore, but fared better than Ian who needed stitches mended.
As she worked, he moved little, his skin flinching only when she pulled the thread through. "It will heal cleanly."
He grunted.
"It shouldn’t scar too badly."
He turned his head and looked up into her face. "Would it make a difference? There’s enough of them. What’s one more?" He turned away.
She bit her lip at the comment, hoping she hadn’t offended him.
"You really shouldn’t be riding until this heals for a few days."
"Aye. But if we’re to go to court with Argyll, we’ll have to leave on the morrow."
She pulled the thread through its last stitch and neatly tied a knot. "Must we go?"
"Aye." Ian shrugged into his shirt, grunting at the pull of the stitches.
Archibald entered the kitchen as Sorcha packed away her thread and dropped her needle into a cup to pour boiling water over it.
"How fares the patient?" he asked Sorcha.
"I fare fine," Ian ground out.
"Are you able to travel to Edinburgh, then?"
Ian and Sorcha’s voices chimed in discordant harmony as he answered aye and she nay.
From the doorway, a serving girl came in accompanied by Henna.
"Wash the roots well and cook them up for her." The girl bustled past them, headed for the pans that hung on great hooks.
Ian stood. "I’ve to look at Merlin and make sure he’ll be ready to go on the morrow."
Sorcha pulled her satchel of supplies up from the table, and huffed.
"If we’re going I’ll need dressings for that injury until it heals."
"May I have a word with ye, my lord?" Henna implored, her head bowed.
Archibald lifted his chin. "Certainly, Mistress Henna."
Together they exited the large kitchen of the castle to a small storeroom where they would not be seen or overheard.
"Did Duncan serve you well, my lord?"
"Aye, he was fine, but the plan didn’t go well. There were unexpected difficulties I hadn’t planned on."
Henna watched his every movement to discern if it had been Duncan’s doing or Sorcha’s latest husband that had caused the plan to go awry. If she could just get Duncan to go with him to court, she was sure to take care of James’ bastard, just as the king had asked her to.
Oh, she had delivered the royal mistake Morgana had made and kept her tongue. But as a result, her own bastard son by MacIver had never been acknowledged. It was the pledge Morgana had forced from MacIver for his own infidelity. Now Bothwell sought to use the chit as a card against the king in his bid for the throne. Well, it wouldn’t happen. Not if she could u
se the Earl of Argyll to help her without his knowing.
"I understand you plan to travel to court, my lord. May I suggest that Duncan could again be an asset to you at court? An extras set of eyes and ears never hurt, especially when there’s plenty to be gleaned."
The young earl brushed his hand through his hair.
"I’ll give him another opportunity to prove himself useful. When he returns, tell him to ready to travel by sunrise."
"Aye, my lord." She inclined her head and watched the cocky little brat walk away.
"Soon enough my lord, you’ll be begging Duncan for favors instead of letting him grovel at your feet, mark my words," she muttered.
* * *
The next morning they gathered in the bailey to ride out with the first rays of the sun. Sorcha wondered why there were five horses instead of four. At that moment she heard a shuffling step behind her. She turned to see a blond man, dragging a lame foot, loaded with packs.
"Let me help you with those."
He threw a withering glare at her. "I’ll do it myself."
"Did Lord Argyll bid you to bring them?"
"Aye. I’m his new manservant, Duncan."
She smiled in an effort to lighten his dour mood. "It’s nice to meet you, Duncan."
He glanced at her, his features bewildered. "Surely you can see I am deformed, my lady."
"Aye. And what of it?"
"You didn’t have to hide your disgust from me. I have come to expect it."
Sorcha lifted her chin. "I have no such opinion of you. Kindly do not attribute it to me."
His face softened slightly around the edges before he inclined his head. "Beg your pardon, my lady."
"What’s he done now?" Archibald’s voice asked from behind her.
"Good morrow to you." She gave him a sisterly hug. "Duncan’s done nothing save assume my opinions. Why didn’t you introduce us sooner? I had no idea you needed a manservant."
"I can’t very well attend court without one, and he’s been sent over from the clan as reliable. He may be a cripple, but he has a charm about him, does he not?"
Sorcha gave Archibald a smile.
Ian came stamping across the bailey, his breath forming white clouds in the frosty morning air.
The Spellbound Bride Page 17
