Rogue on the Rollaway

by MacLeod, Shannon

  Her head flew up so hard her neck cracked. “Faolan?” With a loud sob, she flung herself into his waiting arms. He held her tightly to his heart and let her cry, her entire body shaking from relief.

  “Aye, Blossom. ’Tis me.” He brushed his fingertips across her injured cheek and scowled. “Did they…hurt ye?”

  “No,” Colleen assured him, hearing the real question in his words. Taking a deep breath, she gestured at the unconscious man at her feet. “He’s the one…that hit me. He was going to make me…said they were all going to…tie me and…” Hysteria creeping into her voice, she began to sob again, her stomach swinging in a wild arc between terror and nausea.

  “Easy, sweetheart,” he soothed, smoothing her hair. “I’ve got ye now. Yer safe.” He held her again while she cried herself out, rocking her gently and making soft comforting noises. When the tears subsided, she hiccupped softly.

  A subtle movement at his feet caught his eye. With a burst of motion, the bandit lunged with the lethal dagger. Faolan thrust Colleen behind him and easily sidestepped the intended blow. He drove his elbow into William’s face, shattering bone and dropping him face down into the dirt. Without taking his eyes from the fallen man, Faolan commanded a single word in a voice that brooked her immediate response. “Rope.”

  Colleen fumbled around the base of the tree until she located the end of the rope. She gathered it up as quickly as she could and brought it back to him. With a silent nod of thanks, he wound it around the bandit’s wrists several times then knelt down, placing his knee squarely in the center of the man’s back.

  “Ye’ll be answering my questions now,” Faolan ordered in a thick burr. “How many ride with ye?”

  “Fuck off, ye Scot bastard,” came the garbled replied.

  Faolan pressed down with his full weight on his knee and Colleen heard a definite snap when a rib splintered and broke. The bandit howled in pain. “No’ the answer I’m lookin’ for. Try again,” Faolan snarled. “How many?”

  “Wouldn’t ye like to know?” William sneered then screamed again when another rib cracked and gave way. He hastily reconsidered his position. “Five counting me,” he gasped, turning his head and wincing as he spat out a mouthful of blood. “Plus the woman.” His pain dulled gaze flickered over Colleen. “If ye want the bitch, take her and let me go. She’ll give ye a bit of fight, but she’s a tasty piece to be sure.” He ran his tongue over bloodied lips and smacked them. “Got a honeypot tight enough to strangle a man–”

  William received a heavy cuff to the back of his head for his unwelcome opinion. “Shut yer filthy gob,” Faolan barked, shaking with the effort to control his all too obvious rage. “Where are we? What year is it?”

  The man muttered something intelligible into the dirt. Faolan heaved a deep sigh, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “’Tis obvious ye need a bit more persuading. If ye’d be so kind, lady,” he asked, holding out his hand for the fallen dagger. With a shudder of distaste, she picked it up with two fingers and handed it to him.

  Grabbing a handful of matted hair, he yanked William’s head back hard enough to clack his rotted teeth together then pressed the blade to the exposed throat. At once a line of dark crimson appeared. “Yer abusing my good nature,” Faolan growled. “Answer the fuckin’ questions.”

  “Eire. 1371.” After that revelation, the man just wouldn’t shut up. A veritable font of information, William gave their exact location down to how close the next village was, and what services he might purchase there. He invited Faolan to help himself to the stew and whatever else he fancied. He commented on his lordship’s excellent taste in clothing, certain such a fine gentleman would have mercy upon a poor, hapless soul such as himself. He praised Faolan’s skill with a sword. He talked about his dear auld mam, waiting for her oldest boy to back come home with enough money to keep his ten brothers and sisters from the very specter of starvation, God love ‘em. He told Faolan of his fond desire to turn over a new leaf and join the priesthood.

  Lastly, given the choice between his identity and another rib, he offered up his name and the names of his companions. “They’s all dead now, ain’t they,” William said, his voice flat.

  “Aye,” Faolan nodded, rising and yanking the man to his feet. He spun the shorter man around to face him and murmured, “If ye truly have a God, William, best ye make yer peace with him now. I’ve no wish to send ye to him unshriven.”

  William bellowed in outrage. “But I told ye all ye wished to know and more besides, ye faithless bas–”

  Faolan drove his sword home in the hapless man’s chest faster than Colleen’s eyes could follow. “Ye sealed yer own fate when ye laid yer filthy hands on my woman,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. Giving the blade a vicious twist he hissed, “This is for her.”

  Glancing down, William looked astonished at the blade protruding from his chest. He raised his gaze to meet Colleen’s. “Yer–” he mumbled and collapsed again when the last breath left his body with a wheezing gasp.

  Colleen gasped in horror, unable to look away. “You killed him,” she whispered.

  “Aye, I did,” Faolan agreed, yanking his sword free of the lifeless body. “Given a half a chance, the lot of them would have killed me first without question. I doona even wish to think about what they had planned for ye.” He picked up the hem of the man’s leine, folded it over the blade and wiped it clean.

  “They’re all dead?” Colleen asked, her mouth agape.

  “All that were here with ye, five in total,” he nodded. “I dinna see signs there were more, but I wanted to be certain. ’Tis lucky we are they have horses and supplies. We’ll need them. We’ll have to find clothes somewhere soon, can’t slip about unnoticed in these,” he said, indicating his jeans and t-shirt.

  She looked around, startled to find that they were alone. “Where are the other men?” she asked.

  “What other men?” Faolan’s eyes went wide with alarm, yanking her close with one hand even as he raised his sword with the other. “The lying scut….were there more he dinna tell me about?” His gaze darted around the campsite, searching the darkened woods beyond.

  “No,” Colleen said in exasperation. “William said there was a whole bunch of men attacking.”

  Faolan relaxed again, heaving a weary sigh of relief. “Only me, lass. Mayhap his eyes were mistaken.” When she continued to stare, he arched a deliberate eyebrow. “Magic isna limited to parlor tricks, ye know. Some of it is quite functional.”

  “You were alone? How the hell do you just waltz in here and take on five men like that?” she demanded. “You could have been…” her voice faltered, ready to deny the concern she felt.

  “They had ye,” he said simply. When Colleen only grunted in response, he continued. “They were reivers, Princess, common bandits. My skills were hewn in battle,” he reminded her, more than just a hint of disdain for the criminals in his voice. “I’d wager good coin ye weren’t the first woman terrorized by these animals, and ye wouldna been the last. In my thinking, I did the women of this land a kindness.” He stepped forward and cradled her face in a large hand.

  “Don’t touch me,” she cried, jerking away.

  Faolan raised both hands in peaceful entreaty. “I meant only to see to yer injuries, lass.” Hesitantly, he cupped her face again, turning it from side to side to assess the damage. The muscle in his jaw twitched at the deep bruising on her face. “The bastard had a heavy hand with ye, but I doona think there is lasting damage,” he observed with deceptive mildness. “Killin’ was too good for him.”

  Colleen took a good look at him then, seeing the narrow braids adorning his temples. Going into battle or mourning the loss of his woman. Not going there. “Just leave me alone,” she mumbled. Turning on her heel and stalking back toward the road, she ignored the little voice telling her what she knew couldn’t be. Her mind was growing numb from the inner turmoil. The words not possible were fast leaving her vocabulary, at least where this strange man was concern
ed.

  His voice was sharp. “Where is it ye think yer going?” he demanded.

  “Home,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes. “Away from you.”

  Faolan grabbed her by the arm before she had taken two steps and spun her around, giving her a little shake in the process. “Doona ye ken what has happened, lass? Yer home doesna lie that way,” he snapped with a jerk of his head. “Yer home lies centuries away. Aobhnait abandoned ye here. The fae are a twisty race and canna be trusted. I of all people should have remembered that. Like it or not, Mistress Independent, ye need my protection if yer to survive. Unless of course ye feel ye’ve been doing well enough on yer own?” He turned a deliberate gaze to the dead man lying at her feet. “These fine gentlemen would have sold ye for a goodly sum had ye survived the night in their tender care, most likely with a bastard or two in yer belly.” He spat on the ground next to the bandit in disgust. “Good riddance to the lot of them,” he muttered.

  Colleen cringed at the horrific reminder and looked down at her muddy shoes. With a shrug, he picked up the strange dagger and after a quick appraisal of its worthiness found the sheath and pocketed it. “Come and eat,” he said, his voice rough. “Ye must be hungry.”

  * * * *

  He bade her sit on a fallen log while he inspected the food. Upon finding it edible, he dished out a rough hewn bowl of the thick meat stew still simmering over the fire and handed it to her. “There’s bread,” he said, tearing off a chunk and showing her how to eat by dipping the crust into the bowl. “I’ll be back.” When he stood and turned to go, he saw the panic flicker in her eyes. Another wave of anger crashed over him, but by dint of sheer will, he forced it back down. “I’ll only be a few steps away,” he promised, “and ye’ll ne’er leave my sight.”

  Colleen choked down the tough meat in silence while Faolan dragged the bodies of the slain men off into the trees. He watched her stare unseeing into the trees as she ate, huddled like a frightened rabbit next to the fire. I’ve seen that look before, too many times to count, he realized. He remembered so many young men–boys, really–running into their first battle lusting for the glory of war, ready for songs to be sung of their brave deeds. Their tune always changed, seeing the dying up close for the first time, smelling the blood, the watery shit from bowels loosened by fear. Hearing the cries of their friends, their brothers as they fall to an enemy’s blow and powerless to stop it. Too late to learn they had no taste for killing, too late to go back home to what they were before. ’Tis the look of innocence lost.

  He dragged the body of William last and muttered a savage curse as he dropped the corpse next to the growing pile. “Would that ye were still alive so I could kill ye again,” he snarled through clenched teeth, stifling the urge to deliver a resounding kick to send the corpse on his way to hell. He glanced back over his shoulder to see if Colleen had heard, but she didn’t give any indication if she did. He watched her with immense pride for a few minutes, knowing the ordeal she had just been through would have broken a lesser woman.

  He joined her minutes later and took a seat, taking a trencher of stew for himself. Neither said anything for a long time. When the tension grew too much to bear Faolan cleared his throat and spoke.

  “I tried to catch ye when Aobhnait sent ye back, but ye slipped out of my grasp at the last moment. I’ve been trying to find ye for the better part of this day,” he said.

  “How did you find me?” she asked quietly.

  “The location charm,” he answered, tossing the empty trencher into the fire. He slumped over with his forearms resting on his legs, his head bowed.

  She turned to glare at him. “You told me it had to be something personal you were trying to find for it to work,” she accused.

  “I was looking for something of mine,” Faolan whispered, raising his gaze to meet hers. “My heart, lass. Last I saw, ye had it.”

  Colleen looked away and said nothing. The uncomfortable silence stretched out for long moments until Faolan finally pushed to his feet. “We canna stay here. Aobhnait will be on our trail soon if she isna already.” He offered his hand to Colleen, but she ignored it as she scrambled upright.

  He sighed. “Take this,” he said, pulling his sgian dubh from his pouch. “Keep it close and it will serve ye well.” He glanced around and spying a long strip of leather, threaded the sheath onto the makeshift belt and tied it firmly around her hips. Ignoring her fierce glare he added, “And I’d like to not find that between my ribs if ye doona mind.”

  She stood and watched while he searched the saddlebags, discarding what he deemed nonessentials. After a moment of silent deliberation, he selected the two best mounts. He removed the saddles and bridles from the others, giving each a firm slap on the rump to send them on their way. “The roan is the larger; I’ll take him,” Faolan said, holding out the reins of the chestnut mare.

  Colleen’s eyes sparked like green lightning. “I don’t know how to ride, cowboy,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looks like I’ll be walking.”

  Quickly removing the mare’s tack, Faolan smothered a smile at her prickly tone, marveling at the inner steel his wee tiger possessed. “We’ve naught time for ye to take a leisurely stroll, Princess. We’ve ground to cover. I suppose I’ll just have to take ye up with me.” He placed a foot into the stirrup and vaulted up in one fluid motion, then lifted her into the saddle in front of him before she could open her mouth in protest.

  He had been both surprised and delighted to find a clean blanket in one of the saddlebags. Pulling it out, he shook out any potential vermin and tucked it around her. “Didn’t have ye figured for the self-pitying type,” he casually remarked. “Always thought the Irish had more fire than that. Ah, well, shows what I get for thinkin’.” With a slap of the reins and a quiet cluck of his tongue, he guided the horse forward through the darkened forest.

  * * * *

  Colleen’s adrenaline clogged mind was running riot amid the silence. Anger, fear, despair, hope...she couldn’t decide which emotion was winning the inner battle. She did know who the author of all her misery was, though. At the moment she sat cradled between his legs, looking like something off the cover of one of the time travel romance novels she was never, ever going to read again. “I’m pretty sure I hate you,” she muttered.

  He nodded and sighed. “No help for that, I reckon.”

  Refusing to lean back against him, Colleen sat ramrod straight until they reached the road. “I guess I should say thank you for saving my life,” she muttered then turned and slapped Faolan hard across the face. “And that’s for you having to save it in the first place. And I’m not your woman, you big, arrogant, lying, betraying…faery loving…” She searched for the perfect insult and couldn’t find one, “…Scot.” She gave a very unladylike snort. “Happy now? That fiery enough for you?”

  Faolan threw his head back and laughed. “Och. Aye, lass. I suppose it is.”

  They rode at a breakneck pace through the moonlit night. Once Colleen got past the Sweet-Jesus-he’s-gonna-kill-us both feeling, she actually enjoyed their flight through the dark countryside. It was obvious even in her inexperience–although in her defense she did ride a fat little pony at a birthday party once–that Faolan was an expert equestrian. After a time, she settled back in between his large thighs and relaxed. He pressed her head to his chest, his warm hand cradling her wounded cheek. It wasn’t long before she dozed off, listening to the hypnotic healing words he sang while they rode.

  * * * *

  Faolan looked down at the sleeping woman he held fast in his arms. Christ above, it was only by chance that he was close enough to hear her scream through the dense woods. He shuddered to think of the consequences had he been further away. Part of him died when he came upon the campsite and saw what those foul vermin were about with his wee Colleen. The other, more dangerous part of him was enraged that they dare touch his woman and he swore an oath right there on the spot not one of them would live to see the sunrise. She shif
ted in his arms and he pulled her closer to him.

  His conscience pricked him with endless questions and admonishment. And what now? It demanded. Where will ye take her? ’Tis yer fault she’s even here. ’Tis yer fault she was attacked. ’Tis yer fault her heart is broken. His fury at himself knew no bounds, but gradually the fog began to lift and the path before him cleared. I’ll make it right, he vowed.

  * * * *

  When Colleen awoke to strange voices, she found the sun was rising and they were at the edge of a bustling village. She gingerly flexed her jaw back and forth. To her amazement, the swelling was almost gone. “Did you do some kind of healing thing on my face?” she demanded.

  “Aye,” he answered in a cautious tone. “It’s better, then?”

  “Yeah, it’s better. I guess I should say thank you, but you–” Colleen began.

  Faolan cut her off before she could finish. “…are the reason ye got hurt to begin with. I know. Ye canna begin to know how sorry I am.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Doona ye strike me again, deserve it though I may. Ye made yer point well enough last night and we are being watched.”

  He guided the horse around carts and stalls with practiced ease until he found a shop that offered readymade textile goods. He lifted her down from the saddle and took her by the hand. “Stay close by my side and speak to no one, Colleen,” he reminded her, ducking as they entered the stone cottage.

  “I’m not talking to you, either,” she snapped, snatching her hand back.

  He sighed. “As ye wish,” he said, inclining his head.

  Within the hour, they were both outfitted in sturdy period clothing. Faolan opted for a brown leine and braies with woolen chausses. For Colleen, he selected a moss green bliaut of the softest linen she had ever felt and made a point of seeing the sgian dubh nestled securely against her hip. After another stop, cushiony slippers adorned her feet. Faolan wore new leather boots, although there was no mistaking the regretful look he gave his Nikes when he tucked them away in the saddlebag.