The Highlander's Crusader Bride: Book 3 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  “Leave it,” she ordered, giving the dog a tug as she skirted the old woman. Garen whined, a low growl rumbling in protest. Arbela picked up her pace as she left the castle grounds, Garen once again at her side. She ran down the wide road to the beach, eyes scanning for a glimpse of Caelen. With a sigh of relief, she caught sight of his shorn head, silhouetted darkly against the red-gold of the fire, and she hurried to his side.

  * * *

  Caelen wiped his brow with his forearm, staring into the inferno that defied their best efforts to douse the flames. “What devilry is this?” he growled. “The water only spreads the fire further.”

  “Ask yer wife,” Rory grumbled, dropping a bucket at his feet in a gesture of surrender. “She seemed to know.”

  Recalling Arbela’s earlier words, Caelen glanced about, but did not spy his wife, though it was difficult to identify the dark forms pacing the shore, as impotent against the blaze with their buckets as if they’d done naught more than spit into it.

  “She dinnae agree with our actions, and I believe she stayed behind,” Rory muttered, a commiserating grip on Caelen’s shoulder. “Though I will be interested to hear what she has to say when we return.”

  “I am here.” Arbela’s voice came from behind them, slightly breathless as if she’d run from the castle.

  Rory’s grip tightened and Caelen whipped about at the combination of unexpected pain from Rory’s fingers and the sound of Arbela’s voice. He glanced at his captain as he shrugged from beneath his hold, startled to note the man’s face seemed to have drained of all color.

  “What are ye doing here?” Rory rasped, his voice harsh, accusing—and Caelen could see no reason for the man’s confrontational tone.

  “Dinnae speak so to my wife,” he said, low rebuke in his words. Arbela’s eyes widened, clearly startled by Rory’s tone.

  Rory whirled, strain on his face discernable even in the glare of the fire. “She shouldnae be here! She should have remained with Bram.” He staggered a step toward Arbela, shaking his fist in the air. “Damnable woman!”

  Arbela dodged the angry man with a step to the side. Garen snarled a warning, advancing on Rory on stiffened legs.

  “Halt, Garen,” Arbela commanded, and the dog stopped, her eyes fixed on Rory.

  “What are ye thinking, man?” Caelen growled, grabbing Rory’s arm. Rory shrugged him off, eyes blazing.

  “She was supposed to protect Bram,” he shouted, his face only inches from Caelen’s.

  “Protect him?” Caelen’s blood ran cold despite the waves of heat rolling from the nearby fire. “Protect him from who?”

  “The crone—” Arbela’s voice rose. “The old woman I stumbled into in the bailey. Garen growled at her.” She sent Caelen a horrified look. “Bram was not in the hall when I left. I did not check his chamber.”

  Caelen gripped her arm, heedless of the warning from Garen for presuming to touch Arbela in anger. “Who was the crone?” he demanded. “Did she have Bram?”

  “Do ye believe I would have left had I thought she had him?” Arbela raged. She jerked from his grip, her eyes blazing her fury at his question. “Garen, come!” She whirled and jogged swiftly up the road.

  Caelen whirled on Rory. “Come with me. Ye have more knowledge than ye should. Ye will help me get my son back—even should it kill ye.”

  With a bleak nod, Rory accompanied Caelen without protest.

  They overtook Arbela in the bailey, sending Garen off with a word to search for Bram. The dog immediately cast about for scent and Arbela turned to Caelen and Rory.

  “Do not interfere,” she barked, holding both men at bay with a flip of her hand. “Unless ye can describe for me what it is ye know of Bram’s safety,” she amended with a fierce look at Rory.

  “Ye should have stayed with him,” Rory said, repeating his earlier claim stubbornly. She silenced him with a glare. Caelen grabbed Rory’s shoulder, whirling him about to face him.

  “Ye are my milk brother and my captain. Ever have I trusted ye. But I will kill ye myself if harm comes to Bram.”

  Rory inhaled a deep breath, shaking his head as if attempting to dislodge memory or knowledge he did not want. “It wasnae supposed to happen like this. If Bram had been protected, Keith Dubh would have been killed or captured—and Brinna set free.”

  “Keith Dubh?” Caelen thundered. “Ye have treated with MacGillonay’s son? Damn ye, Rory!”

  A single bark interrupted. Arbela cast a look about the bailey for Garen and spied her plumed tail several feet away, her nose to the ground as she wove through the crowd.

  “She has found the trail,” Arbela said, grabbing Caelen’s arm. “Come. She will lead us to Bram.”

  Both men started after her, and Arbela briefly wondered about the wisdom of allowing Rory to accompany them. But her immediate concern was in finding Bram. She would deal with the traitorous Rory herself.

  Garen streaked through the gates. Arbela retraced her steps, keeping the dog in sight, afraid she would lose her in the darkness as Garen left the torchlight and broad road and slipped into the forest. The underside of her furry tail flashed light brown, a faint beacon in the gloom. Arbela darted after her, praying Bram was uninjured. She did not know if she could endure seeing the boy reduced by fear.

  Heavy footsteps in the brush behind told Arbela Caelen and Rory still followed, and she immediately dismissed the sound as unimportant. Garen slowed, the fur on the back of her neck ruffled forward, her gaze fixed on a spot ahead.

  Reaching the dog, Arbela dropped a hand to the silken head with a silent command to wait as she peered through the trees. Garen’s low rumble protested the halt, but she remained at Arbela’s side. Four dark forms, three a good bit taller than the fourth, gathered in a tiny glen. The scent of horses drifted to Arbela, though she could not see them.

  A slight shuffle of leaves behind her alerted Arbela to Caelen’s presence. His breath warmed her ear as he spoke in a low undertone.

  “I left Rory some yards back with a sore head, though it willnae bother him until he wakes. What is this?”

  Arbela held up four fingers, then turned her hand sideways, forefinger and thumb extended as she slowly narrowed the open space between them. Her voice sighed softly.

  “Bram.”

  Chapter 36

  Caelen’s heart thudded in his chest.

  “They have horses,” Arbela breathed. “We must not allow them to mount.”

  Garen growled again and leaned forward against Arbela’s hand. Voices in the glen rose in anger. Arbela placed her hand on her sword. Garen leapt from the brush as a thin cry cleaved the air. She streaked across the deep grass, her sable body a blur in the dark. The small figure turned, wrenching free of the robed shape next to him.

  “Garen!” Bram cried.

  Without checking, Garen leapt straight for the throat of the one dressed as a crone. The man shed his robe, revealing his disguise, frantically wrapping the fabric about his arm in protection from the dog’s attack. A second man staggered backward, stumbling in his haste to avoid Garen. A third, shorter man grabbed at his belt, the glint of steel bright. He seized Bram from behind with a shuffling motion, yanking the boy hard against him. Caelen rose, poised for battle. Arbela laid cautioning fingers on his forearm.

  “Call off yer dog!” the short man shrieked.

  Garen darted and slashed at the man who’d dressed as a crone, the roaring sounds of her fury terrifying. Bram’s cry tore Caelen’s attention from the dog’s attack. The man’s blade winked beneath Bram’s throat and the boy’s eyes shone wide with fear.

  Caelen fought Arbela’s restraint as if he’d stepped in a trapper’s noose. His entire focus centered on getting Bram away from the trio, but he forced himself to accede to his wife’s strategy. Nothing had ever been more difficult.

  “Garen—halt!” Arbela shouted, stepping into the small clearing. The dog ceased her attack, but backed only a few feet away, still snarling and snapping her willingness to slay the m
an who dared touch Bram. Caelen struggled with the same emotions, eager to destroy Bram’s kidnappers, and the taut lines of Arbela’s body told him of her barely restrained fury.

  In the clearing, two men—one grasping his shoulder, blood staining his fingers—stood back to back, swords visible in their hands. The third, shorter and perhaps their leader, gripped Bram in a strangle hold. A vivid scar, visible even in the scattered moonlight, shone on the left side of his face.

  Unable to remain still, Caelen moved to Arbela’s side, entering a small patch of pale moonlight. “That is MacGillonay’s elder son, Keith Dubh,” he murmured with a nod to the scarred man. “More than his face bears evidence of his shame.”

  Arbela gave a slight nod of understanding.

  “Let the lad go,” Caelen commanded, voice raised.

  “Ye killed my family!” the smaller man screamed. “Da, my brother—my sister.”

  “That is incorrect,” Arbela replied evenly. “I killed your father—and your brother. Let the boy go.”

  It was clear to see the young man was close to striking a fatal blow—and Bram was near to hand.

  “You have no cause to harm the boy,” she continued in the same firm voice. “’Tis I ye are after. This can be between ye and me alone.”

  Caelen grasped Arbela’s wrist painfully. “Dinnae be a fool,” he rasped. “Three to two is fair odds. He will let his guard down and ’twill be over. Ye needn’t bait him.”

  The wiry man’s gaze darted from side to side. “Caelen has been a thorn in our side since he took Ruthie from us,” he declared. “He is a treacherous bastard. How do I know ye dinnae have others hiding in the shadows?”

  “Ye do not,” Arbela replied, ignoring the press of Caelen’s hand. “Ye will have to trust me.”

  “The lad is mine!” the man shrieked. “Fair payment for the lives ye have taken from me.”

  “What do ye propose?” Arbela asked, raising her voice. “To raise him as a MacGillonay?”

  It was too much. Caelen stepped forward with a snarl. It was Arbela’s turn to pull him back.

  “I want ye to pay!” the small man cried. “Pay in blood for what ye have done to my clan!”

  “And taking a small lad is the best ye can do?” Caelen roared, anger blinding him to little else than the sight of his son in the disfigured MacGillonay’s hands. His hand gripped his sword hilt, half-pulling the blade from its sheath.

  “Stop!” the man stuttered. He gestured with his dagger. “The lad is Ruthie’s son—though MacKern blood runs in his veins. I will trade ye the lad for the lass.”

  Without hesitation, Arbela slung her sword to the ground before her. She shook off Caelen’s grip before he could do more than stare dumbfounded at her. Her stride carried her across the glen, shedding daggers as she went. They glinted on the grass, marking her path with a twinkling light.

  “Arbela, no!” Caelen shouted. His step forward halted at a cry from Bram as the man twisted him to face Caelen, blade again at his throat. Garen barked savagely, but remained in place.

  “Bram, now!” Arbela cried over the melee in the glen. The boy lifted his booted foot and brought it down heavily on the inside of his captor’s foot. The man howled and doubled at the waist, bringing his knee up, grasping at his lower leg. He hovered above Bram, the lad’s shoulder tucked beneath his arm, trapping him against his shallow chest.

  His hands tied behind him, Bram appeared unable to do further damage, but without hesitation, he leaned slightly forward then threw his head backward with all his might. Releasing Bram, his captor grunted, a gargled sound as blood cascaded from his broken nose. Buckling his legs, Bram fell to the ground, landing on his bottom. He rolled back, drawing his knees to his chest. With but a moment to take aim, he launched the power of his legs forward, his boots catching his captor square between his legs as the force sent him staggering a dozen or more feet away.

  The taller man grabbed his sword with a roar as his partner fell, launching himself at Bram. The boy struggled to his knees, then rolled aside to avoid being captured again. Coming up against a large fallen log, he scrambled into a small hollow area beneath it, out of reach at least for the moment.

  The third man, abandoning concern for his injury, rushed toward Arbela.

  Caelen leapt forward, intent on putting himself between his defenseless wife and the two armed men. Yanking his sword from its sheath, he lowered his head, adding momentum to his speed. He passed Arbela and, snaking an arm about her waist, lifted her off her feet. She did not waste time railing at him, but went limp in his arms, landing on her feet as he set her behind him in a swift, twisting move.

  She would make him pay for his actions later. At the moment, he did not care.

  Caelen raised his sword high and brought it down on the nearest man’s shoulder at an angle, cleaving him to the waist. Spinning about, he caught sight of the scarred man rising to his feet, his dagger in hand. Face covered in blood, he launched himself awkwardly at Arbela who had lost little time in recovering her speed or direction.

  She blocked the short man’s wrist and shoved upward, deflecting the blow. Slight though the man was, his arm strength surpassed hers, and he slowly brought his bladed hand down, then jerked his arm free. Arbela whirled about, dodging his next attack, hands spread wide for balance.

  “Da!” Bram’s voice reached Caelen’s ears and he turned as his son burst from his hiding place. Bram sped across the short distance, off-balance with his hands tied behind his back. He stumbled and fell, and Garen was on him instantly, using her body to stand over him protectively.

  The third man had met Garen’s teeth before, and shied sideways, turning his attack to Caelen. A dark figure sped across the glen, raising the hairs on the back of Caelen’s neck.

  How many more were there?

  Caelen’s attention was split. Having shed her weapons, he knew Arbela was in no position to protect herself. To his astonishment, a slender blade glinted in her right hand as she wove it back and forth before her assailant’s eyes. He’d seen at least four blades fall from her hands. That she carried a fifth should not have surprised him.

  Arbela lunged lightning swift toward Keith Dubh. With a vicious swipe, she laid open his upper arm. Keith’s eyes widened in shock and his dagger slipped from useless fingers as he crumpled to the ground, screaming as if the devil had taken hold of him.

  Caelen jerked his sword up instinctively to meet the third man’s attack. But the dark figure he’d seen a moment earlier crossed between them, taking the brunt of the blow on his own sword.

  Rory.

  With a roar, the MacKern captain made short work of the man who’d attacked Caelen. Turning about, Rory caught a flying blade to the upper chest, the force flinging him backward. He staggered then braced himself against a tree. Dropping his sword to the ground, he surrendered.

  Caelen’s gaze swept the glen, silent now except for the sobbing cries of the injured MacGillonay.

  Bram crept from Garen’s protection and ran to Caelen’s side. With a swipe of his dagger, Caelen released Bram’s bonds and the lad gripped him about one leg with all the force of a frightened lad. Caelen seized Bram’s shoulder in a tight grip, sliding his palm to the lad’s back in reassurance.

  Arbela straightened, surveying the scene as she wiped her palms down the length of her thighs. Rory slid to the ground beside the tree, groaning in pain. Plucking the short dagger from his shoulder, he tossed it to the ground next to his sword. His face shone pale, sweat beading on his brow. Clutching a fist to his wound, he pressed hard, doubling over. A moment later, he straightened, turning anguished eyes on Arbela.

  The leader of the small band writhed on the ground, hand gripping the deep wound in his arm. Arbela stepped to his side and snatched the blade from his reach, wiping it on her vest to remove the blood. The man continued his contortions, his screams thin and frantic.

  “Scorpion poison,” Arbela explained with a shrug, sending Rory a remorseless look. A swift kick to the side
of Keith Dubh’s head silenced him abruptly. “He’ll thank me for that later. Ye may sweat yers out,” she informed Rory, voice tight.

  The other two men who had kidnapped Bram required no further attention save burial, though Caelen was disinclined to worry overmuch about that.

  He shifted his gaze to Rory.

  “Talk.”

  * * *

  The moon hung low in the sky. Rory clenched his teeth, sweat pouring down his face.

  “The poison will not kill him,” Arbela noted, not bothering to hide the disappointment from her voice. Rory had, after all, assisted Keith Dubh in kidnapping Bram. Poison was too good for him.

  “But he may wish it would in the next several hours,” she added on a slightly happier note.

  Caelen seated Bram on a nearby rock, standing behind him, arms on either side so Bram would feel comforted. Arbela paced the grass, finding it difficult to be still.

  “After my parents died from the pestilence, only my wee sister, Brinna, was left.” Rory sucked in a labored breath, rolling his head on his neck, unable to escape the pain of the venom streaking through his chest.

  “I couldnae bring her to the castle—death was too strong there. I sent her to the shepherd who lived far enough away as to be unaffected by the mezils. He was our great-uncle.”

  Arbela and Caelen exchanged glances. Though they would hear the tale from Rory, things began to make sense. A shudder ran down Arbela’s spine. The shepherd hadn’t been seeking a lost sheep when she found him gravely wounded at the croft, but a lost girl.

  “I was worrit when Coll sent word of missing sheep a fortnight ago. I took Toros and Garen with me, hoping ’twas naught but a wolf, and for Brinna’s protection should it prove otherwise.” Rory panted. “I knew Keith Dubh would likely not take his father and brother’s deaths lightly. But he is a scarred ruffian, not liked well enough by his clan to take control of the MacGillonays. Angry he might have been, but I doubted many would follow him. ’Twas a miscalculation.