Highland Avenger

by Hannah Howell

  “Aye, they badly need killing.”

  “There is a part of me, the one that understands a parent’s pain, that feels badly for the Lucettes as I believe they are about to lose another son.”

  “The last of the heirs?”

  “Nay, there is a third son. Quiet, loves his books and studies, and often suffered beneath the taunts and fists of his elder brothers. Yet, even though I didnae have much to do with Paul, the few times we met he seemed a much gentler, more thoughtful sort. It just might be that, in the end, the people who depend upon the Lucettes will win if he becomes the heir.”

  “I dinnae believe there is any if about it.”

  “Nay, for if Amiel doesnae die, he could remain a threat to Michel and Adelar.” She brushed down her skirts and started to walk away.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “I need a moment of privacy.”

  “Ah, weel, dinnae go far. And dinnae take too long. I would like to be back on our way soon.”

  “What joy.”

  He laughed and went to make sure everything was secure on the horses.

  Arianna had just finished cleaning herself off and putting her braies back on when she heard a sound that made her whole body grow tense and alert. She hastily buried the damp scrap of linen she had used beneath some leaves and crept toward the sound. It was hard not to curse aloud when she saw Amiel and his men cautiously wending their way through the forest. He was like a particularly painful burr one could not shake off one’s leg.

  As silently as she could she moved back toward where she had left Brian. The moment she felt she could move faster without being heard, she hiked up her skirts and started to run. Every step of the way she expected to hear a cry announcing that they had seen her. She was panting by the time she reached Brian.

  “Amiel?” he asked even as he threw her up into the saddle and quickly mounted his own horse.

  “Aye, he and his men are coming through the wood.”

  “Damn that woman!”

  “What woman?”

  “A tavern maid who didnae like taking nay for an answer.”

  “What was she asking?”

  “Sorry, lass, no time to talk on that and I fear the rest of this journey to Dubheidland is going to be fast and hard.”

  Even as he spoke he spurred his horse into a gallop and she did the same, softly cursing Amiel and his allies to the darkest pits of hell.

  Tam stared down at his cousin. She was badly bruised and had obviously been roughly used. When he had seen the Frenchmen riding quickly out of the village he had gone right back to the tavern to confront his cousin again. Although he was angry that she might well have caused trouble for a good man and put his own life in danger, he had to wince in sympathy over how badly she had been beaten.

  “Ye didnae heed my warning at all, did ye, lass?” he said.

  “I didnae tell them about you, if that be what worries ye,” she muttered, her swelling lips making her slur her words.

  “But ye told them about the mon, didnae ye? Vain bitch. The mon has a woman. ’Twas nay an insult for him to say nay to what ye offered.”

  “And when has a mon having a woman e’er stopped them from having another?”

  “Ye deal too much with the bad ones, lass. And this isnae just any woman the lad has. He has himself one of those Murray lasses I have told ye about. Did ye e’en get paid for betraying a mon who ne’er did ye harm?” He cursed when she just glared at him through her one unswollen eye.

  “I didnae intend to tell them.”

  “Then how did they ken ye had anything of worth to tell?”

  “He asked about the mon and I think I did something to let him see that I kenned something.” She eased herself up on her small, rough bed until she was sitting, and accepted the tankard of ale Tam held out to her. “Next I kenned I was escorted up here thinking he wanted a tumble and got this instead. So, aye, once the fists started landing on me I told him about the mon. But I ne’er told them about ye and what ye were to do for him.”

  “Are ye certain?”

  “Oh, aye, I am certain. Ye may be a pious bastard who cannae mind his own business, but ye are blood and I kenned verra quickly that if I told them about ye, ye would soon be dead.” She stared down at her hand, bruised badly by her vain attempts to defend herself. “Do ye think I have caused the deaths of that mon and his lady?”

  “I dinnae ken.” He watched a tear roll slowly down her bruised cheek. “I only met the mon and talked to him for a wee while. But, he is a MacFingal, cousin to those red-haired devils the Camerons. If anyone can get away from those Frenchmen ’tis a mon like that. I am thinking that all ye did was make him have to work a wee bit harder at it.”

  “Weel, mayhap I will drag myself to church and pray for them a wee bit.”

  “I am thinking that might be a verra good thing to do.”

  Chapter 9

  Every bone in Arianna’s body was loudly complaining as they raced toward Dubheidland. She fought the urge to look behind them to see how close her enemy might be. At times her back itched as if it sensed a weapon aimed at it.

  Just as she was about to give in to the urge to look behind her, Brian made an abrupt change in the direction they were traveling in. She was forced to keep her full attention on following him. It was a rocky, winding trail they now followed, one that severely slowed their pace, if only for fear of maiming their horses.

  For a moment, panic choked her, as she grew certain they would soon be caught, but she forced the fear down. Brian moved as a man who knew the land well. The ones chasing them did not. This upward winding, treacherous trail might slow them down more than she liked but it would slow down the enemy at their heels even more.

  “Your cousins dinnae want anyone to come visiting, do they?” she muttered as she struggled to guide her mount over the tortuous path, annoyed that she had none of the skill at it that Brian revealed.

  Brian laughed softly. “Nay, they dinnae, but the more common route used to get to Dubheidland is a wee bit easier. This one is hard but shorter. A lot shorter. On the other side of this pile of rocks and heather the land is much easier to ride over. We shall have a straight, swift ride right to the gates of Dubheidland.”

  “Straight and easy also means open, doesnae it?”

  “It does, but we would have ridden onto open land even if we had gone the other way, too.”

  “What if the others have learned to follow the other path, the easier one? Will they get ahead of us?”

  “Nay. As I said, ’tis only a wee bit easier. Sigimor doesnae like to make any route to Dubheidland too easy. And, truly, this is much shorter. Dinnae fret, love. We will win the race.”

  Brian hoped his brave words proved true. It was going to be a very close-run race no matter which path that fool Amiel forced his men along. Worse, he and Arianna were on tired horses and were tired themselves. Brian knew Amiel, his horses, and his men were undoubtedly as weary as they were but that did not ease his concern by much.

  The way Amiel kept finding them, remained so close at their backs no matter how convoluted a trail Brian chose, worried him. He began to suspect that Amiel, fool though he was, had finally had the wit to hire a Scot or two to lead him and his men. Or one of Amiel’s men had. There were always those who would do anything for a few coins. A good tracker, one who knew the land, would explain why he and Arianna had been unable to lose Amiel despite all the twists and turns he had taken them on. In the beginning it may have been luck but good luck was never this persistent. Amiel might have known where they would head from the start but he should not have been so continuously good at finding the trail they took to get to that place.

  Brian chanced a quick glance at Arianna. She looked weary but kept her attention fixed firmly on the dangerous trail they rode over. Small and slender though she was, she was revealing an astonishing strength so far. That strength was rapidly waning, however. He could see that in the paleness of her face and the shadows under her eyes. />
  What she needed was a few nights in a soft bed and a lot of nourishing food. She had not even been given time to recover from nearly drowning before being forced to run for her life. Another night at Molly’s inn would have helped her but they had not been allowed that needed respite. Brian could only hope that they found it at Dubheidland.

  Determined to get her to his cousin’s keep unharmed, Brian turned all of his attention to the chore of reaching safer ground as quickly as possible. It was not a trail that allowed any speed, however, and he cursed it continuously as they struggled to get over the hill. When they finally got to safer ground, he paused for a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, not surprised to hear Arianna echo it.

  “This does look much better,” Arianna said as she nudged her mount up alongside his. “Is that Dubheidland in the distance?”

  “Aye. A straight run.”

  “Some of which looks to be uphill.”

  “But nay as rocky as the hill we just rode over.”

  Before she could say any more, Brian tensed. A heartbeat later she knew why. The sound of horses approaching from their left was unmistakable. Amiel was obviously pressing his men and horses dangerously hard. She and Brian had not gained much of a lead at all.

  “Ride, lass.” Brian leaned over to slap her horse on its flank. “Straight for those gates,” he yelled as they both picked up speed. “Dinnae look back and dinnae stop nay matter what happens.”

  Following Brian’s example, Arianna leaned low over her mount’s neck as she kicked it, prodding it to as fast a pace as it could provide. She prayed that the exhausted animal still had the strength left to get to those gates and safety. A cry from behind them told her that they had been seen, but she ignored the need to look toward the sound. She could hear her brother Neacal’s voice telling her to keep her gaze fixed upon the direction she was headed in, that looking back would only slow her down. With shelter so close at hand she was determined to win the race.

  She was close enough to see men moving on the high, thick walls of the keep and hear shouting coming from within when the deadly hiss of an arrow passing close by reached her ears. Arianna tensed, fear swiftly chilling the blood in her veins, but nothing struck her, she heard no cry of pain from Brian, and her horse did not falter. Shouts and curses came from behind her and there were no other arrows fired at them. Amiel had obviously reminded his men that he needed her alive. Her death gained him nothing. The DeVeaux wanted her and Lucette needed the boys.

  The man was an utter fool if he thought she would sacrifice her boys to his greed. Even if she did not think of Michel and Adelar as hers, she would never trade the life of a child for her own. Amiel’s ignorance gave her a small advantage. So long as she remained free, her life was not truly in danger. The same could not be said of Brian, however, so she would continue to act as if the men chasing them wanted her dead. Not later, after she had given them what they wanted, but now.

  “Almost there, love!” Brian yelled, able to see Sigimor’s men on the wall so clearly that he recognized a few. “’Tis Sir Brian MacFingal! We are coming in!”

  “Ye have a tail, laddie!”

  “Cut it off!”

  This time when Arianna heard the sound of arrows slicing through the air her heart did not leap up into her throat. The deadly weapons were not aimed at her and Brian but at their enemy. She followed Brian through the high, iron-studded oak gates only to abruptly rein in her mount, barely avoiding riding straight into a group of mounted men.

  “I see ye brought me a wee gift, Brian,” said a huge, red-haired man.

  “I need at least one of them alive, Sigimor,” yelled Brian even as he dismounted, grabbed another horse and joined with the men riding out through the gates, their horses at full gallop and their swords drawn before they had even cleared the gates.

  “Such poor manners ye have, lad, to give me a gift and then tell me what to do with it,” she heard the man Brian had called Sigimor yell back.

  Brian’s reply to that was lost in the roar of a battle cry erupting from all the men racing toward Amiel and his men. Arianna turned in her saddle to look out the gates, not surprised to see Amiel and his men immediately turn and flee, leaving two arrow-ridden bodies on the ground behind them. Arianna suspected those two dead men had been the ones closest to her and Brian.

  “A horse! Go fight!” cried a high, sweet, childish voice.

  Arianna turned back to look at the people gathered in the bailey. A small, red-haired boy was running toward the gates, a wooden sword held high in his tiny hands. Hard on his heels was a very pregnant, black-haired woman. One tall, lean man was quicker, catching the boy up in his arms and laughing as he disarmed the child.

  Not sure what else to do, Arianna dismounted only to have to hang onto the saddle and lean against the horse when her legs threatened to collapse beneath her weight. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two black-haired little girls, armed with wooden swords as well, attempt to creep around the people gathering in the bailey. Before she could open her mouth to say a word, yet another tall, handsome, red-haired man caught both little girls by the back of their gowns and pulled them to a halt.

  Just as Arianna was about to test the strength in her legs, the very pregnant, black-haired woman stepped up to her and smiled. The woman was, in a word, beautiful. There was only welcome to be seen in the unusual silvery gray eyes as well and Arianna found herself returning the woman’s smile with a tired one of her own.

  “I am the laird’s wife, Lady Jolene Cameron,” the woman said.

  “English? Are we at peace with England then?”

  “Who knows. It changes from one day to the next. Nay, I am but a poor English lass caught up by Sir Sigimor’s great charm.”

  Arianna did not need the laughter of the men around them to tell her that was a jest. The laughter brightening the woman’s eyes told her that. She also realized she had just been rather rude to the poor woman, who already had to deal with an enemy at the gates.

  “I am sorry,” Arianna said, and held out her hand. “I am Lady Arianna Murray.” She stuttered to a halt as she shook the woman’s hand and realized she did not want to be known as a Lucette any longer. The word had stuck in her throat. Relief swept over her and she knew it was past time she had let go of the name that had never truly been hers and had no pleasant memories attached to it.

  “Well, I imagine you have had a very long and arduous journey, if your entrance into Dubheidland is any indication.” Jolene slipped her arm through Arianna’s. “Allow me to escort you inside. I suspect you would welcome a bath, clean clothing, and food.”

  “Och, aye, I would. Thank ye. I apologize for the trouble.” She rubbed her forehead but it did little to ease the throb of exhaustion. “We just couldnae seem to shake them off our trail.”

  “They will be shaken off now.”

  The woman spoke with such confidence, Arianna was forced to believe her. She set her mind to simply walking without stumbling. Now that she had stopped running, she was all too keenly aware of just how exhausted she was.

  “’Tis verra wrong of me, but I wish they were nay just shaken off; I wish they all end up dead.”

  “Nay, after what they have done to you, that you would wish it is no surprise. I understand that feeling very well, having had to run from an enemy myself. ’Tis how I met my Sigimor, but that is a story to tell you after you have rested. I suspect you have not had much rest from the running.”

  “Nay, verra little.” She looked around when Jolene escorted her into a bedchamber. “Oh, this is verra nice,” she murmured, eyeing the big bed and wondering if she had the strength to get over to it and collapse upon all those soft coverings.

  “I have already ordered a bath for you.” Jolene urged her toward the bed. “Sit and I will gather some clothes for you.”

  Arianna sat as stiffly as she could, afraid she would fall over and go to sleep if she did not. More aches were making themselves known in her body and she had to fight back a
groan. She accepted the tankard of drink Jolene gave her with a smile—one sip enough to tell her it was a deliciously spiced cider—and watched the woman move quickly around the room to collect some clothes for her.

  “This isnae your bedchamber, is it?” she asked.

  “Nay, this is the one Sigimor’s sister Ilsa uses when she comes to visit. These are her things. They may be a little long but I think they will fit you well enough.” Jolene set the clothes down on the bed and turned to direct the youths and maids in setting up the bath for Arianna.

  “They will be all right, will they nay?” she asked Jolene after they were alone again in the room and Jolene began to help her shed her clothes.

  “Of course they will. There did not appear to be too many men chasing you and my husband likes a good fight. Or, considering how fast the men after you were fleeing, a good chase. Oh, my, such bruising you have. I will fetch some salve for them.”

  Before Arianna could protest, she was in the bath and Jolene was hurrying out of the room. Arianna sank down into the hot water, realized Jolene had sprinkled some gently scented herbs in it, and allowed it to soothe the aches in her body. She was dangerously close to sleep when Jolene and an older woman hurried back into the room.

  The two women had her washed, dried, dressed in a fine linen nightgown, and seated before a full plate of food before Arianna could protest. “Ye shouldnae be doing so much,” she said to Jolene as the woman finally sat down in a chair and faced her across the small table. “All this dashing about cannae be good for the bairn.”

  Jolene laughed and poured herself a tankard of cider. “I am fine. This child is due soon and well settled within me. You, however, look like you had better eat your fill quickly before the need to sleep conquers you.”

  “I am verra tired, I admit.” Arianna began to eat the tender venison on her plate. “I should tell you what this trouble is that I have brought to your home.”