A Fierce Archer (Clan Ross Book 6)

by Hildie McQueen

  Chapter One

  The peace of winter didn’t last long. Spring brought with it sunshine and danger. While Ewan Ross struggled to decide what his future entailed and what was best for the advancement of Clan Ross, he remained with Clan Fraser. The keep was two days’ ride south of Ross Keep, which helped with the current alliance between the clans.

  They were in Laird Fraser’s study, a routine of each day before the leaders went out to speak to all the guards.

  There was a knock on the door frame and a man entered.

  “Laird, I was on patrol at the border with Mackenzie lands. A farmer and his family have been attacked. Four of them are dead. Every one of them cut through,” the guard’s voice broke as he informed them.

  “Which family?” Laird Fraser asked, his expression tight with restrained anger.

  The guard let out a long breath. “Thomas Lewis, his wife, and two sons. There was an infant as well, a girl. We took the wee one to a neighboring family to care for.”

  Keithen Fraser, the laird’s son, jumped to his feet. “We must declare war on the Mackenzie! Ye know they are responsible.”

  “Lewis was a good man. He worked hard to ensure a good life for his wife and bairns. What reason could anyone have to kill him?” the laird stated.

  The guard shook his head. “We asked the neighboring farmers. One reported to have seen men riding through. A group of five or six. They did not wear distinctive tartans but were described as menacing.”

  Although it could not be proven that the people who died were killed by a Mackenzie, no one else in the region had reason or was capable of such savagery.

  Always infuriatingly fair, Laird Fraser, motioned for Ewan, Keithen and Broden McRainy, a guard, to come forward. “We will do nothing until there is proof. Go out with four men each. Scour every inch of the border until ye find something to prove who was responsible.”

  Laird Fraser banged his fist on the table. “Bring me back something.”

  Within the hour, the men were divided, each of them assigned four of the best scouts and warriors. Ewan and his four men raced northwest of the small farms, where families had been massacred.

  They rode hard until reaching the closest Mackenzie border and pulled their horses to a stop. Looking to each of the men, he directed them in which direction to continue. “Each of ye, ride until the sun is directly overhead and then return here. Keep yer eyes open for any sign of recent travel, blood, torn clothing. Anything.”

  News of attacks on other people of clans in the surrounding area had been reported consistently. Although everyone suspected the new Mackenzie laird, there was little proof, as the attackers ensured there were no survivors to bear witness.

  Upon the death of the last two Mackenzie lairds, a new seemingly benign leader, named Atholl Mackenzie, a nephew of the first late Mackenzie, was given the lairdship. The man, who remained single, although with a reputation for ruining many a lass, had met with Laird Fraser recently. He extended promises of goodwill. However, in the passing months, it was becoming more and more evident that he was as power thirsty as his predecessors.

  The senseless killings were meant to bring clans to war with one another, a tactic that, thankfully, had only caused small squabbles so far. Almost every laird suspected Clan Mackenzie, and not one another.

  It made little sense that the Mackenzie would target Clan Fraser. With newly acquired alliances with Clans Ross and Grant, they were not an easy mark. There was also the fact that just a day’s ride away, another large Clan Fraser lived.

  Keithen Fraser, the laird’s son, had married Ava Mackenzie the late laird’s only daughter. It was a marriage that had been negotiated by the lairds in an effort to come to a truce following battles. However, the relationship remained tenuous at best. And now, the new Mackenzie demanded a new public pronouncement, one way or another.

  Being that Laird Fraser’s son, Keithen, was married to the late Mackenzie’s daughter, Ava, any kind of pronouncement was superfluous. Except for the fact that the Frasers and Mackenzies had never truly been on friendly terms.

  Perhaps it was because of the lack of formal terms that now a farmer and his family had been attacked and killed. It was that innocent people who had nothing to do with quests for power often paid the price.

  Hours later, all of the warriors met back at the farm. None of them had found any clues that stood out.

  “How can it be that we found nothing?” Ewan asked, frustrated.

  Broden, shrugged. “It could be the attackers traveled southwest to throw us off their tracks.”

  “Or that we are mistaken, and it was not the Mackenzies, but others,” Keithen suggested. “It could be they expect us to not come after them and all of this has nothing to do with the Mackenzie.”

  “That is why two groups are scouting the eastern areas. We will find something. Once we do, whoever is responsible will pay.” Ewan frowned toward the small house and its land. “They did nothing to deserve such a horrible end.”

  Broden met his gaze. “It is usually the innocent that pay for warring people in power.”

  “True,” Keithen replied grimly. “We should search the home and surrounding area. Keep yer eyes open.”

  They dismounted and walked around, searching for any clues of who was responsible. Ewan scanned the area, from the newly dug graves to the corrals where the few livestock the family owned were grazing.

  “Ye both can return to the keep,” Broden told them. “The day is ending. My men and I will ride out to the neighboring farm and ask the farmer to come over here and take care of the animals. Hopefully soon, the laird will grant this land to someone.”

  The sun was falling as an exhausted Ewan rode back to Fraser Keep. Instead of taking the usual route back to Fraser Keep, he detoured into the nearby woods that marked the border between Mackenzie and Fraser lands.

  If the attackers had not wanted to be seen returning to Mackenzie lands, it was possible they stayed on Fraser wooded lands before crossing into theirs.

  The birds silenced as he rode past, a giveaway to others of his presence. A crack, like a branch breaking, sounded and Ewan listened intently. But soon thereafter, it was silent again. It could have been a wild beast or the wind, he supposed.

  Ewan dismounted at seeing a broken branch. It was newly broken. Someone had just been through there.

  Again, he considered, it could have been a wild beast.

  At the sound of a primal growl, Ewan whirled. A man on horseback crashed through the trees.

  Ewan went for his sword, but it was with the horse, and the attacker blocked the way.

  A red birthmark covered half of the man’s face. Ewan’s blood went cold as he recognized the man he hated with all his being.

  The marked man was the lead guard for Laird Mackenzie and the one directly responsible for the vicious attack on Catriona McKay, the woman he cared for deeply.

  Fury swept through every inch of his being. Not only was he finally face-to-face with the man he’d been hunting for months, but it was impossible to get to his sword.

  The man held up his sword, a cruel twist to his mouth. “Ye will die today.”

  “Who are ye?” Ewan called out, hoping to distract him. “I am sure ye do not know who I am.”

  The man sneered. “Oh, but I do know ye. Ye are an archer, perhaps the one who killed my laird.”

  It was impossible for the man to know anything about it. No one knew he’d been the one to shoot three arrows into the bastard. Then again, he’d given away his gift of archery at the last competition. The small tournament had been at the Fraser Keep and attended only by those close to the family.

  So, the fact remained. Someone had t
old this man.

  The warrior charged forward and Ewan dove to the ground. He would not be able to keep the man at bay unless he sheltered behind trees.

  Scrambling to his feet, he ran for the nearest tree only to stop at the unmistakable sensation of a blade plunging through his body. He gasped when pain erupted and unable to remain upright, he fell face-first onto the forest ground.

  ***

  “Ye are fortunate to have survived.” Catriona’s face came into focus and Ewan Ross wished with all his might that it were possible to lift his hand and caress her cheek. Her amber brown eyes pinned him for a moment before she turned away. “He’s awake.”

  He tried to lift his head to see who she spoke to, but no matter how hard he tried, no part of his body responded. Twice, Ewan tried to ask for something to drink, but the only sound he made was a croak.

  “What is it? Are ye in pain?” Once again, Catriona peered down at him. “I’ll get ye some water.”

  Moments later, she lifted his head and tipped a cup, allowing the precious liquid to flow down his parched throat. He drank greedily until every drop was gone. “Thank ye.”

  “Laird Fraser asked to be informed as soon as ye were awake.” She turned away and went to a table and began mixing items with a pestle. “A maid will return shortly to care for ye. I have been helping the healer with yer care.”

  It was a struggle to keep his heavy eyelids open, but he managed to. “What happened?”

  Catriona’s head whipped up and her mouth fell open. “Ye do not remember?”

  All he could recall was the last meeting with Laird Fraser, where they’d decided to go to a farm after an entire family had been killed, except for a bairn. Laird Fraser wished for them to find proof of who was responsible.

  He also remembered that they suspected the slayings were ordered by Clan Mackenzie.

  Had he ridden out that day? With whom had he gone?

  “I do not remember anything other than leaving to go in search of attackers. How long have I been back here?”

  Moving closer to the bed, she lifted the edge of her apron and wiped her hands. “Three days. Someone cut ye through in the forest, near the border between our land and that of Laird Mackenzie.”

  “Who found me?”

  Catriona disappeared from sight to be replaced by a man.

  “What were ye doing on Mackenzie lands?” Laird Fraser’s face was contorted in rage. “Ye and the rest of the guards know better than to travel into Mackenzie lands.”

  Ewan grimaced when he shifted, as even the slightest movement brought discomfort. “I do not recall going to Mackenzie lands.”

  “Ye were found by hunters. Ye’re very lucky.”

  “I cannot remember.”

  Laird Fraser frowned. “Ye separated from the four that went with ye. They said ye ordered them to ride back here without ye.”

  Since Ewan had only come to live at Fraser Keep for a little over a season, he was not familiar with where, exactly, the land borders were. In the past when he’d traversed into Mackenzie lands, it was with a plan in mind.

  “If I was across the border, perhaps I was following who I thought responsible for the killings.”

  “When ye can ride, it may be best for ye to return to yer clan. If the Mackenzies think ye are dead, it may serve to our advantage.”

  When Laird Fraser left, the room was eerily silent. Ewan tested his limbs, first one leg, then the other. He wiggled his feet and then flexed his hands. Then he repeated each movement once more, just to be sure and blew out a relieved breath that they moved as he commanded. Although it was painful, he shifted and attempted to sit up. It proved impossible to lift himself up, much too painful, so, he gave up and fell back onto the bed with a loud groan.

  Why could he not remember anything? It was as if a fog had fallen over the events of the day he was injured. If he’d seen someone, it was possible whoever it was had attacked the farmers. If only he could see the face.

  Sliding his hands down his torso, Ewan discovered his entire midsection was bandaged. He’d been wrapped from lower chest to stomach. The cloths were hard from dried blood. When he pressed gently, inch by inch, he found a long wound, just under his right ribcage. He’d been lucky to have been left for dead and that whoever attacked him had not thrust into him another time.

  The back of his head throbbed. Reaching back, he felt a large lump. Whoever had sliced him through had obviously attempted to finish him with a blow to the head.

  Indeed, he was damned lucky to be alive.

  Keithen Ross, the laird’s son, entered. Wearing a heavy tunic and dark trews, the tall man lowered to a chair and crossed his stretched legs at the booted ankles. “We keep our healer busy,” Keithen said with a chuckle.

  “Where is the healer?” Ewan asked. If he could get some of the healer’s tonics, it was possible he would be able to sit up.

  “Seeing to an injury. One of our guards fell when lowering from the wall and broke his leg.” Keithen studied him for a moment. “Father tells me ye cannot recall what happened.”

  “Tis true, I do not remember anything past speaking about going out to the farm. Yer father has asked that I leave as soon as I recover.” Ewan grimaced as a wave of pain seared across his midsection. “I will leave, but I require a bit more time. I have something to finish.”

  “I suspect ye have already accomplished more than we know or suspect,” Keithen said and Ewan felt a cold trickle travel down his spine. The man continued. “What else, or should I say who else is on yer list?”

  Both he and Keithen had sought revenge against the same group. Those that Keithen had not felled, Ewan had. Together, they’d killed almost every member that had been on duty when both Lady Fraser and Catriona McKay were taken.

  Although Keithen had a more understandable reason, Ewan felt just as justified. If asked why he wished to kill them to the detriment of his own life, Ewan could not justify his actions fully. But he hated any kind of mistreatment. He always had.

  On the other hand, no one would question Keithen.

  One guard in particular, the one with a red birthmark across his face, was the only one that remained alive. He was the leader, the main one who’d raped and beaten Catriona. The bastard and the group of guards he commanded had mercilessly tortured the defenseless woman.

  They’d left a shell of what she’d once been, filled with shame that was not justified.

  No, he could not justify his actions, other than to admit that her plight had torn through him. One look at her and his entire soul ached for her. If there was such a thing as the calling of one soul to another, it had certainly happened when he’d first set his gaze on Catriona. That she’d been hurt in such a horrible manner was not something he could allow to go unpunished.

  Something about her pulled at him. Although he was not ready to invest too much thought in what exactly he felt for her, it went without question that Catriona was a woman of worth.

  “Ye and I have a common enemy. We are united in this. However, ye do not have the same reason I do,” Ewan finally replied.

  Keithen studied him for a long moment. “I suppose asking yer reasoning is of no avail?”

  Ewan shook his head. “The reasons are my own.”

  “Why did ye kill Laird Mackenzie?” Keithen asked.

  Struck silent, Ewan inhaled deeply, attempting to keep any expression from his face. “Why would I kill him?”

  Keithen straightened and leaned forward. “It is said that the men who shot Laird Mackenzie had to have a special talent. The three arrows that fell him were loosed so close together, it was as if the archer had practiced this special archery skill for a long time.”

  Silence stretched for several seconds. It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it but, instead, he blew out a hard breath. “I did what ye and the other clan leaders couldn’t. No one would suspect or blame me. A clan war will not come yer way because of it.”

  “It was not yer place,” Keithen pronounced. “If anyon
e should have killed the bastard, it was me.”

  “And ye surely would be dead as we speak.”

  “It is a miracle I am not.” Keithen was right. He had been captured by the late laird’s son and hung for the killing. However, Clan Ross had arrived just in time to save his life. Keithen’s sister, also an accomplished archer, had pierced the rope with an arrow.

  Just then, the healer entered with two maids. One carried a bucket of steaming water, the other a stack of clean linens.

  Without preamble, the older man pinned him with a hard look. “Ye lost a lot of blood and are certainly with luck.” Gray hair pulled back into a queue and a pristine tunic, he moved to the bed and lifted the blankets.

  The healer motioned the maids closer and instructed one to soak the cloth wrapped around his midsection so it would be easier to remove.

  The hot water seeped through Ewan’s bandages with a soothing affect. He wanted to relax but suspected the bandage removal was going to be painful. The ripping off of the bandaging was uncomfortable, but he managed to keep from making too much noise.

  As the healer cleaned his wounds, Ewan was shocked at how long the piercing appeared. However, it was healing nicely. His midsection was rewrapped.

  “The wound to the back of yer head is what worries me,” the healer explained. “I wish to see what happens when we help ye to sit.”

  With Keithen’s assistance, he was helped to sit up and, immediately, the room swayed and his vision blurred.

  Closing and opening his eyes to clear his vision, Ewan let out a deep breath to keep from becoming nauseous. Refusing to look at the healer, Ewan concentrated on the wall opposite the bed, but his vision continued to be blurry. “Something is wrong with my eyesight.”

  The healer shrugged. “I expect everything will return to normal after ye heal properly.” The man leaned forward and looked into Ewan’s eyes. “They appear fine.”

  Keithen waited for the healer to leave before speaking again. “My father did inform me that he wishes ye to return to yer clan.”

  The decision was not surprising. Upon learning that he’d been the archer to kill the late Mackenzie, it was imperative Ewan leave. The last thing the Frasers needed at the moment was to be involved in another conflict.