The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

Dread grew inside him like a raging fever. Instinct warned him the arrows were a diversion. He cocked his pistols and turned toward the wagons. “They mean to charge the back of us. Come!”

  Gunfire split the air from behind the wagons, followed by shouts and the sound of wood splintering. The horses reared and attempted to run, but Doughal and Percy held them fast.

  “Go!” Marsden shouted. “These men and I shall hold the front.” He aimed his rifle at the scattering of men headed down the hillside toward them and fired.

  Graham and Duncan took cover under Cook’s wagon, joining a pale, panic-stricken Robbie where he lay on his belly clutching his hands over his ears.

  “Wills,” Robbie said, taking one of his hands away from his head long enough to point at the lad’s body lying in the leaves just behind the wagon. “Shot him dead, they did.”

  Graham propped the barrel of his pistol on the rung of the wagon wheel and fired, dropping one attacker to his knees. Duncan fired and finished off the man, who fell to the ground.

  Elbow-crawling over to Wills, Graham grabbed hold of the boy’s belt and dragged him back beneath the wagon. “He’s no’ dead,” he told Robbie. He pointed to a dark red stain on the boy’s leg. “Shot in the leg and fainted.”

  “Thank God above,” Robbie whispered, then put his hands back over his ears, squinting his eyes shut against the racket of the gunfire.

  Graham took hold of the boy’s shoulder and shook him until he opened his eyes and looked at him. “Ye’ve got two choices, boy. Fight or die!”

  A shot fired above them, sounding as though it had come from inside the wagon instead of from the woods. One of the men running toward them stumbled to his knees and dragged himself away, seeking cover behind a tree.

  “Someone in the wagon has good aim,” Duncan said as he reloaded, then fired on another man creeping down the hillside. The man growled and grabbed his arm as he retreated back up the rise.

  Then the woods grew quiet.

  The wagon boards above their heads creaked with scurrying footsteps. Graham rapped the butt of his pistol up against the boards. “Stay inside while the men and I ensure ’tis truly safe!”

  The steps inside the wagon stilled.

  “Are you well?” Mercy’s voice, muffled and fearful, came to him.

  “Aye, love. I’m fine,” Graham called back. He crawled out from under the wagon and stood with a pistol in each hand. “Just a mite angry,” he added under his breath. Except for the occasional moan and rustling of leaves coming from the hillside to their left, the skirmish appeared to be over.

  Duncan rose from the ground, brushing dirt from his knees. He looked toward the sound of the moans. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Try not to kill them, aye? We need information.” Graham knew Duncan’s temperament. His younger brother had little patience with those who fired the first shot.

  Graham bent and looked back under the wagon where Robbie crouched beside the still unconscious Wills, staring down at the red stain spreading along the thigh of the boy’s trews. “Robbie!” he purposely barked the name to snap the boy out of his fear-induced stupor.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Drag him out so we can see to his leg. It looks to be nothing more than a grazing, but we need to be sure.” Graham gave a disgusted shake of his head. Useless. Both of them.

  A shot echoed through the woods. It came from the direction Duncan had taken.

  “Duncan!” Graham skittered backward, pressing his back to the wagon with both pistols at the ready.

  “The fool shot himself,” Duncan shouted down from the mountainside. “Saw me headed toward him.”

  Coward. Graham had hoped for information. “Best come back down here among the wagons,” he shouted. He was still none too certain the area was safe.

  The door to Cook’s wagon eased open. Mercy peeped through a crack in the door.

  “Did I no’ ask ye to say inside for a bit longer?” Graham asked.

  “I needed to see you safe.” Her eyes shimmered with tears.

  Graham forced himself to speak in a kinder tone. “I told ye I was fine, lass. Ye must heed me during times such as these, ye ken?”

  Mercy looked tempted to argue but responded with a jerking nod. “May we come out now? All seems quiet.”

  Graham took one last scan of the woods. All seemed quiet. “Aye, lass. Come out.”

  Mercy pushed open the door, jumped to the ground, and rushed to him, clutching hold of him in the best possible way as she threw herself into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tight, tucking her face into his neck. “I was so afraid for you,” she whispered against his skin.

  Graham hugged her tight, grinning at the stares focused on them, not giving a damn what they thought. He held her close, reveling in the feel of her against him. What a perfect match they were. Their bairns would surely have hair dark as ravens and temperaments fierce and stubborn as mules. He looked forward to filling a keep with their brood. As much as he hated letting her go, he peeled her away from his chest. “We must go. I willna rest ’til we’re out of this pass.”

  Mercy stepped back, sliding her hands down his arms with a reluctance that set him on fire. She gave a quick nod. “Agreed.”

  A pitiful moan came from Wills, lying at the side of the road where Robbie had dragged him.

  “Oh no! Wills!” Mercy rushed to his side, bending to check the wound on his leg.

  Wills sprang to life, snaking an arm around Mercy’s waist and locking a dagger tight to her throat. Robbie hurried to stand beside him, holding a pair of pistols at the ready, one trained on Graham, and the other sweeping the rest of the group as though trying to decide upon a target.

  Two men stepped out from around a cluster of large trees. A third man rose from behind a pile of boulders. He sauntered forward with an arrogant smile that fueled Graham’s rage even hotter. “Gobs!” he shouted. “Bring the other one down so we can all have a wee chat before we’re on our way.”

  A man taller and uglier than any man Graham had ever seen, half-shoved, half-dragged Duncan down the hillside. One hand held the barrel of a pistol stuck into Duncan’s ribcage, and his other meaty hand clutched Duncan by the hair on the back of his head. A grimy knotted rag was jammed between Duncan’s teeth and tied tight around his face. His hands were lashed behind his back.

  “See, you stinking Scot? I ain’t the coward you thought me.” Robbie leveled a pistol higher, aiming it at Graham’s head. “I’m a good shot, too.” He clicked back the hammer.

  “No!” Mercy screeched, lunged to the side, and landed a kick into the back of Robbie’s knee, bringing him to the ground just as Wills sliced a cut across her throat.

  “Stay still, Mercy, I beg ye.” The sight of Mercy’s blood staining the front of her bodice filled Graham with an icy panic, blinding him with unrelenting rage. The only thing that held him at bay was the gut-wrenching fear for her life.

  The man from behind the rocks walked up to Wills and cuffed him hard on the ear. “Look what you done! She’s worth more unmarked, fool!”

  Wills jerked away, rubbing his ear against his shoulder as he resettled his grip on Mercy. “Caught me off guard, she did, Flynn. Lucky, I didn’t cut her throat proper.”

  “I’ll twist your head clean off your neck, ye wee bastard.” Graham took a step forward, coming to a halt when Wills pressed the dagger harder against Mercy’s already bleeding neck.

  “Settle down, you. We’ll be taking your lady with us,” said the leader. “Got quite the prospects for her, we do.” The man gave Graham a gap-toothed grin. “Her Da done promised us her weight in gold and told us whatever we sells her for is ours, too.”

  He took a step closer to Mercy, slid the tip of his rifle under the edge of her skirts, and lifted, bending to inspect her. “Well, will you look at that now, lads? She’s wearing some kind of fancy breeches.” Flynn shook his head. “We’ll have to remedy that afore we get her to the docks, we will.” He wi
nked at Graham. “Gotta be able to show off them wares, eh? Get a better price that way.”

  Graham dove toward Flynn but came up short when Wills tightened his hold enough on Mercy to make her cry out. “If ye dare hurt her anymore, I’ll kill ye slower than I’m already planning.”

  Flynn laughed out loud, then motioned to the others in his band. “Tie the Scots and the redcoat to the wagon wheels and be sure to gag them. Since they’re such an ungrateful lot, I’ll be lettin’m die slow. No blessing of a fast, clean bullet for the likes of them. Lock the rest in that there fancy wagon.” He nodded toward the harnessed horses and those tethered to the wagons. “Shame we haven’t got time to sell a bit of horseflesh, but no sense in leavin’ the poor beasts trapped to suffer starvin’ to death. Set’m loose, boys.” He chuckled. “Any of these fools worms their way loose, they can walk.”

  “Stay alive,” Graham roared to Mercy as they dragged her away. “I will find ye. Just stay alive, I beg ye!”

  “Now that’s right touching, that is,” said the one called Gobs as he yanked hold of Graham to tie him to the same wagon wheel as Duncan. “Hold her up a minute!” he shouted to Wills. “Turn her this way.”

  “What for?” Wills halted, swinging Mercy around to face Graham.

  “He won’t be finding ye in this life, m’lady.” Gobs gave a snorting laugh, then stabbed his dagger deep in Graham’s side.

  Graham held his breath against giving the bastard the satisfaction of any kind of reaction to the searing pain.

  “No!” Tears streamed down her face as she bent over Wills’s arm, flailing from side to side and sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Thanks, Gobs. Now I gotta carry the wailin’ bitch.” Wills hefted her along, dragging her to one of the horses brought down from higher on the hillside. He threw her over the saddle, belly down, like a sack of grain, then mounted up behind her.

  With a hard, chewing bite into the leather gag, Graham struggled to breathe through the ripping burn in his side as he watched the men ride away. The wound didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the knowledge they had tricked him. Led astray by a pair of little bastards who had probably planned this day all along with Edsbury. Graham closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wagon wheel. He’d missed the signs. How could he have been such a damned fool?

  With her body slung over the horse, the rush of blood drummed inside her head, and her skull felt ripe to split from the pressure. The ridges of the saddle dug into her ribcage. Her neck wound was still bleeding.

  The weight of Wills’s hand on her rump, groping and squeezing as they thundered through the forest repulsed and infuriated her. Fighting his touch proved futile, enraging her even more. She prayed for the opportunity to rip that knife from his belt and split him from gut to gullet.

  The horse leapt over a crack in the forest floor. The rough landing made her wretch and cough, then gasp for air.

  “Hold up, Wills!”

  A deep, wheezing voice she hadn’t heard before sounded somewhere close to her head. At this point, Mercy couldn’t be certain of anything. A low buzzing filled her ears and she felt dizzy. When she dared open her eyes, lights flashed and distorted her vision. But one particular pain, one brutal image focused crisp and clear in her mind: Graham stabbed in the side and left to die. The cruelty of it twisted her heart. She let loose a piercing sob. I am so sorry, my love. So very sorry.

  “God Almighty, Wills, pull her up so she’ll stop that infernal noise,” the wheezing voice said.

  The horse stopped, and Mercy went limp, determined not to help the disgusting Wills in any way. She felt no fear, only a cold determination. Graham had begged her to live. Begged her not to give up. She wouldn’t. But what she would do was escape and make her way back to him. She had to get back to him.

  Wills grappled and yanked at her but lost his hold. She slid out of his grip and fell to the forest floor, hitting her right hip first, then slammed hard to the flat of her back. She gasped, curling to her side, struggling to regain the wind knocked from her.

  “Dammit, Wills!”

  Gunfire boomed and reverberated through the trees. Wills sagged to one side, then hit the ground with a sickening thud beside her. His sightless eyes stared into hers as he gasped his last breath.

  “You killed him, Tracker!” Robbie said with a high-pitched squeak. Mercy recognized that little traitor’s voice.

  “You want to be next, boy?” The voice belonged to their leader.

  “Naw.” Robbie answered quickly, no doubt in his voice.

  Mercy struggled to rise, head swimming and eyes so swollen from weeping and hanging upside down, her sight faded in and out.

  “Get her up and on the horse, and tie her hands to the saddle,” Tracker said. “We need to make some distance afore nightfall. We’re too damn close to Ben Nevis for my likin’. MacCoinnich’s brother has enough warriors to be a problem.”

  “What about Wills?” Robbie asked.

  “Leave him,” Tracker said. “Crows need ta eat.”

  The greasy, bloated man, the one called Gobs, and for good reason judging by the look of him, yanked her up and plopped her on the horse as easily as if she were a rag doll. Mercy forced back a gag at the rancid stench of the man. She flinched as he lashed her hands to the saddle horn, pulling the cord so tight it bit into her flesh.

  “Damn, she be a tender one,” Gobs said as he smacked a meaty paw across her bleeding hands and laughed. He gave her a slow wink as he took hold of her horse’s reins. “You’ll bring us a good price, hen. We’ll do well ’cause a you.”

  Mercy clenched her teeth and stared straight ahead, determined to remain silent. Give me your strength, Mama. Please give me your strength. Head bowed and sagging forward, Mercy feigned the show of a cowering, hopeless female whilst stealing glances all around and assessing her captors. Mama had raised her to be a proper lady, but she’d also taught Mercy to be a fighter. Both Akio and Mama had seen to that. Poor Mama had seen too much in her lifetime and had known better than to trust Papa’s title to protect them.

  Five men. Now with Wills gone, Robbie knew her best, so she’d have to watch him closer. He’d worked at Claxton House for the past couple of years.

  Gobs—the stinking mountain of flesh. Bald-headed Flynn, second-in-command. Tracker, the leader, dressed in black from his battered hat to the tips of his boots. A grizzled beard and stringy, gray hair roping down his back, the man looked as though he belonged at sea rather than on the back of a horse.

  A weasel-like man rode behind Tracker, his beady-eyed gaze darting all around them. Mercy had yet to learn that man’s name but decided, although he was the smallest of the group, he might well be the one that needed closer watching as well. He appeared to miss nothing. He cleared his throat and flicked a bony finger in her direction. “Ye keep bloodying her up like that and ye’ll no’ get as good a price for damaged goods. With her cat-eyed looks and that black hair, they’ll already think her a whore rather than a real lady no matter what ye say. Ye better keep her all pampered lookin’ and such.”

  Tracker gave Gobs a silent, narrow-eyed warning and nodded toward Mercy’s bound hands.

  Gobs rolled his eyes, dismounted with a labored grunt, and shoved a fist into one of the bags hanging from his saddle. He pulled free a length of dingy white linen that might once have been a man’s fine neckcloth. He waddled over to Mercy and replaced the cords of leather he’d used to bind her hands with the cloth, anchoring it to her saddle. “There,” he huffed as he barreled his way back to his horse. “Good enough for ye, Norton?”

  “Good enough,” Norton replied with a shrug. “We’ll see when we get there.”

  They took off again at a brisk pace. Mercy used the opportunity to make a mental note of any landmarks that might help her get back to Graham. Unfortunately, she’d traveled the first part of the journey thrown over the side of a horse. She felt sure they hadn’t made it that far from the wagons, for they were still in the pass leading to the glen that lay at the
base of Ben Nevis.

  She gritted her teeth against the pain left by the previous ties, working at the knotted cloth binding her hands. If she freed her hands, she might gain control of the horse.

  Tracker, Flynn, and Gobs rode in front of her with her horse’s reins tied to Gobs’s saddle. Her heart fell. She’d never get those reins freed without a knife. Robbie and Norton rode behind her. Escape wouldn’t be easy, but surely they wouldn’t shoot her. She was worth too much to them.

  Mercy explored the idea of throwing herself from the saddle. Akio had taught her how to dive and roll. A fond memory of him praising her after she’d nearly given her riding teacher a death scare by just such a stunt. Give me your strength, Akio. Give me your agility.

  A glance forward warned her that the narrow pass would soon be behind them. She needed the woods to escape. She’d never get away in the open glen. With a final yank on her bonds, she pulled the ties free of the saddle and with care, untied her hands. Then she sent up a silent prayer and dove off her horse and to the left just as they passed a snarl of vines and saplings in the overgrown ravine running alongside the road.

  Shouts followed her fall as she crashed through branches. Tucked into a ball as Akio had taught her, she rolled down the side of the ravine, jabbed and beaten by undergrowth and rocks. Upon her stop, she crouched low for the span of a heartbeat, glancing around to gather her thoughts, then launched into a limping run. She had to keep to the undergrowth to go undetected. The men would search for her but would never catch her. The small, nimble Norman would be her greatest threat.

  Cursing behind her spurred her onward. She could not get caught. Branches ripped her clothes, clawed her arms, cut across her face, and yanked her hair. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered but getting back to Graham. Horses thundered above her on the road. They thought to cut her off. The men behind her sounded farther away. She could return to the road and go higher. They’d think her still in the ravine.

  She reached for the limbs of an obliging tree and pulled herself upward and toward the roadway. Just before she pushed through a dense tangle of leafy vines, she held her breath and listened. There was still definite movement in the ravine behind her. The voices had stopped, but the sound of knives slashing through vegetation was quite clear. She pulled herself up higher and crawled to the edge of the road, crouching behind a large boulder surrounded by several smaller rocks.