The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Mercy glanced around, doubt filling her. Few trees grew at this elevation. Whatever shelter they hoped to find would be in the form of boulders and the land. What if Tracker and his men discovered them?

  “Marsden and I will stand watch. We can sleep when we reach Tor Ruadh,” Duncan said. He nodded to the north. “The wagons will have reached the glen by now, so the bastards might risk a search for us through the night.”

  “But they won’t know we’re here.” Mercy clenched her horse’s reins so tight her nails bit into her palms.

  “They’ll know we’re close,” Graham said as he walked a slow circle around the plateau and scanned their surroundings. “We canna be certain how much information the others gave them once they caught up with them.”

  Mercy glanced up at the darkening sky. A faint winking of stars already spattered the blue-black curtain of night falling. The dark of the moon. That would help. Mercy stumbled across the loose rocks in her path.

  “Easy there, lass.” Graham’s comforting voice wrapped around her and held her steady. His hand slid down her arm and he took the reins. “Wait here. I’ll tie the horses to that bit of scrub over there and then we’ll bed ourselves down, aye?”

  Bed ourselves down. The ability to speak escaped her, so she released the reins without comment. She wet her lips and clenched her hands together. She’d never lain with a man. In fact, Graham was the only man she’d ever kissed, the only man she’d ever embraced. The memory of their swim together flashed hot through her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

  Pressing her legs tight together, she rubbed one against the other, remembering the slick feel of Graham’s skin against hers when she’d brushed against him in the water. She looked around, squinting to make out shapes in the darkness. But here? While chased by murdering thieves? With Marsden and Duncan standing watch but a few feet away? And what should she do? Mama had given her little advice other than to say Mercy would know what to do when the time came.

  “Come, lass.” Graham tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to a horseshoe-shaped outcropping of stones. The massive boulders, bleached white by nature’s harsh kiss, seemed to give off an eerie, blue-white glow in the darkness. Graham motioned to a darker patch of ground abutted to the stones. “The moss willna cushion us much, but ’twill be softer than bedding down on hard-packed dirt or stone.”

  “It’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Mercy moved to sit. A faint, hitching gasp escaped her. A bruised stiffness had set in, a painful reminder of her brutal escape.

  Graham took hold of her hands. “Lass?”

  Whilst she couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, she heard the concern in his voice. “I’m quite all right,” she said as she settled atop the spongy moss. “Just a little sore from where I jumped from the horse.”

  “Jumped from a horse,” Graham repeated.

  “It was my only means of escape.”

  Sitting down beside her, Graham scooted them both back until he sat with his back leaned against the stone, reclining but partially upright. He held out his arm and waited. “Come, lass. I ken it’s no’ proper for a lady to do such, but let me hold ye whilst ye sleep. I swear I’ll do nothing to dishonor ye.”

  Mercy found his words mildly disappointing. Hadn’t Graham professed his feelings for her? Hadn’t he as good as asked her to be his wife? She touched the cut on her throat, then her bruised cheek and sore mouth. Her fingers found cuts, scratches, a split lip, and even a lump the size of a goose’s egg just above her temple. Had she become so hideous he didn’t want her anymore? Or was it because she’d brought nothing but ill-luck to him ever since stepping into her presence?

  Snuggling up against him, Mercy curled into his side and rested her head upon his chest. “Have I become too much trouble to you? Do you no longer wish to have me?” She clenched his shirt in her fist and pressed it close to her mouth, holding her breath until he answered.

  Graham kissed the top of her head and hugged her closer. His steady heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. “Ye’re my heart, Mercy, and I want ye with a fierceness that scares me.” He shifted with a deep breath, then groaned it out. “But I willna have the first time I love ye be on a patch of rock in the wilderness and rushed for fear murderers are nearly upon us.”

  Mercy lifted her head and looked up at him, thanking God for sending her such a man. “I haven’t frightened you then? Driven you away by all the trials that follow me?”

  Graham softly traced the curve of her jaw as he peered down at her for a long, breathless moment. Lacing his fingers into her hair, he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her with a tenderness that threatened to make her sob. He drew back and brushed a kiss to her forehead, then cuddled her back to his chest. “The only thing I fear in this world, m’love, is losing ye. I swear upon every breath I draw, m’heart is ever yours.”

  “I love you,” Mercy whispered, hot tears of joy and relief wetting her face.

  “And I love ye as well,” Graham brushed the back of his fingers across her face, wiping her tears away. “Rest now, love. When we reach Tor Ruadh, I’ll make ye mine good and proper. I swear it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her soft, regular breathing shifted against Graham’s chest, and he thanked God for it. He’d feared her lost. Tortured. Murdered. He’d feared never seeing her again. A weary smile overtook him. Holding her like this was a tender blessing of which he’d never tire. He yearned for an even greater closeness but not now. Not until he had her safe and true happiness shone in her eyes. He wanted the shadows of worry and fear gone. He would make this woman happy. She deserved such.

  He pulled in another deep breath and let it out with just as much care. His side pained him some as he eased out from under her. He held his breath to keep from grunting against the aching twinge and waking her. Mercy gave a soft whimper and curled into a ball on her side on the moss. Graham held fast, frozen in place until she relaxed back into sleep.

  Where the sky joined the earth had taken on a softer coloring, the yellow-white hue of the sun about to peer above the horizon. ’Twas time to make short work of Tracker and his men and clear the path to Tor Ruadh. A few steps away from where Mercy slept, Duncan and Marsden joined him. Graham put a finger to his lips, pointed toward her, then motioned for them to keep their voices low.

  “Ye were right. The wagons went into the glen with no trouble. We found Tracker and his men. They set up camp inside the tree line beside the road at the mouth of the pass, but there’s no sign of the wagons anywhere. They had to have gone ahead.” Duncan scrubbed a hand across the stubble covering his jaw, then stifled a yawn.

  “Do you think they’ve already arrived at Tor Ruadh?” Marsden asked.

  Graham snorted at having allowed the handful of traitors escape without a good horsewhipping for the lot of them. “If they go to Tor Ruadh, I’ll be more than a little surprised. My guess is they’ve gone to Fort William to send a report to Edsbury.”

  Marsden turned and scowled at the glen below. “I find it considerably disturbing to think Lady Mercy traveled with not a single ally from her own household. Even her lady’s maid turned traitor and deceived her.” Marsden shook his head, his fierce feelings painting his cheeks with patches of scarlet visible even in the soft gloaming light of early morning. “Without a doubt, it is utterly reprehensible.”

  Graham agreed—but in much stronger terms. Now, however, was not the time to go into it. He nodded toward the exit of the pass located just below them. “By Mercy’s count, there’s but three of them now. God willing, we’ll make short work of this and be at Tor Ruadh in time for the midday meal. I’ll no’ have those rabid curs nipping at our heels any longer.”

  “Aye,” Duncan raised his longbow as though toasting their success. “Let’s be about this then. Catriona found a new cook from the village, and the woman makes damn fine meat pies.”

  “I say,” Marsden said with an excited bob of his head and a pat to his belly. “That does sound tempting.
”

  Graham rolled his eyes and shook his head at the two and their distractions. They sounded like two old women. He waved them forward, creeping down the rugged terrain of the steep hillside with as little noise as possible. Boulders assisted in their descent, providing welcomed shadows. He made use of anything for cover to keep Tracker and his men unaware.

  Graham moved with raw, burning determination, rage fueling every move. There was no telling what the Marches or the two women had reported to Tracker, and it wouldn’t take a stretch of the imagination for the murdering thieves to figure out that Graham and the others had taken to high ground.

  He paused behind the muddy, tangled mass of an uprooted tree. Crouching low, he looked back and checked the progress of Marsden and Duncan. A fluttering of movement among some bushes higher to the right caught his eye. He squinted and blinked, staring at the spot, willing whatever had moved to make itself known, but nothing moved again. Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing the corners of his eyes, Graham sent up a silent prayer. Now is no’ the time for me to fail. Please clear my sight and make my aim true. He glanced heavenward and crossed himself, then waved Marsden and Duncan forward.

  Marsden and Duncan scrabbled to his side and pressed up against the trunk of the fallen tree.

  “Did ye see movement above us?” Duncan asked, frowning back at the same spot that had concerned Graham.

  Graham studied the spot again but still saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dawn was almost full upon them. Mayhap that was it. Shadow and light could play tricks on a man’s eyes, especially when fraught with weariness and hunger for revenge. If someone lurked above them, they’d surely see them now since the higher ground had the sun full upon it. “I thought I had.” He wouldn’t lie to his brother, and it made him feel some better that Duncan had experienced the same. “It must ha’ been the play of shadows.”

  “I think not, gentlemen,” Marsden whispered, peering up, his attention focused on something farther down the hillside. He pointed. “Look just there.”

  Graham crawled to Marsden’s side. Resting both hands atop the rough bark of the fallen tree, he stretched and looked over the log. A raging flood of emotions slammed into him at the sight of Mercy with an arrow nocked and ready to release, inching ever closer to the men camped below. “What the hell is she doing?”

  “I think that’s obvious, brother,” Duncan remarked in a tone that tempted Graham to turn around and knock the man on his arse. “I thought she was still asleep,” he added.

  “So, did I!” Graham pulled his pistol from his belt and readied it to fire. “Damned, stubborn woman!” He sprang up and charged down the hillside. He had to get to the men before Mercy caught their attention and drew fire. Duncan and Marsden followed close behind.

  As he reached the soft, loamy ground of the forest and entered the trees, shouts shattered the morning’s silence. Graham ran toward the noise, ducking and dodging around the trees. Gunfire split the air. He spotted the white smoke of spent powder filtering up through the leaves and veered toward it.

  The one called Gobs teetered into view, two arrows embedded deep in his chest and his side. Something hissed past Graham and another arrow, one from Duncan’s bow, drove deep into Gobs’s neck and took the monstrosity of a man down.

  “Kill that bitch, now!” A raspy voice Graham had never heard before came from just up ahead. “Kill her, Flynn! No gold worth this!”

  It had to be the one Mercy had called Tracker. She’d mentioned the man’s unusual voice. Graham spotted him dressed all in black, crouching behind the trunk of an ancient oak. He leveled his pistol, took aim, then sent Tracker to the hell he deserved.

  One left. Graham tucked his spent weapon back in his belt and readied his second pistol, watching his surroundings as he eased around the outcropping of limestone marking the clearing. The woods were quiet, but they’d yet to find the bald-headed man with the earrings, the one called Flynn.

  Leaves crunched and twigs snapped to his left. Graham spun about, relief almost taking him to his knees as Mercy eased out from behind a tree, an arrow nocked and ready. Jaw locked and body tensed, Mercy made a single nod toward another mound of limestone boulders across the clearing. “My aim is rusty,” she whispered as she joined Graham. “I aimed for between his shoulder blades but missed.” She smiled as she leaned up against the rocks. “But sitting a horse will be most impossible for him until he rips out that arrow.”

  Graham didn’t know whether to laugh because she’d shot Flynn in the arse or shake her because she had joined the fray. “What the hell are ye doing here, woman?”

  Fine, dark brows arched to her hairline, she looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Revenge,” she said in a cold, hard tone. “I am not a helpless lady born to cower and wait to be saved. Society never accepted me by their standards, so I decided to create my own—in Mama and Akio’s memory.” Her look softened. “I hope that doesn’t diminish your opinion of me. If it does, Graham, then I am sorry—because this is who I am.”

  With a shake of his head, Graham stared at Mercy, struggling to find the words to tell her all he felt. He reached out and touched her arm. “Ye could do nothing to lower yourself in my sight, but I must admit, ye’ve found many a way to scare the living hell out of me.” He ground his teeth, doing his best not to sound like a scolding bastard. “I need ye safe, love. I canna have ye joining me in battle, especially no’ sneaking about and mixing in when I think ye safe elsewhere.”

  “But—”

  He held up a hand. “Ye no longer fight in this world alone, Mercy. Do ye understand me? Ye’re no’ alone.”

  Mercy stared at him, then bowed her head as she removed the arrow from her bow and returned it the quiver. She smiled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a bullet ricocheting off the rocks in front in them.

  “I’m not dead yet!” Flynn shouted from across the clearing.

  “The hell ye’re not.” Graham charged from around the boulder, careened around the trees, then dropped Flynn where he stood leaning against the rocks.

  Duncan, Marsden, and Mercy eased out from where they’d taken cover, moving with care as they searched the area. Captain Marsden bent and scooped up a pair of saddlebags, rummaged through the contents, and pulled out a parchment with a familiar wax seal. He unfolded the letter, his scowl darkening as he read the missive. “It appears your father gave the men a promissory note payable once they’d completed their task.” Marsden shook his head as he refolded the letter. “Apparently, even he didn’t trust the miscreants he’d hired to dispose of his daughter.” His jowls tightened and his face reddened even more. “Deplorable man.”

  Mercy shook her head. “What those miscreants didn’t realize is that my father tricked them. If his claim that Jameson Campbell owned his soul was true, then he had no gold to give them. They would never be paid and could do little to recoup the monies owed.” She shrugged and gave a sad smile as she looked around the clearing. “What is the old saying? You can’t get blood from a stone?”

  “Then who would have paid us?” Duncan asked with an irritated look directed at Graham. “Ye said there’d be as much gold as we could carry.”

  “The king,” Graham said. “Ye forget His Majesty is a part of this, too.”

  Marsden frowned, stared at the promissory note, then shook his head. “But His Majesty seemed genuinely concerned for her ladyship’s welfare when he spoke of securing her a suitable match. He appeared deeply troubled over the additional information of Lady Mercy’s situation provided him by the duke.” He waved his stubby fingers to encompass the whole of the camp. “None of this madness fits the king’s demeanor at all. I truly believe he’d be most enraged to discover such an barbarous plot regarding the lady.”

  “His Majesty plays a good game,” Graham said as he hugged an arm around Mercy, his heart lifting when she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder. “He controls his courtiers like a chess master moves his pa
wns.” He pressed a kiss to Mercy’s forehead and held her tighter, blowing out a heavy sigh as his gaze scanned the encampment.

  “What’s wrong?” Mercy asked, pulling back and studying him. She motioned toward the still form of Flynn. “He was the last.”

  “Nay, love.” Graham shook his head. “The traitors from your own household are still free to do their evil mischief, and we’ve no idea what that mischief might be.” It cut him to the quick to see how his words hurt her, but it couldn’t be helped. Mercy was still in danger.

  Who knew what the Marches, Cook, and Janie would say when they reached anyone willing to lend a sympathetic ear and report back to the king? Graham very much doubted they’d heard the last from the duke.

  “Your clan,” Mercy whispered, drawing a shaking hand to her brow. “What trouble might they cause your clan? How will Father misconstrue this to his own benefit?”

  “We must make haste and warn them.” Graham took hold of her hand and started the climb back up the hillside to where they’d left their horses tied. Determination spurred him on—that, and the knowledge that as soon as they made it to Clan MacCoinnich keep, he’d be talking to Father William about performing a wedding. It was time to make his protection of Lady Mercy Claxton official and more importantly—permanent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mercy opened her eyes to the road ahead, her feeling of contentment fleeting, leaving her as quick as the wind. A smattering of dwellings filled this end of the glen. One might even call the place a village. A village protected and governed by Graham’s eldest brother, Alexander, chieftain to Clan MacCoinnich. She pressed the knot along her hairline and ran her fingers down the scrapes and cuts along her cheek. What would Graham’s people think of her arriving in such a state?

  A meandering flock of sheep bah’d and barged into their path, wandering in and out between the horses, oblivious to the riders. Children laughed and played around the squat houses of mud bricks, stacked stones, and thatched roofs. Mercy could almost see the news of their arrival rippling through the village, spreading among the people. She could tell who had heard of their passing through by the way the people emerged from their houses or ceased their outside chores and waved for their children to come in close.