Breath of Yesterday (The Curse Series) (8 page)

C
HAPTER
11

T
he dogs barked insanely as Ross stepped from the wooden shed, dragging a lifeless body behind him. That finally drew his half brothers’ interest and, suddenly intrigued, they stepped closer.

“Who’s that?” Duncan asked, resting his gaze on the young woman whose hair was dragging in the mud and whose cheek was visibly swollen.

Ross shrugged and pushed away the shaggy dog that had started licking the woman’s face.

“I don’t know. Barra was barking. I thought she had smelled a rat or something—and she had. This woman was hiding in the shed.”

Dougal knelt beside the woman’s slack body and turned her face to him.

“She’s a Cameron!”

In disgust, he pulled away his hand and wiped it on his plaid.

“Interesting. That explains why you decided to pummel her half to death rather than ask what she was doing in there.” He got up and slapped an unprepared Ross right across the face. The dogs immediately started defending their owner, growling and baring their teeth.

“Fool! We must find out who she is and what business she has here. Thanks to your rough welcome, it may now take hours before we can get an answer out of her—only we don’t have hours!”

Ross pushed out his lower lip in anger. He could never do anything right by his brothers. This time, though, they should be grateful. They would never have noticed this enemy without Barra, his trusted dog.

“She’s only a Cameron wench. We should just finish her off. Who knows what she’s doing here in this godforsaken place. It’s certainly not a coincidence that she was hiding here.” Ross struggled to defend himself.

“Right, it’s not a coincidence!” Dougal snapped. “Which is exactly why we need to find out who’s behind this. We also need to get away from here as quickly as possible. In all likelihood, this wench was not on her own. Send out your dogs and see if they can find anyone else. I don’t want any more Camerons hiding in the bushes. As for her”—he pointed at the woman on the floor—“we will take her with us, just in case.”

Duncan knitted his brow. He could feel that this woman meant trouble, and he didn’t like the idea of dragging her along with them. Taking a Cameron clan member prisoner could have serious consequences. But, even though she had the typical facial features of a Cameron, she was dressed in rags. The dress was barely good enough for a maidservant. Perhaps she was the result of an extramarital enjoyment between the great laird and some peasant woman? At any rate, her presence raised a few questions, and he supposed it couldn’t hurt to have a bargaining chip. Which was why Duncan finally agreed with Dougal’s plan.

Nerves strained, Duncan watched as Ross heaved the unconscious woman onto Dougal’s horse and tied her up. Then he spat on the floor and entered the cottage through the main door. It was a perfect hiding place. The locals tended to avoid this old stone cottage because legend had it that the spirit of an old druid lurked here, waiting for forgiveness—the forgiveness he was never granted during his lifetime.

Duncan didn’t care about such old wives’ tales. He had learned early on to fight for everything and to be tough and strong. Which was why he had taught himself never to show weakness. The only things of importance to him were those he could touch and hold in his hands. He pinned the Stuart clan’s brooch to his plaid and gently stroked its shiny silver surface. Then he took his broadsword and pushed it into the leather sheath on his back. Scanning the otherwise empty room one last time, he lifted his saddlebag off the floor. The silver pieces in it would at long last help him put his plan into action.

He hurried to untie his horse, fasten the saddlebags, and get on.

“Let’s go!” he bellowed, galloping off and leaving his two brothers in a hail of flung-up dirt and mud.

The shallow hills seemed to fly away under his horse’s hooves. He enjoyed leading with his brothers riding so far behind. It was only when he reached the crest of the first hill, after galloping through the gurgling source of a stream, that he pulled in the reins so his horse would slow down and allow his brothers to catch up.

In silence, they rode southward through the fog that was slowly dissolving. Their path took them deeper into the hillside, until mountains rose almost menacingly around them. A number of small torrents washed over the trail in front of them, carrying with them loose rubble. Their horses struggled to find a foothold in some places.

The uneven terrain and extra weight of the woman took their toll on Dougal’s horse. By noon they had made only half the journey to their arranged meeting point. The horses had slowed down, and the last climb had made them foam at the mouth. They urgently needed a break.

Last night’s rain had turned a trickle into a torrential stream a few miles farther up, and they took that as a good opportunity to stop and rest. Duncan and Dougal lay spread-eagled in the grass, broadswords within arm’s reach, while Ross led the exhausted horses to the river. Even the dogs came running—panting, and lapping at the fresh, cold water. When one of them leapt into the stream, water spewed up. The horses got skittish, whinnying and nervously treading on the spot.

The unknown woman groaned in a haze, and Ross hurried to lift her from the back of the horse before she could startle the nervous animals even further with some careless movement.

I landed on the ground with a thud. The back of my head banged against the big rock someone had propped me against. I felt slack and awful, and the complete lack of control over my body terrified me. Only now could I get a good look at the man standing before me. Lightning flashed before my inner eye, but too briefly for me to make sense of it. It was the echo of a dream, or a faded memory. I ran my hands over my face and touched my cracked lips with my tongue. I was terribly thirsty. Maybe that was why I was unable to think straight.

The guy had longish red hair and looked at me with suspicion, as if expecting me to grow a second head or something. I felt like I’d been abducted by aliens, so the idea of a second head didn’t seem too far-fetched. I grabbed my throat and desperately stared at the river a little ways away from me. At this point I didn’t even care that these filthy dogs were frolicking
in
my drinking water,
stirring up mud. All I wanted was to quench this goddamn thirst! The urge to drink was stronger than my fear of the stranger.

“Please,” I begged with a scratchy voice. “May I please go drink some water?”

He glanced from the riverbank and back to me, before deeming it low-risk enough and nodded for me to move.

“Aye, but no funny business,” he answered firmly, while also helping me to my feet and steering me toward the river.

I had no idea what kind of “funny business”
I could possibly get up to, what with my hands tied and in the presence of these angry, snarling wolfhounds. But since my thirst trumped all my other thoughts, I limited myself to greedily shoveling fresh, precious water into my mouth.

God, I had never tasted anything so delicious. I could almost detect the minerals that the water had flushed out of the mountains on its way to the river. It was icy cold, but what a pleasure for my parched throat!

“Not too much at once,” the boy warned. “Take smaller sips—otherwise you’ll get sick.”

Slowly, I lowered my hands and dipped them into the stream. I enjoyed the feeling of the cold, swirling water on my skin before taking a final scoop to wash my face. As I dried my face on my sleeve, the rough material of my dress scratched it. I took my time so I could gather my thoughts. I fought back fear, refusing to allow it to paralyze me. I needed to keep a clear mind, no matter how hard it was. I turned around and smiled at the redheaded boy, trying to seem genuine.

“Thank you.”

He blushed unexpectedly and then quickly made an effort to look grouchy.

“It’s all right,” he grumbled. “Go sit back down, and don’t even think about trying to run. The dogs would easily track and find you, and that would not be an enjoyable experience for you.”

I nodded and did exactly as I was told. He seemed satisfied and turned away to tend to the horses again, strapping bags of oats over their mouths.

I had to find out what this guy wanted from me, and where I was.

Only now that I discreetly looked around did I notice the other two men lying in the grass. They were of much greater physical stature than my handler. Even though they were taking in the sun with their eyes closed, they looked big and strong and terrifying.

It dawned on me that the boy and his dogs were the least of my problems. I really had to try not to mess with those other two. Their giant swords sparkled in the sunlight, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many lives they must have taken with them. Up until now I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that I had traveled back in time, but here I saw living proof.

The two men looked like brothers and true Scottish warriors. They wore boots, thick woolen socks, and dark-tartan plaids draped around their hips in pleats and held in place by a belt. The plaids extended up to their roughly woven shirts and were draped over their shoulders, held there by a silver brooch.

Still, even though their high-quality weaponry suggested that they belonged to a noble clan, they did not match the glorified, romantic image of a Highlander that I had created in my mind. They were filthy with uncombed, matted hair. Plus, even from where I was sitting, I could see the dirt under my handler’s fingernails.

I averted my eyes when the dogs shook the water from their coats. The boy cursed, chasing the dogs away and wiping the water from his face. Glancing over at me, he sat down on a piece of rock a few yards away and rummaged through the fur pouch hanging from his belt. It took him a while to find the small piece of wood he was looking for; then he pulled a small knife from his sock and started carving. The dogs lay down at his feet and took a snooze.

This seemingly ordinary activity made my eyes well up. I suddenly felt extremely homesick. I didn’t belong here. This was not my world. I couldn’t allow these men, whoever they were, to keep taking me farther and farther away from the portal of time. I had to go back! After all, I didn’t know where I was or where they were taking me—much less why they were doing this.

Seriously, dude! I had to pull myself the hell together if I wanted to get out of this alive!

I tore at the bindings on my hands and feet, but the knots were foolproof. The rope wouldn’t give a single inch. If only I could reach Sean’s knife—which, lucky for me, they hadn’t noticed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to use it unobserved. But that fact raised my spirits and spurred me on. I had to act. The time for being a passive observer was over, that was for sure. Once before I had submitted to my destiny and given myself to fate—just as Vanora had predicted in one of my visions. If fate was now putting me to the test, then I would be strong enough to face it.

I would fight!

But how could I fight if I didn’t even know how to talk to that guy? It seemed sensible to do as little talking as possible. Maybe then I’d have a chance to hide that I wasn’t from this era.

I got my handler’s attention by quietly clearing my throat. When he raised a puzzled eyebrow, I started talking.

“Who are you? And where are you taking me?”

The young Scot stopped but avoided looking at me. So I continued.

“I would like to know…,” I began, but his alarmed look and the almost imperceptible shaking of his head made me shut up. I raised my head inquisitively, trying to figure out his strange behavior.

“Don’t! Stay where you are!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

He continued carving the piece of wood, all the while discreetly scanning his surroundings. I pushed myself closer against the rock behind me. He pretended to stretch out his legs and then touched his dogs with the tips of his boots as if by accident. The dogs immediately pricked their ears and lifted their noses into the wind. When their deep, sonorant growls confirmed his suspicions, he gently petted the closest dog and reassured it.
“Sguir, mo charaid
.
”

The wolfhounds twitched but obediently kept their position.

I nonchalantly looked at the other two men lying in the grass. Their eyes were still closed, but their swords had disappeared under their plaids, as had their sword hands—which probably already clutched the weapons.

Suddenly, my mouth felt very dry. I sensed that they were expecting an attack, and when the skinny, red-haired guy got up to seemingly put another bag of oats around a horse’s mouth, he casually reached for his sword dangling from its leather sheath by the saddle. He pulled it out in one fluid movement and hid it in the pleats of his kilt. Then he pushed one of his dogs in my direction and bent down to pet the animal.

“Stay here! Don’t move, and you’ll be safe. Barra will protect you.”

And just as he sat back down on his rock, all hell broke loose.

Five men, armed with axes and swords, stormed from the underbrush with the intention of clobbering to death the two “sleeping” dark-haired, dangerous-looking men before turning to the weaker-seeming teenager as their easiest victim. After that, nothing would stop them from stealing the saddlebags and precious horses.

But the first attacker died before even registering that their victims were already wide-awake and battle ready. His axe cut through air as his now-lifeless body slumped to the ground. One of the dark-haired warriors yanked his sword from the dead body with one strong, powerful move. Then he hurried over to the younger one who was in the process of fighting three of the bandits.

I crouched into the rock as much as I could. I made myself look as small as possible and was thankful for the tall, snarling dog by my side. It seemed that the attackers had not yet noticed me, because nobody made a move in my direction. Of the original five bandits, there were now only three left after my captors had rid themselves of another one with a well-aimed blow as the dogs brought the man down. Once the remaining three attackers realized that they couldn’t possibly win, they beat a hasty retreat. Followed by the growls and barks of the hounds, they fled into the woods and disappeared in the underbrush.