Highlander's Touch (17 page)

The politics alone surrounding Scotland were enough to drive a man to drink. “And how has Arran taken your title as Guardian of Scotland?”

Logan let out a long, tired-sounding sigh. “He is still lukewarm about it, but understands that it’s best for me to remain the guardian. I know the Highlands and the clans better than he ever will. But he’s increasingly tight regarding reining them all in. News of the MacDonalds continual plans of usurping myself and then the crown will not go over well.”

“Then we’d best dispatch of this before he gets wind of it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Logan said with a frown.

“If we capture the Butcher and send his head back to the MacDonald chief, will that suffice?”

Logan slowly nodded. “Aye, for now.”

“I’ll assemble the men. The Butcher cannot have gotten too far in less than a sennight.” The man had eluded them thus far, but no more. Ewan wouldn’t sleep until he was in chains.

“Unless by galleon,” Logan said.

“Have the scouts reported use of any suspicious galleons?”

“None other than those reported for trade. But that doesn’t mean that the Butcher did not pay, bribe, or threaten his way on one of those.”

Ewan nodded. “Then we’ll question all the captains.”

The dull ache in his chest returned when Ewan realized returning to Shona might take longer than he wanted. The longer it took, the more chance she had of running into one of the MacDonald men herself.

“Assemble the men and give them their assignments, then go to her. Ye’ll not work with a clear head until ye know she’s safe,” Logan said. “But as soon as she’s safe behind these walls, we need ye.”

“How did ye—”

Logan waved his hand. “I know the signs and symptoms of a captured heart.” Then he pointed a finger at Ewan and narrowed his gaze. “And dinna repeat those words to anyone. I like the men to believe I’m heartless.”

Ewan grinned. He’d not tell a soul, but that wouldn’t help his laird’s wishes. The men all knew he had a soft spot when it came to his wife.

“My thanks,” Ewan said. “Ye have my word, the Butcher will soon be no more.”

Logan groaned. “Quit thanking me and go and get her.”

Ewan nodded and hurried from the room. Husband or nay, he was going to bring Shona back to the castle and convince her to leave that life behind.

OUTSIDE the sounds of galloping hooves made Shona’s heart leap into her chest. Had Ewan returned? Was that too much to hope for?

She leapt from her bed and made her way toward the door, only noticing at the last minute that the approaching riders were more than one beast. Belly doing a flip, she jerked her hand away from the wooden slat barring the door and backed slowly back to the bed where she’d hidden Ewan’s dagger and her bow and arrows.

Wrapping her hand around the hilt, she shoved the dagger through her belt, along with her own, then slung her quiver full of arrows over her shoulder and nocked two arrows in the bow. She stood near the hearth, eyes on the door, arms locked out, the tips of her arrows aimed, and waited.

Her breaths came in ragged, shaky spurts. She tried to slow her breathing, but nothing seemed to help. Since the day Rory had left, she’d wondered when someone would find her, and when she’d met Ewan, she’d been sure it would be any moment.

A heartbeat later there was a scraping sound on her door, as though someone ran their nails down it, followed by two quick successions of knuckle-raps.

Shona swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn’t answer, didn’t move, other than to continue working to steady her breaths and prepare to shoot whoever it was that had come knocking. Being able to hit her mark depended highly on her breathing.

“We know ye’re in there.” ’Twas a man’s voice, gravelly and deep, and the sound of it itched over her nerves, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. “We can see the smoke from your chimney.”

Saints… ’Twas not Ewan. She’d held out hope that perhaps he’d come back to her and that the extra horses were there for protection.

Shona swallowed, steadying the sudden hitch in her breath.

Be brave. Strength
.

The knocking came again, only this time painfully slow, as though the knocker taunted her. “Open up,” he said in a singsong voice. “Open up and let us in…”

Mary mother of God
…

Fingers trembling, Shona’s aim on the door faltered, and she worked to steady herself, but fear flooded her veins. Her knees knocked together, but she shifted, straightening her legs, refusing to let the madman on the other side of the door in. How many others did he have with him?

Shona shook her head, thrusting out visions of a dozen coarse and horrible outlaws crushing down her door, tossing her things, their hands scratching and pulling at her.

The door rattled, and then banged—as though someone had put their shoulder to the wood. The bar jumped in its iron fasteners but held steady. Even still, Shona jumped back, her nerves firing up and down her limbs. She had to get control of herself or else she’d not be able to focus and shoot whoever it was when he finally did gain entry. And there was no doubt they would gain entry. They would attack her. But she wouldn’t be the only one hurt in the fray.

The shutters banged open, and a leering face appeared in each window. Skin that looked to have never seen a bath, teeth that were rotted and black. She could smell their foul odor wafting in.

“She’s all alone in here, Butcher!” one of the men—with half his ear missing—turned to shout at, she presumed, the man knocking at her door.

“Come out and play, little mouse,” sneered the other one. He reminded her of a drooling wolf poised to attack its prey.

Without hesitating, she lifted her bow, aimed and fired the two arrows. One of the vile creatures leapt back, but the other didn’t have the speed and her arrow pierced his eye. He let out a shrill scream, hand flying to the offending shaft, and then he fell out of sight, though his screams did not cease.

That didn’t make the man on the other side of the door happy. He shouted orders, and while two more men appeared at her window, she nocked and fired two more arrows, but the men were quick to leap out of the way and her arrows flew out the window without hitting their marks. More than one shoulder banged against her door—or perhaps they’d grabbed a fallen tree as a battering ram. Whatever the case, they were intent on gaining entry.

Shona barely breathed. Her heart leapt into her throat.

She had about a dozen arrows left in the quiver, and more in her trunk, but she wasn’t sure she’d have time to reach the chest and refill before the bastards came flying through her window and her door.

“Lord, protect me,” she murmured.

Hot tears threatened. Though she’d feared it, no one had come up on her in the wood until Ewan. Her gut twisted and though she didn’t want to believe it, she knew instinctively these men were here because of him. Was he hurt? Or had he simply gone back to his life and left her to suffer should his enemies come knocking?

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, refusing to give permission to herself to cry. Tears would not help her. Worrying about Ewan and his intentions, or lack there of, would not help her. Fighting would.

Outside the cabin grew quiet for a moment, and then the man spoke through the door again. “Put away your paltry weapons, lass, and let us in. We will nay bite.”

They’d seen her through the window and knew she was alone. They’d not be knocking at her door, banging open her shutters and taunting her if they intended to stop by for a friendly visit. Nay, they were here to hurt her. To take things from her. To leave her for dead. Rory had warned her of that aplenty. And even Ewan had, too, before he’d walked out of her life. Shona ground her teeth, but still didn’t reply. They did not deserve an answer from her. They deserved nothing.

“Your silence will not help you.” The singsong in his voice had disappeared, replaced with a fury that chilled her bones.

She drew in a heavy breath and nocked two more arrows.

The door shuddered once more as they banged against it. The bar cracked, but didn’t fully break. All it would take was one more great shove and her barrier would be breached. Could she bar it with something else? Shona frantically glanced about her room. She could shove the chest in front of the door, but it was only a matter of time before they were able to push past it. Besides, where would she go? There was nowhere to hide. No secret exit. And leaving her post would allow men to attack through her windows with their own arrows, even if they couldn’t climb through them.

Again the man’s hate-laced voice sounded. “Well, dearie, ye’ve left us no choice.”

What could that possibly mean?

Shona flicked her gaze from the door to the windows and back, waiting for whatever punishment it was the man was going to mete out on her.

At first, there was nothing but silence. And then she smelled it. That acrid scent that all women, men and children feared.
Smoke
. Glancing up, her heart stopped. Smoke curled down from her thatched roof and wound its way around her neck, choking the breath from her lungs. She lost her grip on her bow and dropped down to her knees, trying to get to the air that seemed less filled with smoke. But it didn’t matter. They must have set several fires to her roof, causing it to burst entirely into flames.

Shona coughed, her eyes watered, throat burned. She’d either burn to death in the fire, or she’d have to open the door—and die at the hands of the man outside. There were no other choices. The violent undertone to the man’s voice was a clear message whatever he had in store for her would not be pleasant.

Death was here for her.

Well, she would not choose the man on the other side of the door. She’d rather die inside her home, a place where she’d found peace if not happiness, than by whatever torture he had in store for her.

Shona lay down on the wooden planks of her floor watching as the smoke grew thicker and the ceiling glowed orange with flames. Perhaps this was the right way to go. She’d lived alone, she would die alone.

As she lay there, tears running down her face and the temperature rising, the door crashed open.

“Nay!” she shouted.

She wasn’t dead yet. They couldn’t come for her, not now!

Shona curled into a protective ball, trying to sink into the floor and coughing all the while. Rough hands wrenched the bow from her hands and the quiver from her shoulder, practically yanking her arm from the socket. She flailed, kicking, screaming, throwing punches. She reached for her dagger, intent on slicing the hands that gripped her, but the blade was torn from her grip.

They dragged her from the little cottage, her gown catching on something and tearing near the hem. They tossed her into the middle of her yard, and she watched the black acrid smoke rise from her house.

“Stupid bitch.”

She could barely see the men through her tear and smoke-blurred eyes. She swiped at her eyes in an effort to clear her vision.

When she did, she saw the end of his boot swinging toward he. He kicked her in the stomach, the pain of it taking what little breath she had. She fell backward, clutching her middle, and then, the man slammed something against her skull.