MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy (4 page)
Read MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone,J. A. Johnstone
Tags: #Fiction, #Westerns, #General
“Perhaps I will,” Duff said. “I would like to see America, and I would like Skye to see it with me.”
“But if you come, you should come to live, not just to visit,” Andrew said. “You would love it in America, and Americans would welcome you. We are that kind of people.”
“I have land here,” Duff said. “If I were to come to America, how would I live? I have no land there.”
“Land is easily acquired,” Andrew said. “We have so much land in America that we give it away. It is called homesteading. All you have to do is move onto a piece of unoccupied property, work it, and file a claim. Then it becomes yours.”
“Aye, that is an interesting proposition, but Skye still has her family here. I think it might be difficult to persuade her to undertake such an adventure.”
“Perhaps not as difficult as you may think,” Rosanna said. “Skye strikes me as a young woman with an adventurous spirit. She may want to come. But, whether you come to visit or to live, you must spend some time with us.”
Chapter Four
White Horse Pub
A large banner stretched across the top of the mirror behind the bar. The banner was festooned with flowers and bore the words:
C
ONGRATULATIONS TO
C
APTAIN
D
UFF
T
AVISH
M
AC
C
ALLISTER
A
ND
S
KYE
M
C
G
REGOR
Ever since he arrived at the pub earlier this evening, customers had been coming up to him, congratulating him on the fact that tomorrow he and Skye were to be married.
“’Tis the surprise to me that after twenty days of posting banns, not one person came up with a reason why a scallywag such as yourself is nae fit to marry with the lovely and sainted Skye McGregor,” one of the customers said.
“Here, here,” another called and all laughed.
“’Tis teasin’ you I am, Duff, for sure’n I can think of no one better to be the groom of our fair Skye. Lads, charge your glasses,” he called, holding his mug aloft.
The others rushed to have their own mugs and glasses refilled.
“To Captain Duff Tavish MacCallister, long may he live and many a fine son may he sire!”
“MacCallister!” the others in the pub shouted.
Skye wasn’t here. In fact, as of one week ago, she no longer officially worked in the pub, but because her father owned it, and she had made many friends among his customers, she still came around.
“She is at home with her mother,” Ian explained. “Evidently there was some last-minute emergency with the wedding dress. And if ye dinnae realize it yet, m’lad, you will soon enough—women can find more last-minute emergencies than you can ever imagine. You’ll just have to put up with it and continue to love ’em.”
“That I can do,” Duff said.
“Tell me, m’lad, have you heard anything from your cousins since they returned to America?” Ian asked.
“I got a nice letter from them a few days ago, wanting me to thank everyone for the hospitality they were shown while they were here,” Duff said.
“You got the letter a few days ago and you are only now getting around to thanking us? Pray tell, lad, what has kept you so long?”
Ian was teasing Duff because for the last three days Duff had been busy preparing for the wedding by renovating his house to make it more habitable for Skye.
“I meant to, but I got so . . .” Duff started to say, then when he saw the wide grin on Ian’s face he knew he was being teased. “I just didn’t get around to it.”
“Well, it was easy to be hospitable to the likes of them,” Ian said. “You must be proud of them, being as they are kin, and all.”
“The truth to tell, Ian, is that we are not that much kin. I had never even heard of them until Andrew sent me the letter. But they are good people, and ’tis proud I am to claim kinship with them. I very much enjoyed the time I got to spend with them while they were here.”
Ian glanced up at the clock, something he had done several times over the last few minutes.
“Are you that anxious to close for the night that you have to check the clock every few minutes?” Duff teased.
“You’ve noticed, have you?”
“You have looked at the clock so many times ’tis a wonder you haven’t looked the hands right off the face.”
“’Tis wondering, I am, what might be keepin’ Skye,” Ian said.
“I thought you said she had gone home because of some emergency.”
“Aye, but she said she was coming back to help me close. ’Tis ten-thirty already. I’ll be closing at eleven.”
“No doubt she and her mother found even more emergencies to work on,” Duff suggested.
“Knowing m’ wife and m’ daughter as I do, I’m sure you are right,” Ian said. “And I think I would rather her be at home than out all by herself, in the dark o’ night.”
Duff finished his ale and put the mug down. “I tell you what—I will walk the path from here to your house. If she is home, I will tell her to stay there. If I see her, I will walk with her back to the pub.”
“Thank you, lad. ’Tis a good son-in-law you’ll be makin’ for thinkin’ of my worry like that. I must confess it would be a comfort to me to see her come through that door now.”
“I’ll find her,” Duff promised, and he acknowledged the good-byes of the others as he left the pub.
It was quite pleasant outside. The night air was soft and warm, but not overly so, and redolent with a faint smell of the sea, as well as the perfume of aromatic flora. From somewhere close Duff could hear an owl, and in the woods, the song of crickets.
A loud burst of laughter rolled out from the pub he had just left.
Down the street a baby began to cry.
A two-wheeled cart, pulled by a single horse, passed by. The horse’s hooves echoed loudly, the wheels whispering softly on the dirt road.
“No, please, leave me be!”
It was Skye’s voice, and it came from across the road from beyond the shrubbery.
“Hold your hand over her mouth,” a man’s voice said. It was low and gruff.
Duff thought he could hear Skye’s voice again, but this time all she could do was squeak.
Duff dashed across the road, then through the line of shrubbery. Though it was dark, in the light of the full moon he could see Skye struggling with Donald and Roderick Somerled. The top of Skye’s dress had been pulled down and both her breasts were exposed, the creamy white flesh gleaming in the moonlight. Donald was holding her and Roderick, with a leering grin on his face, was unbuttoning his pants.
“Let her go!” Duff shouted angrily.
Startled by Duff’s shout, Donald let Skye go. Then the two men turned toward him. Recognizing him, both smiled, and both pulled daggers from their belts.
“Well now, if it isn’t Duff MacCallister come like an avenging angel to rescue his woman,” Roderick said.
“Aye, and himself without a barstool,” Donald added.
“Or a knife,” Roderick added. “We’ll be settlin’ our scores permanent.”
“Run to your father, Skye,” Duff said.
“Duff, they both have knives,” Skye said. She was busy pulling her dress back up to cover her partial nakedness.
“I’ll deal with them,” Duff said easily. “You get yourself somewhere safe now.”
“Aye,” Skye said, running quickly through the dark toward the pub.
Roderick made the first move, coming toward Duff with his hand extended, the knife held low. Duff leaped adroitly to one side. Then, with the side of his fist, he clubbed Roderick on the back of his head as he slipped by him. Roderick went down and Duff reached down to pick up his knife. Now, armed, he turned to face Donald.
Donald made a swipe at him, jumped back, then made a second swipe. On his second attempt, Duff countered, driving the blade of Roderick’s knife in between Donald’s ribs. Donald let out a whoosh as if he had been hit in the solar plexus, then backed up with the knife still in his side. He reached down and pulled the knife out, then covered the wound with his hand as the blood spilled out between his fingers.
“You . . . you have killed me,” he said, his words strained.
“You left me no choice, Donald Somerled.”
Donald took a few steps toward Duff, then he fell to his knees, where he remained but a moment before falling across the prostate form of his brother.
Roderick, who was just regaining consciousness, groaned in protest.
When Duff returned to the White Horse Pub to check on Skye, he met Ian just coming out of the bar, holding a club, his face twisted in anger.
“Duff, Skye said you were in trouble,” Ian said. “I was coming to lend a hand.”
“Thank you. How is Skye?”
“She is inside,” Ian said. “The lass is terrified. She said two of the Somerled brothers attacked you with knives. She’ll be glad to see you are well.” Turning, he went back inside with Duff.
Duff saw Skye sitting at the far end of the bar, with modesty restored, if not composure. She was wiping away her tears.
“Are you all right, Skye?” Duff asked.
“Oh, I was so frightened for you!” Skye said.
“Don’t be frightened for me. ’Tis you I’m worried about. Are you all right?” Duff asked again.
“They were—they tried to . . .” Skye was unable to finish the sentence. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, I might have been . . .”
“Wait a minute. What are you saying, girl?” Ian asked. “Did they hurt you? Because if they did.” Ian put the club down and pulled a pistol out from under the bar.
“No, they did nothing,” Skye said quickly. “Duff came along in time.”
“It makes no difference whether he came along in time or not,” Ian said. “I’ll be squarin’ things with them.”
Ian started toward the door, but Duff held up his hand to stop him. “There is no need for you to go,” Duff said. “I’ve already killed Donald.”
Skye gasped. “You killed him?”
“I had no choice. They both came toward me with knives. It was a case of kill or be killed.”
“Aye, before I left I saw that they both had knives,” Skye said.
“I had better go to the sheriff to report it,” Duff said. “Though I’m sure that Roderick has already made the report.”
“The sheriff is not going to take too kindly to you killin’ one of his own sons,” Ian said.
“It was self-defense,” Duff said. “The sheriff will have to know that.”
“Duff, those boys have been naught but trouble their whole lives, and the sheriff well knows that, but has he ever lifted a hand to stop them?” Ian shook his head. “No, he has not,” Ian said, answering his own question. “Why think you now that the sheriff will believe you?”
“I am an innocent man, Ian,” Duff said. “I’ll not be running like a common criminal when I know I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll be going to see the sheriff now.”
“I will come with you to tell the truth,” Skye said.
“There’s no need for you to come,” Duff asked.
“I’ll not see my husband-to-be jailed for something he dinnae do.”
“You stay here.”
“Duff MacCallister, you are not yet my husband, so you’ve no right to tell me I can’t come with you.”
Ian laughed. “Best ye get used to it, lad. She is a girl with her own mind.”
“All right, I’ll not be fighting with you on the very night before we are to be wed,” Duff said.
“’Tis a smart husband you will be,” Skye said, and the others laughed.
Duff and Skye were halfway to the office of the sheriff when they saw the sheriff and three of his deputies coming toward them. Rab Malcolm, who was Somerled’s chief deputy, was one of the men with him.
“Sheriff,” Duff called. “I was coming to see you.”
“Shoot him!” Sheriff Somerled shouted.
“No, Sheriff!” Skye shouted, jumping between Duff and the sheriff.
The sheriff and all three deputies opened fire. The flame patterns of their pistols lit up the night, and the sound of gunfire roared like thunder.
“Oh!” Skye said, and as she spun around toward Duff, he saw a growing spread of crimson on her chest. She fell to the road, and even as the sheriff and his deputies continued to shoot, he managed to pull her off the road and through the shrubbery.
“Skye!” Duff shouted, his voice racked with pain and horror at what he was seeing. “Skye!”
Skye lifted her hand to his face and put her fingers against his jaw. She smiled. “’Twould have been such a lovely wedding,” she said. She drew another gasping breath, then her arm fell and her head turned to one side. Her eyes, though still open, were already clouded with death.
“No!” Duff shouted. “No!”
“He’s down there!” the sheriff called.
Duff moved into the shrubbery and waited. A moment later, one of the sheriff’s deputies came through the hedgerow. Duff stepped out of the shrubbery and, with his fist, landed a haymaker on the deputy’s jaw. As the deputy went down, Duff took his gun and, in a rage, shot him from point-blank range.
“Gillis! Gillis, did you get him?”
Duff stepped back through the hedgerow and out onto the road. He was holding Gillis’s gun.
“No, Somerled. I got Gillis,” Duff shouted.
“There he is!” the sheriff shouted. “Shoot him, Rab, Nevin, shoot him!”
The three shot at Duff, and Duff returned fire. Nevin went down, and when he did, the sheriff and Malcolm suddenly realized that, in seconds, their number had been decreased by half. The two men turned and ran.
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