Sins of the Highlander (5 page)

Lachlan Drummond and Alistair Stewart reined their horses to a halt at the top of the rise. The sun eased over the southeastern hills, but it promised no additional warmth. The day was breaking cold and bitter as a spinster’s bed.

“This is the last place we spotted them,” Drummond said, scouring the valley from south to north. A light frost painted each leaf and blade of grass with a crust of white. “They weren’t that far ahead of us at that point. Then once we reached here, they were nowhere to be seen. We headed south, thinking he’d try to confuse us by the river.”

Stewart frowned at him and glared in the direction Lachlan pointed.

“We followed the watercourse for several miles, looking for a place he might have crossed over, but there was no sign of them. It was as if they’d vanished.” Drummond shook his head and made the sign against evil. “I’m not a man given to fancies, but if ye told me they were swallowed up into the hollow hills, I’d believe ye.”

“Ye’d best hope not,” Stewart said, leaning on the pommel of his showy saddle. “If we canna find my daughter, our accord is off. All of it.”

There was too much riding on his alliance with the Stewart clan for Lachlan to let it fall apart. “Now, see here—”

“No. You see. I’ll no’ make an ally of a man who canna even defend his bride at the altar.”

“Your men were there, as well as mine. Why didna one of ye stop the MacLaren?” Lachlan said. “For the same reason I didna. There were women and children about, and none of us were armed. There was nothing to be done but let the madman get away, and well ye know it.”

The older man shook with suppressed rage. “I’m no’ talking about what happened at the kirk. Why didna ye post guards outside? Or ride patrols through your woods?” He turned an accusing eye on Lachlan. “Most importantly, why did ye no’ settle this matter with Mad Rob before he dragged my Elspeth into your quarrel?”

“What would ye have had me do?” Lachlan urged his horse forward, hoping a change of scene would change the topic. He heard Stewart’s horse follow him down the slope.

“What he wanted. All the man asked was satisfaction,” Stewart said. “Ye should have met him in single combat afore it came to this.”

“Aye, that would have been grand. First, the lady dies in my keeping, and then I kill her husband.” Lachlan slanted an assessing gaze at the other man. Obviously, the Stewart had been listening to his wife whine all night and needed to purge her words from his head. A man would have followed the logic of the situation through to its unhappy conclusion. “Ye’re no’ thinking clearly, Stewart.”

“I’m thinking ye’re afraid to face the MacLaren.”

“A man with a clear conscience fears nothing.” Lachlan glared at his bride’s father. “If ye were any other man, I’d kill ye for the insult.”

“Ach, well, dinna stand on ceremony. Whenever ye feel man enough to try it—”

“Whist, man. Do ye hear yourself? What would your daughter say if she saw us at each other’s throats like a pair of rabid hounds?” Lachlan turned his horse’s head south once he reached the base of the hill. “It will no’ help Elspeth if we…”

A spot of color caught his eye, near an outcropping of dark granite. It was far too late in the season for any blooms.

“The bride wore a rosy-colored bodice, did she no’?” Lachlan asked. He’d noticed, because the swell of Elspeth’s breasts had pinked to almost the same hue when she caught him looking at them during the interrupted ceremony.

“Aye,” her father said morosely. “With a deep wine skirt. Velvet, Morag said. It was one of Elspeth’s court dresses. The best she had. I mind when she first…”

Even though Alistair Stewart droned on, Lachlan had stopped listening. He urged his horse up the incline, switching its flanks with a short crop to speed it along. When he reached the rocks, he dismounted and picked the patch of silk off the gorse bush. He rubbed it between his fingers. A tight, fine weave in a luxurious cloth.

Definitely part of his bride’s dress.

But it hadn’t been there when he and his men had thundered past. He’d stake his holding on it. The MacLaren must have holed up someplace and doubled back on them.

He looked north, narrowing his eyes. Another little swatch of cloth waved on the heather.

Clever
girl.
Perhaps she did deserve to be the mother of his children, after all.

Of course, if she quickened too soon in their marriage, the brat might be MacLaren’s spawn. There was no doubt in Lachlan’s mind that Mad Rob had lain with her already.

Why else would he have taken her?

Much as it galled him to take another man’s leavings, Lachlan needed the hefty dowry and other benefits the match brought him. But he’d not abide a cuckoo’s egg in his nest.

Even if Elspeth didn’t become pregnant, women died of one ailment or another all the time. He might do well to speed her along with one.

He’d avoid another accident if he could help it, though. Might remind folk of MacLaren’s wife.

There was an old hag in the next glen who had slow-acting poisons that she assured him were undetectable, if ever he had need for one.

But for now, he had to find the little Stewart bitch and marry her.

“Alistair,” he called down to his bride’s father, “I found a sign. Your daughter’s heading north.” He waved the little piece of silk in the air. “And she’s alive!”

After
all
this
trouble, she’d better be.

***

Elspeth screamed.

The last thing she saw before Rob and the wolf disappeared into the brush was his long claymore flying into the air, end over end. It came to rest in the middle of the path, point stabbing the ground, blade quivering right in front of Falin’s nose.

“Oh, God!” Elspeth covered her mouth with her hand. Without his sword, what chance did Rob have against the beast?

Without the man on his back, Falin lost heart for the fight. The stallion reared and wheeled and took flight back down the game trail in the direction from which they’d come, with what was left of pack hot after him, howling like demons from the pit.

Elspeth couldn’t see Rob and the big gray. The woods were too dense, and daylight came slowly to the forest. But she could hear them.

And that was probably worse.

It was awful. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the wild, fierce sounds came from the wolf or from the man.

Or to know which of them screamed.

Then suddenly there was silence. Not a twig broke; not a bird sang. She held her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears.

“Rob?” she said softly.

No response.

“Rob!”

No one answered her.

She hunkered down on the branch, trying to decide what to do. She still had Rob’s boot knife. And his claymore stood in the middle of the path. She doubted she could even lift it, let alone wield it.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Mad Rob may have ruined her wedding and her reputation, but in a scrape, he’d made sure she was safe. He’d done all he could to protect her.

Her chest felt as if someone had dropped a lodestone on it.

She suspected Rob was dead. Horribly dead. No matter what he’d done to her, she was heartsick about that.

What about the wolf?

There was no sound of padded feet moving stealthily toward her.

But she couldn’t remain in the tree forever. Eventually, the pack would tire of chasing Falin and return. She needed to be long gone by then. The cloak had been dragged from the stallion’s back during the melee and was draped over a thornbush.

She’d freeze without that. Especially since now there was a wide swath missing from her skirt and chemise that bared her right leg to mid thigh.

How
Mother
will
scold
me
when
she
sees
how
I’ve ruined my beautiful wedding dress
, she thought disjointedly.

As if it signified anything.

She swung herself down, dangling from the bough again. She still had a ten-foot drop, which wouldn’t have troubled her if she’d had both shoes.

Elspeth released her hold and tried to land mostly on her right foot. Her ankle turned, and she went down hard.

And found herself nose to nose with a dead wolf.

She scrambled to her feet. There were several carcasses littering the path. She ought to have felt revulsion, but she was numb.

Then she limped over to retrieve the cloak and throw it around her shoulders. Her ears pricked to a new sound.

Someone was humming. She recognized the tune as one of the bawdy drinking songs her father and his men sang late at night after they were all deep in their cups. Sounds of crackling underbrush accompanied the song.

“Father?” she asked shakily.

“If ye’re asking whether I’m your sire or a priest, the answer is no to both.”

The voice was gravelly but it belonged to Rob.

He finally appeared, working his way through the timber, and burst back onto the game trail.

“Oh, Rob, ye’re alive!” Elspeth put both arms around his neck and hugged him close. “I was afeard ye were gone, but ye’re alive!”

“Aye, lass,” he said with a sinful grin. “Completely alive.”

She was suddenly aware of the hardness of his groin against her belly and pulled back away from him. She noticed then that he was covered with blood, and her alarm must have shown on her face.

“Dinna fret. It’s not my blood. At least, not mostly.”

“Ye wicked, wicked man. Why didna ye answer when I called to ye?”

“Did ye call?”

“Aye.”

He put a hand to the back of his head, and it came away with fresh, bright red blood.

“Seems I took a wee nap after the wolf knocked me into a fallen log. Fortunately, I woke with only a pounding head. He didna wake at all.”

“How did ye manage that?”

“My belt knife in his ribs might have had somewhat to do with it.” He stooped to clean the blade on the brown grass before he returned it to the small sheath at his waist. Then he did the same for the claymore and shoved it into his shoulder baldric. “I’ll have my boot knife back, if ye please.”

She stepped back a pace.

“I ken where ye stashed it, lass.” His gaze flicked pointedly at her bodice. “Dinna make me go in after it. Unless, o’ course, ye wish me to.”

She retrieved the small blade and cast it down. It quivered upright between his feet.

“Ye’ve some skill with a blade.”

“I’ve three older brothers.”

“I suppose Falin’s fled,” he said, looking down the path.

Elspeth nodded.

“Aye, well, he’s always had a coward’s heart,” Rob said. “The silly beastie.”

“The rest of the wolves went after him,” Elspeth said, feeling the need to stand up for the stallion. “He was no’ a coward. He bore us in safety a long way. He fought well and hard with ye. But he stood by ye till
ye
left
him
! And now the wolves will…” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “And ye dinna care.”

She thumped his chest with her fist once.

“Ye dinna care at all, ye brute.” Her face crumpled, and tears coursed down her cheeks. The tension of the last few days broke over her like a wave, and she wept without shame for a horse that wouldn’t even let her mount him.

“Hush, lass. Ye dinna need to cry. The tears will freeze on your cheeks.” Rob grabbed a corner of the cloak and swiped at her face. “Falin will be fine, ye ken. He can run like the wind.”

“Ye didna see them after him.” She cried harder.

“He’s probably outrun that mangy pack and is well on his way back to his own stable by now,” Rob said. “Which is more than I can say for us. We need to be gone before the wolves decide we can’t run nearly so fast and turn back.”

“What about you? Your head is wounded.” She put a hand around his neck and felt a gash beneath blood-matted hair.

“There’s no time to clean me up and make me pretty. Come, lass. Let’s away.”

He took her hand and started down the trail. They hadn’t gone ten paces when she cried out.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I stepped on something sharp,” she said, balancing on one leg and plucking a thorn from the ball of her bare foot.

“Where’s your shoe?”

“I dinna know.”

A guilty flush washed over her. She knew exactly where she’d abandoned that shoe.

But why should she feel shamefaced before her abductor? True, he had risked his neck to save hers. That counted for something, but she couldn’t tell him the truth about her missing shoe. If she did, she’d have to admit to leaving a trail of silk all across the valley floor, and there was no telling how a madman might take to that news.

She glanced around. “It must be about here someplace.”

“Well, we haven’t time to look for it.” He grabbed up the piece of velvet he’d cut from her skirt and wrapped it around her foot several times. Then he rummaged in his sporran and came up with a length of leather lacing. He bound the velvet to her foot and calf.

“No’ exactly fashionable enough for court, but better than going unshod in this weather.”

Wolf song reached their ears, distant, but close enough to be worrisome.

“Come, lass. And step lively.”

This time he didn’t have to tell her twice.

Angus Fletcher squinted against the glare of the winter sun on Loch Eireann. His longboat was provisioned for the journey. He’d already talked to his neighbor in the next glen, Rory Comyn, about looking to the needs of his barnyard beasts while he was gone. Rory agreed, but even so, Angus would have to count the hens twice when he returned. Everyone knew the Comyns had sticky fingers.

Now if only his passengers would arrive when Rob MacLaren said they would.

Sailing the loch was a fickle enterprise in the best of times. It was a long, narrow stretch of trouble, bounded by the central Highlands all round and so deep in spots, no one knew for certain whether there was a bottom. Then there was the changeable current that might turn a boat about if a man weren’t careful or turn it all the way over if he didn’t show Loch Eireann the proper respect.

Winter didn’t help matters either. The loch water was fresh, but Angus had never seen it freeze solid. Sometimes warm, sometimes frigid, the pesky current turned the waters over too often for that.

Then, too, some folk believed an
each
uisge
lived beneath the loch’s dark water. Angus had never actually seen a water horse, but he didn’t discount the existence of one. It didn’t do to disregard the spirits of a place. The faerie folk had claimed Loch Eireann centuries before he eked out a living on its shores. The water horse would remain hidden in its depths long after Angus was worm food.

When Rob first approached him about this trip, Angus was happy to finally have a chance to repay his friend. But he had tried to convince him to go east instead. Sailing in that direction, the loch emptied into the lovely River Earn, which flowed all the way to the Firth of Tay and the shining sea beyond. It was said to be a grand trip.

A man ought to see something of the world, and the Firth was as far away as he could imagine.

But the MacLaren was adamant. He’d go west to Lochearnhead or not at all.

Angus glanced at the shadows thrown by the morning sun, gauged how much time they had until the current switched, and then it wouldn’t matter what Rob wanted. There’d be no gainsaying the wind and standing waves.

“Well, if the MacLaren will no’ come to us, we must see what’s keeping him,” Angus told Fingal, his deerhound.

The burly highlander threw a cloak over his shoulders, picked up his walking staff, and strode into the forest. The shaggy, long-legged hound loped beside him.

***

“There’s another sign!” Elspeth’s father called out and urged his mount forward. He leaned from the back of his dun-colored mare and scooped a ragged pink sleeve from a tangle of blackberry bush. Stewart brandished the cloth for Lachlan to see as if it were a victory banner, a tentative smile on his face.

Lachlan Drummond was less hopeful about their search. True, Mad Rob hadn’t made good on his threat to kill the girl if they followed. And she seemed to be watched lightly enough to be able to leave markers on her way. But once they caught up to the MacLaren, Drummond wouldn’t give a pair of coppers for Elspeth Stewart’s chances.

A cornered boar has little to lose and may as well take a tusk to the nearest thing to him.

Revenge would be best served if Mad Rob gave them reason to hope and let them catch up to him before he slit the girl’s throat before their eyes. Then he wouldn’t care if they tore him to pieces. He’d have had his moment.

That’s what Lachlan would have done if their positions were reversed.

Drummond kicked his horse into a canter to close the distance between him and Stewart.

“We’re gaining on them.” Alistair folded the rosy sleeve with care and squirreled it away in his sporran along with all the other bits of silk they’d collected. “I can feel it.”

“Aye, but I’m wondering if it isna too easy. The girl is leaving so many clues, we may be playing right into the fiend’s hands,” Drummond said, giving his black beard a thoughtful tug. “I’m thinking we ought to call in the support of our allies. The MacLaren’s sins aren’t just against us, ye ken.”

“I dinna follow, unless ye mean Elspeth. He’s besmirched my daughter’s honor more than ours.” Stewart continued toward the forest, looking for another scrap of silk. “Who better than her father and betrothed to defend her?”

“The MacLaren has acted against the queen’s wishes by interrupting the wedding,” Drummond said. “Mad Rob invited us to collect Elspeth at
Caisteal Dubh
at month’s end. Wouldn’t ye like to see his face when we arrive there flanked by the queen’s own guard? After all, there’s some that would say what he’s done rises to the level of treason.”

The possibility of his enemy dying a traitor’s death gave Lachlan a warm glow of satisfaction.

“No, I canna think of that,” Stewart said. “We have to find Elspeth now. Her mother willna be satisfied to wait. Not even on the queen’s pleasure. We must press on.”

But before they could, a riderless black stallion came careening out of the woods. Drummond recognized the beast as Mad Rob’s and spurred his mount into pursuit. After half a mile, he pulled even with the stallion and grasped its reins long enough to yank it to a halt.

The MacLaren’s horse was flecked with foam and nearly blown. Otherwise, Lachlan knew he’d never have been able to catch it.

Stewart rode up to him. “Holy God, he’s covered with blood.”

The horse’s flanks were caked with dried splotches, and an open gash sent a rivulet of fresh red down his long leg. Stewart met Drummond’s gaze. Neither man had to say it aloud.

Rob MacLaren and his captive had been attacked by a pack of wolves, and the fact that they were no longer on horseback did not bode well.

“We have to press on, Lachlan,” Stewart said softly, his tone grim. “I have to know what befell her. Whatever we may find.”

“Aye,” Drummond agreed, handing off the stallion’s reins to one of his men. May as well ring the one bright spot from this damnable turn. Lachlan was getting a prime stud from the deal. “Take Roald with ye, Seamus, and see the beast home to my stable. Tend his hurts if he’ll let ye.”

His men hurried to loop a pair of ropes over the stallion’s neck to insure he couldn’t break away from them once he regained his wind. Lachlan didn’t have to remind them he’d take the failure out of their hides if they lost this exceptional bit of horseflesh.

That
settles
the
question
of
going
home
now
, Lachlan thought with resignation.

Alistair Stewart had already turned around toward the woods to continue the search for his daughter. But Lachlan could see he’d lost hope. His shoulders sagged like a man destined for the rack.

***

“Ow!” Elspeth hopped one-legged toward a fallen log and plopped down on it, holding her velvet-wrapped foot. The increasingly soggy and ragged cloth was no match for thorns. She plucked a long, vicious one from her heel. “I dinna think I can go on like this.”

“’Tis no’ much farther, lass,” Rob said, looking as pale and tired as she felt.

“But I’m hungry and thirsty and I could lie down in the grass right now and sleep for a week,” she said, eyeing a flat spot alongside the game trail. Their fitful few hours of rest in the cave wasn’t nearly adequate for the events of the long night and longer morning. All their provisions had been lost when Falin bolted.

Elspeth would trade her best brooch for a single swallow of water right now.

“Ye’ll sleep soon enough once we get where we’re going.” He scooped her up and balanced her over one shoulder, letting her head and arms dangle down his back.

“No, wait, put me down!” She pushed herself up with her hands splayed on his back.

“Are ye willing to walk then?” He made no move to put her down.

“I canna. No’ a single step.”

Rob snorted and started on down the trail. “Then beggars canna be choosers, can they?” He gave her bottom a swat. “Be grateful for small favors.”

Elspeth sagged over his shoulder, but it was hard to breathe when her head was hanging down. Little pinpricks of light pressed against the corners of her vision, and she pushed herself back up again.

“Ye really did yourself some damage when ye hit your head on that log,” she said when she noticed that Rob’s hair was crusted with blood on the back of his head.

“Oh, aye? And I thought the splitting headache was from no’ having my morning bowl of
parritch
.”

“Do ye think the wolves might come back?” she asked. “Is that why ye insist on pressing on?”

“No. They hunt by night.”

He climbed over a thick trunk that had fallen across the path. A low-hanging branch caught in her hair and pulled out several strands.

“Ow!”

If Rob heard her, he gave no sign.

“So long as we have shelter by the time night falls, we should be safe.”

“If our destination truly isna far, ye really should stop and rest,” she said.

“And ye really should stop talking, lass.”

Elspeth heard the weary threat in his tone and decided to heed him.

They left the larger trees of the older forest behind. Rob trudged on through the young, spindly forest, sometimes weaving so she feared he’d topple over.

Then he stopped suddenly, cocking his head to listen.

Something was approaching through the brush, rustling branches and snapping downed twigs underfoot. A big something from the sounds of it.

Elspeth closed her eyes, the better to concentrate, and heard panting coming from farther up the trail. A decidedly wolfish sound.

“I thought ye said wolves hunted only by night.”

“Unfortunately, of the two of us, it seems only ye have the honor of always being right. There’s no tree big enough to bear your weight nearby,” Rob said as he put her down. He stooped and pulled out his boot knife, handing it to her haft first. “If they get past me, dinna let yourself be taken.”

Elspeth accepted the knife. Of all the horrors in the world, the fear of being eaten alive by a wild creature turned a body’s bowels to water quicker than anything.

Aye, she’d put the blade to her own throat first.