The Highlander's Sin (10 page)

“
Ye’re a pretty little liar,” he crooned, his voice as silk-edged as her own had been. “But I give ye credit for trying. Now I just have to figure out how—”

An ear
-piercing whistle sounded through the falls, causing both Heather and Duncan to still. She swallowed hard, afraid to breathe. Her stomach twisted into knots. They’d been found.

She stared at Duncan, eyes so wide they hurt, but he didn’t look at her, no matter how much she willed him to do so. His attention was outside the falls. Body stiff, he seemed made of stone.

Another whistle sounded, this one different. Two people? More than two? How in the world were they to know? God, would they have any warning before someone was upon them, before swords thrust through the diamond falls and into their hearts?

Heather jerked her gaze to the falling water, half expecting to see the flash of metal as their enemy stabbed into their hiding spot.

Her heart leapt with sudden hope. What if it wasn’t an enemy, but her brothers? Or better yet, men of the resistance? What if they saved her? She tried to bring the sounds of the whistles back into her mind, but they were lost on her, not sounding in the least familiar. That didn’t mean all hope was lost, though. The sound of the falls could have altered the tone of the whistles, making it harder for her to decipher them.

Even with those thoughts, her stomach started to sink. She was fairly certain her brothers, her hope for salvation
, were not on the other side of the water.

“Dinna make a sound,” Duncan whispered.

He waited for her to nod, then he nodded in return.

H
e slowly withdrew his sword. She barely heard him move. He was stealthy, as he should have been, and as he had been when sneaking into Dunrobin Castle.

As Duncan edged closer to the visible opening of their secluded spot, Heather push
ed herself up against the wall. If need be, she could run through the waterfall, yanking at her gowns as she went.

Duncan was in the perfect position for her to shove him through the water
and attempt to make her escape, but that would only call attention from whoever stood on the other side. And she didn’t want to do that. Here was another opportunity for escape wasted.

Oh, how she wanted to curse the fates for what they’d served her, but there was no time to feel sorry for herself.

Where was her dagger? She had to at least protect herself. Duncan’s satchels were a few feet away. No hint of her knife, but she thought she’d seen him shove it back inside the sack.

She inched along the wall toward the satchels, while Duncan made slow
-moving steps toward the ledge they’d walked in on. He paid her no attention, the entirety of his focus on the outside of their spot.

When she reached
their satchels, she eyed the insides, careful not to move, in case he turned around to see her. Glinting on top of the various paraphernalia was her knife—the same gilded handle. Had to be hers. Keeping her eyes on Duncan, she bent down, grabbed the knife and then straightened, holding the hilt in her hand.

The metal was cool and comforting against her overheated palm.
If nothing came of this moment, at least she had her knife back. Heather inched her way back to the spot she’d stood before, keeping her eyes glued to Duncan’s back.
Dinna turn around
, she repeated inside her head, willing him to obey her silent demands. Luck was on her side. She angled the knife up her sleeve, keeping it in place with a couple of her fingers. She needed a hiding spot for the weapon. Her boot seemed the most likely good spot. Careful not to direct his attention back on her, she lifted her leg and shoved the knife in her boot, making a pretense to scratch her calf.

She’d been paying so much attention to her task, she’d lost track of whether there were any more calls from outside. Duncan stood still by the entrance, but he no longer looked rigid and ready to do battle.

“Is it safe?” she whispered.

He glanced back toward her and frowned, pu
tting a finger to his lips in a silent gesture for her to be quiet.

She guessed it wasn’t quite safe yet.

Chapter Nine

T
he bastards were waiting.

Duncan could no longer hear their whistles or hurried steps, but he could sense them
, feel their excitement as they waited for him to come out from behind the falls.

A warm
, gentle breeze blew, shifting blades of tall grass and cattails on the banks of the water. The men were not in sight.

They’d probably seen Blade’s quality and guessed that a horse such as he would not
have been left alone to wander. They’d also expect that the owner of such a horse would have a nice pouch, thick with coin.

Damn. He should have thought of a better way to conceal his horse, smeared mud on him to hide the shine of his coat. He’d taken off his saddle, and all the tackle, but apparently that had not been good enough. Blade’s regal stance spoke volumes about his breeding and cost.

The men who waited beyond knew horse flesh, but had also established a way to communicate through whistles. It meant they were either professional criminals or warriors. He prayed the latter was false, and that it wasn’t Heather’s family come to find her.

The sinking sensation in his gut when he thought of them taking her away was not a good sign. Duncan
couldn’t,
shouldn’t
, care about her. Not even a little bit. He felt better thinking the sudden onslaught of emotion was because, if the Sutherlands caught him, they’d kill him.

Death didn’t scare him. The Sutherlands didn’t scare him.

Dying without seeking revenge on those who’d destroyed him gave him cause to worry. The last twenty years of his life had been devoted to planning the day he’d finally avenge his family. With Heather in his custody, it was all coming to fruition, and he wasn’t about to let some greedy outlaws ruin all that.

Heather pressed to his back, practically drap
ing herself over him. He sensed it was from fear. A slight tremble shook her. She was afraid of whoever was out there—or she was afraid of what he’d do to them.

“I dinna think it is my brother,” she murmured.

Why would she tell him that?

“Reason?”
He kept his eyes trained outside the cave, waiting for any sudden movement.

“I didna recognize the calls.”
She curled her fingers into his back, a subconscious move he was sure she wasn’t aware of.

“That doesn’t mean ’tis not them,” Duncan pointed out the obvious. Her brother could have changed his call on a whim, not that it would have behooved him to do so, unless his other calls had been recognized.
Understanding that, he didn’t push the idea of her brothers attacking completely off the table. They could have changed their call so Heather wouldn’t identify it and warn him.

A dainty movement
against his back could have been her shrugging her shoulders. She didn’t embellish on her thoughts.

Duncan dragged in a breath and crept a little closer to the opening, hoping he might catch a flash of movement where the water thinned.

Heather trailed along with him. He hadn’t the heart to tell her to back off—mostly he liked feeling her. Found comfort in her closeness. Wanted to protect her.

A loud whiz
sounded, and a sharp waft of air touched his cheek. Heather shrieked just as an arrow cracked against the stone six inches from his face and clattered to the ground in front of them.

Duncan reached back and gripped on
to the first place he could grab, which happened to be her hip. Supple, rounded. Not now! Now they were being attacked. “Back up!” he called.

Heather leapt out of his reach and scurried back into the alcove.

The water parted as another arrow came through the center of the falls but fell before hitting anything, its momentum deadened by the heavy, falling water.

“Recognize the arrows?” he asked.
He doubted she would. They were crudely made, looked to be carved with a knife minutes before they were shot. Instead of steel points, chipped rocks were tied to the ends with hide. They’d cut skin, do some damage, but there was always the hope that an arrow so badly made would bounce off a man’s body rather than go through it, stunning a man instead of killing him.

Heather’s face had gone pale, and she stared down at the shaft, shaking her head. “N
ay.”

“Damn.”
Outlaws were upon them. Outlaws were the worst of them. Vicious, desperate, they killed for an apple or a crust of bread, but before they soothed their harried bellies, they’d fill their lustful appetites with the treasure that lay buried between Heather’s thighs. That thought made a rage hotter than hell burn through Duncan’s blood. He grabbed Heather’s arm and yanked her to the farthest point of their tiny cave. “Stay here. Crouch down.”

Heather was quick to do as he demanded, sinking to her rear and hugging her knees to her chest. “Will they come in here?” Though her voice quivered, she sounded strong.

“I dinna know, lass. Stay at my back, and I will keep ye safe.”

She nodded. He wished he could do more to comfort her
, soothe her fear. But he couldn’t. Duncan wasn’t going to lie to her and tell her everything would be all right, when, in fact, they could both die today for whatever meager contents the bandits stole from his satchels. That just wasn’t who he was. He might have been a mercenary, but at least he was an honest one—well, for the most part.

Heather lifted her gaze to his, her eyes wide as she studied him. “I know ye would only save me because if ye didna ye would
not get your coin, but I want ye to know all the same that I appreciate it.”

What a punch to his gut. He was a bastard
, and she’d just told him as much.

Duncan pressed his lips in a firm line and reached toward her, stroking an errant strand of hair away from her face. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, marveling at the softness of her flesh. “I’d have saved ye no matter what. I’m not as much of a whoreson as ye think I am.”

And he wasn’t lying. He would have protected her, because there was something growing between them that even though he fought against it, that little part would never let him see her harmed. A little part that Duncan sensed would become a bigger problem with those who had hired him if he got them out of this mess. Regret was beginning to weave its way into his conscience. Abducting Heather was his mission, but damn, if some fraction of him wasn’t considering keeping her for himself.

“Prove it,” she challenged, gaze locked steadily on his. There was some of that fight in her he’d seen before.
The ferocious tigress that was willing to stand up to a dangerous mercenary and issue ultimatums.

Duncan hadn’t realized until then how much he hated to see her cowed.
His blood surged with renewed vigor.

“I will.”

With no more arrows flying through the water just yet, he crept back toward the side of the cave with the ledge that they had walked in on. One of the outlaws was hugging the wall and sliding his feet a few inches a minute. The bastard looked scared out of his mind. His clothes were dingy, his hair stringy, greasy, hands and all other exposed flesh, in dire need of washing.

Duncan grinned.

Outlaws he could handle. They weren’t trained like he was.

“Good afternoon to ye,” Duncan said to the man.

The sound of Duncan’s voice must have startled the outlaw so badly, he barely glanced at Duncan as he jerked backward and then grappled unsuccessfully for purchase on the slippery wall. Fingers dug against the walls, toes teetered on the edge.

“Wish we could have spoken further,” Duncan tormented the
imbecile, who promptly fell backward. Arms and legs flailing wildly, he yelped as his body hit the water, where he was swiftly swept away by the current.

But he wasn’t alone. Shouts sounded from the bank
. Two outlaws jumped from their hiding spaces among the water weeds, running after their friend, neither willing to jump in to save him. While two rushed after their drowning friend, several others stalked toward the damp ledge their counterpart had just fallen from.

“Be careful,” Duncan warned, lip curled in a cruel smile.
“’Tis slippery.”

“Ye’ll pay for murdering Hamish,” one shouted. His plaid was not as
dirty as the previous intruder’s, nor was his skin as filthy. A leader perhaps. Duncan wondered if that meant he would be wiser or just as dumb.

“Gladly, if ye can reach me.” Duncan
sheathed his sword, leaned his shoulder casually against the stone wall, crossed his arms over his chest and watched the man mount the narrow ledge.

Duncan had
traversed the slim path many times, more than he could count. He’d easily led Heather across its path, only having to grip her arm once when she’d slipped. What these idiots didn’t realize was that above their heads, Duncan had chiseled out handholds when he’d realized it was a spot he might seek refuge often with his targets.

This would be the last time he came here
, though, now that he’d been found.

The man made it about three feet before he slipped, but his balance was better than the last guy, and he hugged the wall, his back rising and falling rapidly with his breath.

“Good catch,” Duncan remarked. “Ye might just make it.”

The man growled in response. From the shore, his comrades shouted their own encouragement, but the brute simply turned his head toward them and shouted for them to shut their mouths.

Duncan snickered. The man’s nerves were spooked. All the better for him to fall.

“What is happening?” Heather hissed from behind
him. “Who are ye talking to? Is he close? What will ye do?”

Duncan didn’t turn around
. He wasn’t going to take his eyes off these fools for a moment. “Hush,” was all he said to her.

From behind came a disgruntled garble. Most likely she’d called him some heinous name, but he’d forgive her this time.

“Was Hamish your bowman?” Duncan asked, the fact that no other arrows had come their way a telling clue.

The man bared his teeth, spittle foaming as he growled. He slid ever closer, arms outstretched and hi
s body planted chest-first, to the wall. “Do ye think we’d send in our only bowman?”

Duncan shrugged. “Nay sure.”

The man was only a few feet away now. At this rate, he’d likely make it. Duncan took out his sword again and pressed the point of his sword into the cave’s floor. With two fingers on the hilt, he spun it, making an eerie scraping noise as the steel ground against the stone. The noise drew his opponent’s attention, and he stopped walking.

“Ye’re just g
oing to stab me when I reach ye,” the outlaw stated.

Again
, Duncan shrugged. “Did ye want me to take a step back and allow ye to gain your footing before I stab ye?”

“How gallant of ye.” The man’s tone was filled with sarcasm.

Duncan grinned. “I do try.” He tilted his neck to one side, popping it, and then the other. “What will it be? Do ye prefer to be sliced where ye stand or shall I allow ye to come closer before I send ye to your death?”

Heather gasped behind him, and Duncan tried to ignore her, but the maggot must have heard
. His eyes widened, and lust replaced the fear in his gaze.

“I think I’d like to gain my ground.”

Duncan could guess why. The bastard actually thought he might have a shot at killing Duncan and raping Heather. He shook his head and frowned at the man, giving him a look that said his sad fate had been sealed.

“I would not have advised it, but if ye insist,” Duncan said with a shrug.

“I insist.”
The outlaw scrambled the last few feet, lunging into the alcove toward Duncan.

An easy step to the right put Duncan away from the brute, who had expected the impact of their bodies to break his fall. Instead he
lurched forward, tripping over his feet and falling forward onto his hands and knees.

“O
h…not a lucky start,” Duncan harassed. “Shall I wait for ye to rise at least?”

The man growled and shoved himself to his feet. He whirled in a circle, his hungry gaze roving over Heather before
he turned back to Duncan with a snarl. He practically tore his crude sword from the loop at his hip. Holding it pointed out in front of him, he waved it at Duncan.