The Recruit (49 page)

Sir Adam’s torches were still visible when Felton spoke. “She’s gone. Now you will
surrender.”

“I said I would come to you, and I shall,” Kenneth responded. He hadn’t said anything
about surrendering. If Felton wanted him, he was going to have to take him.

But first, Kenneth was going to ensure Felton didn’t change his mind and go after
Mary.

Holding the torch in front of him so they could see him, Kenneth walked toward Felton.
He stopped about ten feet away, making sure he was between Felton’s men and the bridge.
He glanced down, seeing the thin line of black powder between his feet—unnoticeable,
unless you were looking for it.

He sure as hell hoped this worked. He wouldn’t have long once he lit the fuse, so
to speak.

“Toss down the torch,” Felton ordered.

Kenneth did as he ordered, making sure the torch was close enough to his feet to maneuver
toward the powder when he was ready.

“Seize him,” Felton ordered the two men closest to him. Kenneth let them approach,
then grab him from either side. “You five,” he pointed to a group of men at his right,
“go after the lady.”

David gasped behind him. “But you gave your word to let her go.”

Felton’s gaze turned to the young earl’s. “This man is under arrest; he is in no position
to bargain.”

Fortunately, Kenneth had expected Felton’s breach, even if young Atholl had not. With
a roar, he attempted to break free of his captors, lifting and wrenching his arms
at the same time that he kicked the torch across the line of powder.

It didn’t catch.

“Hold him!” Felton yelled. “Quick, get something to secure him with.”

A few more men rushed forward to do his bidding.

Kenneth knew he was going to have to improvise. He needed to get that powder lit,
but the two men holding him were strong and proving surprisingly capable. With his
arms secured, he had to use his feet—and quickly, before the other men were able to
restrain him with the chains.

He used the heel of his boot to kick one of the men’s legs, and then immediately moved
that foot behind the weakened leg to knock him completely off balance. The soldier
went down, dragging Kenneth and the other soldier along with him. Taking advantage
of their surprise, he wrenched his arms free before he hit the ground. His gauntleted
fists wouldn’t do much lasting injury to the mail-clad soldiers, but a few well-placed
blows and kicks kept them out of his way for now.

He needed his sword. But first he reached for the torch, still near his feet, and
set the flame directly to the line of powder. This time, it took.

A ball of bright yellowish-orange fire and billowing smoke started to race toward
the bridge. He tried to follow it, but Felton’s men anticipated him.

There were enough of them to slow him down, especially since he was unarmed. He dodged
more than one deadly swing of a sword.

He wasn’t able to reach his sword before the night exploded—or more accurately, the
half-dozen bags of Sir
Adam’s black powder that Kenneth had packed under the bridge exploded. The blast of
the fire pushed them all back.

His plan had worked exactly as he’d hoped, except for one thing: he was supposed to
be on the other side of the bridge. The powder had exploded too quickly.

Bloody hell, he couldn’t have actually expected this to be easy!

It appeared he was going to have to fight his way out. Him against … he counted eighteen
men. Unfortunately, his sword was now out of reach, engulfed in smoke. A problem he
was able to rectify when one of Sir John’s men came rushing toward him, sword high
above his head. Kenneth kept his eye on the blade, waiting until the man was fully
committed, before spinning out of the way at the last minute. The momentum of the
soldier’s blow swung him around and Kenneth took advantage of his unprotected side,
pummeling him in the lower back, kicking his feet out from under him, and then stomping
on the wrist that held the sword to free it.

Armed and better able to defend himself, he took position near the burning bridge
and let Sir John’s men come. At first, it was one at a time, but with one after another
of the men ending up at his feet, they increased their numbers, sending two, three,
and then four at once against him. Yet with smoke and fire at his back, they could
not circle around him.

Kenneth fought like a man possessed. His sole focus was ridding himself of these men,
getting on the other side of the river, and catching his wife before she sailed away
without him.

He was well on his way to joining her. There were only a half-dozen men remaining,
not including Felton and young David.

Felton was furious. Kenneth could hear him screaming at his men, ordering them to
keep attacking, to take him, to kill him.

Felton must have saved his best men for last. The six came at him at once—as a unit.
Kenneth tried to fight them off, but they were pushing him back. He was getting closer
and closer to the edge of the river. He picked up a pike from one of the men who’d
fallen at his feet, using it to keep the men far enough back. They weren’t attacking,
they were pressing. He waited for a hole, but they weren’t giving him one.

Damn it
. He swore, knowing he had to think of something fast. It was like a wall of steel
coming toward him, and he had nowhere to go. He needed to break their formation. Choosing
the second man from the left, he threw the pike at his head with enough force to knock
him back. He feigned in the opposite direction, giving the attackers an irresistible
opening. One took it. The moment he did, Kenneth reacted. He swung his sword in a
deadly arc, cutting the man off at the knee—literally. With a big enough hole to slide
through, Kenneth was able to maneuver out of trouble.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of clapping behind him. In the flickering glow of the
fire he could make out three familiar forms watching from the opposite side of the
riverbank: MacKay, Lamont, and MacLean. The thirty-foot span might be a barrier to
most men, but Kenneth knew it would be nothing to stop the Highland Guard. In fact,
he’d just caught site of his means of escape a few feet away. One of the men—probably
Lamont, who was good with a bow—had shot a rope tied to the end of an arrow over a
tree.

“Well done,” he heard MacKay say with a laugh.

Kenneth swore, not seeing the humor. “I could use a little help!” he shouted over
his shoulder while trying to fend off the four remaining soldiers.

“You seem to be doing fine on your own.”

Proving MacKay’s point, Kenneth cut down one of the
remaining men, who’d been foolish enough to make a move toward him.

There were still three soldiers left, but the one man Kenneth had eyes for was hanging
back. “What’s wrong, Felton? You wanted a chance to face me—here it is.”

Felton hesitated, spitting every vile name and slur at him. But his hand was fixed
firmly around the Earl of Atholl’s wrist. He’d lost Mary, and Kenneth, too, but losing
Atholl would make his shame unbearable. “Come, David,” he said, backing away.

But David surprised them both. “Let go of me!” he shouted, jerking his arm away and
scooting back a few feet. The lad looked back and forth between Kenneth and Felton,
not looking as if he trusted either of them.

Felton lunged toward him, but that only sent the youth scurrying closer to Kenneth.
Cognizant of the opportunity, his Highland Guard brethren had finally decided to intervene,
shooting a few arrows toward the remaining soldiers to drive them back. Kenneth glanced
at the rope a few feet away. He sure as hell hoped it was strong enough for two.

He held his hand out to David. “Now, lad. It’s time to decide.”

“Nay, David. I command you to stay. You are an English subject.”

David’s eyes narrowed on Felton. “But I’m a Scottish earl.”

He ran toward Kenneth.

Felton raced after him. Kenneth would have liked nothing more than to put a decisive
end to his battle with Felton, but with David’s decision he couldn’t take the chance.
He had to protect the lad and get him to safety as soon as possible.

He reached for David and grabbed hold of him around the waist. Saying a prayer, he
closed the distance to the rope, cut it from the arrow pinned in the ground, dropped
his sword to grab the end, and held on tight as he swung David and himself over the
wide span of river. As soon as he saw ground beneath his feet he let go. MacKay quickly
cut the rope from the tree he’d secured it around.

Kenneth had hit the ground first and rolled to absorb most of the impact, but as soon
as he extracted them from the rope, he looked at David. “Are you all right?”

“I th-think so.” But the boy was eyeing the three warriors warily. “Who are they?”

“Friends,” Kenneth answered simply, helping the young earl to his feet. The secret
of the Highland Guard was not something which the earl needed to be privy to. He addressed
MacKay. “Mary?”

“Safe,” his brother-in-law said. “Probably waiting for us at the boat.”

Kenneth shot him a dark glare. “I might have been faster if you’d made yourself known
earlier.”

“And miss all the fun?” MacKay said. “Not a chance. We thought they almost had you
there for a while. Six against one, and you backed into a corner.” He shook his head.
“It was a bold move to give the one an opening like that.”

“It worked,” Kenneth challenged.

MacKay grinned. “Aye, it did. I’ll have to remember it.”

Not wasting any more time, they mounted their horses and raced toward the coast. They
had a ship to catch.

Mary experienced the first pains not long after Sir Adam left. He parted from her
reluctantly. Magnus MacKay (cutting her off before she could identify him) informed
Sir Adam that they’d been sent by Kenneth to protect her and would see her safely
to Scotland. Sir Adam had done enough, he’d said. It would do no good for his part
in their escape to become known.

Sweet heaven! Bruce’s phantoms! Her husband had sent Scotland’s most famous band of
warriors to protect her? She didn’t know how he managed to do such a thing, but it
did soften the sting of his deception somewhat. It was a bit awe-inspiring to realize
she had the most elite group of soldiers in Scotland looking after her. But how was
Kenneth connected to them?

Sir Adam seemed to realize who they were as well. Yet it was only after Mary assured
him that she knew one of the men that he agreed to let her go.

But before he left, Sir Adam strode over to Magnus. “You knew my nephew. He was part
of this … secret army.”

Magnus appeared startled. “I did.”

“He died well?”

Magnus clenched his jaw. “He did,” he said solemnly. “Your nephew was one of the best
men I’ve ever known.”

The two men held gazes for a long time. Finally, Sir Adam nodded, seemingly satisfied.
He removed something from his pocket and slid it into Mary’s hands. “See that your
husband gets this.”

Mary frowned, puzzled, staring at the folded piece of parchment. “I will.”

Her old friend seemed troubled, as if he were searching for the right words. “When
he tells you … I hope one day you will forgive me. I was only trying to do what I
thought best.”

Her frown deepened, not understanding. He’d done so much for her. But there was no
time to question him. Magnus sent Sir Adam on his way, ordered her to go with two
men he called Hawk and Viper, and took the two other men he called Hunter and Striker
with him to find Kenneth.

They’d been riding for a few minutes when the first pain struck with rather alarming
intensity. She pulled up on the reins of her horse so sharply that she nearly fell
off.

The marginally less terrifying of the two—the one who smiled—swore and managed to
get her horse back under control. “What’s wrong?”

Mary put her hand over her stomach. “I don’t know.” But she did know. “I think I might
be … that is, I think the babe—”

It was too early. The baby wasn’t due for at least another month.

The one Magnus had called Viper swore. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me you’re having the
baby right now?”

If she wasn’t wracked by another painful cramp, she might have laughed at the terrified
expressions on the faces of the two men who themselves looked as if they were the
bogeymen of children’s nightmares.

“Not right now,” she hedged.

“But the pains have started?” the man they called Hawk asked in a far gentler voice.

She nodded.

The man called Viper swore. He looked at the other man. “You take her. You’ve done
it more than I have. I don’t think I can handle it again.”

“I thought you could handle anything, cousin. You actually sound scared.”

“And you’re not?”

Hawk grimaced. “Point taken. Damn, I wish Angel was here.”

Mary was trying to prevent herself from crying out, but a small sound must have escaped.

The two men swore in unison, although the one called Viper used a far more vile word.
She found herself lifted from her saddle and put in front of the man who used to be
smiling—he wasn’t smiling anymore.

She could feel the tension emanating from him in the seemingly interminable ride to
the eastern seaboard, though it couldn’t have been more than a few miles. Every time
a pain wracked her—the pains were erratic, but seemed to be about twenty minutes apart—she
could feel the anxiety building in him.

“Just hold on, lass,” he said, trying to soothe her.

But the two men were clearly out of their element and their tension and anxiety increased
her own. She wanted her husband. Where was he?

She must have spoken her question aloud.

“He’ll be here soon, lass,” Hawk said, leaving off the “I hope” that she heard unsaid.

One hard contraction later they reached the ship, which the men had hidden in a cove,
somewhere north of Berwick. There were a dozen additional men waiting for them aboard
the
birlinn
, the type of ship favored by the West Highlander seafarers. She shivered seeing the
terrifying-looking hawk carved into the prow, which was all too reminiscent of their
ancestor Viking longships.