The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (22 page)

The man squatted in front of her. He extended a hand to touch her cheek, but she swatted it away with a fierce scowl.

That’s my lady.

“If I say you’re fine, you’re fine,” the tracker said. His voice was low and dangerous, but he didn’t try to touch her again. “And a pity it is you’re so fine, because if you really were ugly, maybe Bantus wouldn’t want you. Maybe I’d kill these lousy sods and keep you for myself.”

“You could try,” said the one who’d laid the woodpile. He finished his task and scraped flint to start the kindling burning.

“Aye, fight amongst yourselves,” Anya said, cheerfully. “Wouldn’t Commander Lance be pleased to find
you all dead at each other’s hands and me ridden away on one of your horses, all while he was out hunting?”

So the one still missing was the commander, and he was, in fact, out hunting. Anya didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, so Riggs snuck around to where the horses were tied, keeping an ear to the men by the growing fire. They continued their banter while he spotted the piles of discarded clothing at the tree line, confirming this was where the two hunters had left from. One pile had a brighter, newer looking war kilt folded at the bottom. The linen shirt on top was crisper.

He would have to come out from behind the tree to scent the clothing. He waited for an opportunity.

The one who had found the piglets took them to the bank to skin them. He disappeared around some boulders. Riggs focused on the other two.

“Bantus’ll like this one,” said the one leaning on the tree. “Feisty as a plucked hen.” He shoved off and headed toward the horses, right toward Riggs.

Shite! He tucked himself tight behind the tree.

The tracker approached. Riggs heard the clinking of saddlebag buckles being undone. A minute later, the tracker’s footsteps retreated back to the fire.

Riggs released the breath he’d been holding. After another minute, he peered around the tree.

“No fighting, then?” Anya said. “
Och,
I suppose I must make your tea, then, if I’m to be in your company for a while.” She stood with a wince and limped to face the soldier, her hand outstretched for the teapot he must have grabbed from the saddlebag. By the moon, she was beautiful, even dusty from the road and with lines of strain bracketing her mouth.

“Women don’t serve,” the soldier said. “Ben’ll make your dinner.” He nodded down the bank toward the hunter skinning the boars. “I’ll make the tea.”

Riggs almost snorted. The Larnians couldn’t conscience letting her make tea for them, but they had no problem taunting her and planning to use her in the worst possible way. King Magnus should have wiped out every last Larnian male while he had the chance.

“Where I come from, ’tis a grave insult for a lady to sit on her hands while a man fetches water,” Anya said.

Both men near the fire had their attention on her. It was now or never. He tiptoed to the pile of crisp clothing, grabbed it up and returned to his hiding spot, heart hammering.

“Now give me the bloody teapot and let me do somat
to keep my hands busy,” Anya continued.

He heard the man with the teapot huff. “If you insist. Maybe I’ll just put my feet up and watch you hobble about unnecessarily, yeah?”

Phew. He’d evaded the trackers’ notice. As his pulse returned to normal, he buried his nose in the kilt and shirt, dragging the nose-ruffling scent of Larnian deep into his lungs.

“Funny one, he thinks he is,” Anya muttered.

Riggs dropped the clothing and put his eyes on her one last time before leaving to take care of the commander. She took the teapot and tin of tealeaves from the tracker and carried them off to the river. He longed to have her in his arms. It would happen before this night was through.

Hang on, lady. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

* * * *

Anya nibbled the cooked boar for appearances, but she tasted nothing. Her stomach was in knots. Her hands shook. She pulled the sleeves of her shirt over them to hide the shaking. Also to protect herself. No matter how thoroughly she’d washed at the river, she dared not handle her
food directly after harvesting roots of water hemlock to slip into her captors’ tea.

Each of the three men had sipped their tea. The deed was done. No taking it back now. All she could do was wait.

It could take anywhere from minutes to an hour for the effects of the water hemlock to appear. Hopefully, none of the men would show signs of poisoning before their leader returned and helped himself to the tea as well. They called him Commander Lance or simply Lance, a fitting name for a man so coolly dangerous. If she’d had her way, she would have poisoned him first and taken her chances with the other three rather than the other way around, but fate had not given her such a choice.

Her gaze traveled from one man to the next. Across the fire from her was the one the others called Ced. A right cocky bastard, that one. Handsome, but with a cruel set to his mouth. Beside him, reclining on an elbow was the one she’d heard Lance call Gord. She hated him the most. Whenever he looked at her, ’twas with a leer that made her skin crawl. It had taken every ounce of effort she possessed to act casual with him—if she’d curled her lip the way she wanted to when addressing him, he might not have trusted her to make the tea. Nearest to her was Ben, the one who’d hunted and prepared the boar for her dinner.

Poor Ben. He wasn’t a bad sort, but he wasn’t courageous enough to go against his fellows. What they had planned for her, it bothered him. She could tell by the pity in his amber eyes when he looked at her. But the way his gaze shifted when she tried to meet it told her he’d not risk allying himself with her. Mayhap he would have helped her if she could have found a way to disable the others and spare him. Mayhap he wouldn’t. This wasn’t the time to take such a risk.

She had this one chance to escape. She’d committed to it and would see it through. For King Magnus and wolfkind. For Riggs.

She watched Ben carefully. He’d drunk the most. The other two sipped idly while murmuring amongst themselves, but Ben had drained his cup in a few minutes. He would show signs of poisoning first.

If the water hemlock acted on wolfkind as it did on humans and if they’d drunk enough, the men would fall to fits and expire soon after. She’d never seen it happen, but had learned all about which plants were helpful and which were harmful. Water hemlock looked a great deal like wild carrot, the seeds of which could be put in tea to keep a woman from catching a bairn. Many a poor lass had confused the plants and died when they’d merely intended to avoid dishonor.

Ben leaned back on a saddle and used his dirk to flick dirt from under his fingernails. She was close enough to see the striations in his thick, pointed nails, close enough to see his skin glowing with health in the firelight.

Come on. Come on.

Ben met her gaze. “You don’t like it?”

She blinked. “What?”

“The boar? Is it not cooked enough?”

She shook her head. “’Tis fine. Thank you.” She made herself eat some more.

He winced suddenly. Put a hand to his stomach.

Saints, it was happening. The water hemlock was taking effect.

He looked at his cup then at her, his eyes wide with alarm. He doubled over with a groan.

At the same time, a shout came from the tree line, near where the horses were tied. “To me! It’s the Maranner filth who slayed my wolves!”

She recognized Lance’s voice, and her heart lunged into her throat. She kent of only one wolf-slaying Maranner, and he should be dead.

* * * *

Danu curse it! Of all the foul luck.

At the sound of a shout behind him, Riggs whipped around to find the Larnian commander, Lance, charging out of the brush. Pale blue eyes set in a craggy face narrowed on him as the man advanced, still naked from his hunt.

In an hour of tracking the commander’s scent, Riggs had found the carcass of his kill but not the man himself. Worry for Anya had hastened him back to the campsite. He’d hoped to intercept the commander upon his return and take him off guard, but it seemed he was the one to be taken off guard instead. The hunter had become the hunted. Now he would have to fight all four men.

So be it. Anya depended on him.

He got his axe up in a battle grip, but Lance lunged and buried his fist in Riggs’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A surprise move. A dirty move. And it fucking hurt.

He curled around his stunned
diaphragm, but brought his axe up at the same time to block a kick his opponent aimed at his face.

Rustling and jingling sounds from the clearing meant the other trackers were coming with their weapons. At least Lance wasn’t armed. Riggs would take the small mercy, since it was all he’d likely get.

Turning his back to the unarmed man, he jumped through the brush into the clearing, poised for attack with his axe in one hand and his hunting knife in the other. The preemptive move should force the running trackers into defensive positions, which would give him a slight advantage if he could be quick on his feet.

Once he cleared the brush, he’d expected to find three men charging toward him. There were only two. A quick glance showed Anya by the fire with a man having convulsions on the ground.

He couldn’t ponder that beyond a profound sense of relief she seemed unharmed.

With Lance’s light footfalls closing in on his back, he threw himself at the smaller of the other two trackers.

If I fall, protect her.

As he swung his axe, it occurred to him that had been the first prayer he’d uttered in decades.

* * * *

Nervously, Anya watched Ben try
to gain his feet. His gaze followed Ced and Gord, but ’twas clear he’d not be answering Lance’s call with his fellows. He managed to crawl a few paces before falling on his side. To her mixed horror and gratefulness, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his body went into spasms.

Keeping one eye on poor Ben, she watched the other two close in on the tree line, swords drawn. Before they could crash through the underbrush, an enormous form, large as an enraged bear, leapt from the forest. The snarling beast had wild black hair, blazing eyes, and in its hands were a hunting knife and a black handled axe.

Riggs!

His clothing was torn and bloody, his skin dirty, his face twisted with
battle lust. But he was alive! She could scarcely believe her eyes.

Lance stalked from the forest behind him. He was naked and streaked with blood from his
hunt, and he looked more vicious than she’d ever seen him. His pale blue eyes threw off sparks. They gleamed with violence. He was an animal. More wolf than man.

As Riggs swung his axe at Gord, Ced tossed his broadsword to Lance, who caught the hilt easily.

Riggs’s attack had forced Gord back a few paces. With darting gaze, he assessed Ced and Lance, keeping his feet moving all the while. He was doubly armed. But would it be enough against three soldiers?

Please let it be enough.

Ced had only the dirk he’d drawn from the sheath at his calf. The other two men had broadswords. Gord left his dirk sheathed, but ’twas there if he needed it.

Saints above, Riggs didn’t stand a chance.

But her brave wolf-man didn’t give up. He attacked Gord, his axe swinging from his side in a fearsome arc while pointing his knife toward Lance.

Gord used his sword to redirect the blow, grunting with the effort and managing to slice Riggs across his arm in the process. The axe embedded in Gord’s thigh instead of his ribs. He bellowed.

While Riggs yanked his axe from Gord’s leg, he thrust his knife toward Lance, but the shorter blade’s reach couldn’t match that of the broadsword. Lance’s sword sank into his side.

No!

The wound wasn’t near enough center to be immediately fatal, but it sank deep. When Lance pulled it free, it dripped blood.

Riggs curled around the wound with a snarl.

Ced swooped in, grabbed his knife arm and twisted it behind his back.

Riggs dropped the knife.

Ced grinned.

Riggs used the back of his head like a battering ram to break Ced’s nose.

Ha! Take that!

Ced released Riggs to cup both hands over his bleeding face.

Riggs wasted no time taking another swing at Gord with his axe, but he was moving slower than before. Gord danced out of reach despite the blood pouring down his leg.

While Riggs wound up for another swing, Lance got an arm around Riggs’s neck from behind. Ced and Gord closed in and unarmed Riggs. Gord tossed the axe away. It clattered to the hard-packed sand.

Her heart lunged into her throat to see Riggs without his axe, surrounded by enemies.

Ced and Gord held Riggs with his arms behind his back. Riggs struggled, but his growing weakness showed in the strained lines of his face and in the way his head drooped.

Lance moved to stand before Riggs with his back to her. He said somat she couldn’t make out. Then he delivered two fierce punches to Riggs’s stomach.