Highland Savage Page 2

  “So, it is ye,” said Ranald as he drew his sword and he and his companions moved to stand facing Lucas. “Ye are supposed to be dead. We threw ye off the cliff and saw ye just lying there.”

  “And ye ne’er went back to see if I stayed there, did ye,” Lucas said, his scorn clear to hear in his voice.

  “Why trouble ourselves? We had beaten ye soundly, ye were bleeding from several wounds, and we threw ye off a cliff.”

  Lucas shrugged. “I got up and went home,” he said, knowing his family would groan to hear him describe the many travails he had gone through to return to Donncoill in such simple terms.

  “Weel, ye willnae be crawling home this time, laddie.”

  “Nay, I intend to ride home in triumph, leaving your bodies behind me to rot in the dirt.”

  “I dinnae think so.” Ranald sneered as he glanced at Lucas’s left leg. “I watched ye run out of the inn and ye limp and stumble like an old mon. We left ye a cripple, didnae we.”

  Lucas fought down the rage that threatened to consume him. He had to exact his revenge coldly, had to fight with a clear head and think out every move he made. It was this man’s fault that Lucas could no longer move with the speed and grace he had before, and it was hard not to just lunge at the man and cut him down. Before the beating he would have not been all that concerned about the other men, knowing he could turn on them with equal speed and have a good chance of defeating them all. Now, because of these men, he had to weigh his every move carefully if he had any hope of coming out of this alive.

  “E’en that wee wound willnae stop me from killing ye,” Lucas said, his voice almost cheerful even as he noted with a twinge of dismay how the men began to slowly encircle him.

  “Still arrogant,” said Ranald, grinning as he shook his head. “Weel, soon ye will be joining your wee whore in the cold clay.”

  “So, Annie spoke true when she said Lady Katerina was dead.”

  “Aye, she joined ye or so we thought. Tossed her right o’er the cliff and into the water with ye.”

  That made no sense to Lucas, but he pushed his sudden confusion and all the questions it raised aside. How and why Katerina had died was of no importance at the moment. Staying alive had to be his only priority. A quick glance toward the inn revealed a white-faced Annie and several other Haldanes watching and listening, but Ranald spoke too low for them to hear what was a clear confession. Lucas had to hope that, if he failed to win this fight, they would find out what happened to Katerina, although why he should care about that was just another puzzle he had no time to solve.

  “I dinnae suppose ye have the courage to face me mon to mon, without all your men to protect your worthless hide,” Lucas said as he braced himself for the battle to come.

  “Are ye calling me a coward?” Ranald snarled.

  “Ye needed near a dozen men to capture me, beat me nigh unto death, and toss me off a cliff, and then ye murdered a wee unarmed lass. Aye, I believe I am calling ye a coward and weel do ye deserve the name.”

  “’Twill be a joy to kill ye, fool.”

  Glancing around at the men encircling him, Lucas had the sinking feeling that it would also be a quick killing, but then he stiffened his backbone. He had been in such tight spots before and come out nearly unscathed. All he needed to do was regain that arrogance Ranald found so irritating. Lucas was a little concerned that he would fail at that. It seemed his heart was beating so hard and fast that he could actually hear it. Telling himself he was imagining things, he readied himself to win and, failing that, to take as many of these men with him as he could. This time, killing him was going to cost them dearly.

  Chapter Two

  “He is alive?!”

  Katerina stared at young Thomas, certain she had misheard him, that his breathlessness had garbled his words. Lucas could not be alive. He had been bleeding and broken when Ranald and his men had thrown him off the cliff. The fall would only have added to his already serious injuries. Just before they had tossed her off as well she had caught a fleeting glimpse of Lucas’s limp body being dragged off the rocky shores by the rough, wind-tossed waters of the loch. She had barely survived being tossed into those waters herself and she had not been beaten first. Even as she struggled to keep from drowning in those cold, dark waters, she had looked for Lucas and seen nothing.

  “The mon has those same eyes, m’lady,” Thomas said. “Aye, and e’en the same voice. I recall both verra clearly, although he didnae seem to remember me. It has to be him.”

  “Weel, ye have grown a fair bit in the last year,” she muttered, still fighting her shock.

  “Did Sir Lucas nay tell us once that he has a twin?” asked William as he stepped up to stand close by Katerina’s side and place a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

  A wave of sharp disappointment swept through Katerina at her second-in-command’s words, but she just nodded in silent agreement with his recollection. “Aye, Cousin, he did. Artan was his twin’s name and Lucas said they were alike in looks, voice, and sword skill. This must be Lucas’s twin. His family has finally come to find him or to seek revenge.”

  “But, m’lady, did ye nay tell us that Ranald and his dogs had cut Sir Lucas’s face?” asked Thomas.

  “Aye,” Katerina whispered, unable to halt the searing memories of that day from flooding her mind.

  “Weel, this mon has a scar upon his face and he also limps a wee bit, as if his leg is a wee bit stiff.”

  “It could still be his twin brother.” That both men would suffer such similar wounds was too great a coincidence to be plausible, but Katerina was afraid to let herself hope that Lucas had survived and had returned to her.

  “Ranald and his dogs believe it is Sir Lucas and they mean to be certain that he dies this time.”

  ’Then, whoe’er this mon may be, ’tis best if we pull him free of this trouble ere those curs kill him. We can sort out this puzzle of who he is later. Thomas, ye best spread the word that we are riding so that all is ready for us.”

  Pushing aside the fierce, tangled emotions raging through her, Katerina selected six of her men to ride with her. They all donned their long, black cloaks, wrapped a wide strip of dark blue linen over their mouths and noses to better hide their faces, secured their hoods over their heads, and mounted their waiting horses. This was not what they had planned to do when they had gathered this night, but Ranald and his men could not be allowed to murder another man.

  As she led her men on a swift race toward the village, Katerina fought to kill the hope young Thomas’s words had stirred in her heart. She had done her best to kill all hope when Lucas’s body had not even washed up onto the rocky shores of the loch so that she could give him a proper burial. It had taken a long, wretched time to silence all the questions that had kept her from fully accepting his loss, ones such as why his family had never come searching for him. Those unanswered and long ignored questions were all creeping back into her mind now and she struggled to silence them again. All that should matter to her right now was that Ranald and his men were about to kill again and she had sworn on her father’s soul that she would put an end to Ranald’s brutality.

  Even more important, she had yet to prove who gave the man his orders. Katerina was certain it was her half-sister Agnes, but she needed indisputable proof of the woman’s crimes and that was proving very hard to come by. She never would have thought her half-sister was so clever, so cunning. Katerina’s only moments of satisfaction, fleeting and shallow though they were, came when she thought of how Agnes had to be feeling as trapped, as cornered and frustrated, as she was. Agnes had not yet found her rogue of a husband, the man their father had so disliked. Until the man was found and Agnes was made a widow, she could not lay claim to Dunlochan either. They were both locked into this battle, which was draining all the joy and prosperity from Dunlochan.

  The conditions set by her father’s last wishes had been demeaning. The results had thus far been disastrous. Katerina loathed the thought that five old m
en chosen by her father had the final say on whether any man she chose to wed was suitable or not. That sorely stung her pride. The fact that she and any who supported her were marked for death before her father was even cold in the ground made her wonder just what her father had been thinking of. Either he had been utterly blind to Agnes’s true nature and thus saw no danger, or his general scorn for women had made it impossible to even consider the possibility that there would be a battle over the lands and money he had left behind. Her father may not have been an affectionate man, but she had always considered him a good laird and a clever man. His instructions concerning the settlement of Dunlochan after he died made her wonder if his illness had badly disordered his wits.

  The sound of sword hitting sword abruptly pulled her from her thoughts and she signaled her men to slow their pace. Even in the gray light of day’s end she could see the men in front of the inn—one man encircled by seven. Ranald never did like to fight fairly, she mused as, using hand signals, she silently instructed her men on how they should proceed. Their biggest advantage in the coming confrontation would be their horses. Few men could stand fast before a charging horse. Satisfied that her men understood what she planned, Katerina fixed her gaze upon the man in the middle of the circle and struggled to ignore how much his long black hair reminded her of Lucas’s as she kicked her horse into a gallop.

  Lucas cursed as one of the men behind him managed to get close enough to score his lower back with his sword. He saved himself from a more dangerous wound, but only barely. There was some comfort to be found in the fact that he had bloodied his foes, but Lucas could not ignore the fact that he, too, was bloodied. That he was still alive proved how much of his old skill he had recovered, but it was not enough.

  Even as he knocked the sword from the man’s hand Lucas suddenly realized that the pounding he had heard was not in his heart or his head. The man he had just disarmed had halted abruptly in rushing to retrieve his weapon, his eyes widening as he stared at something behind Lucas and his face turning parchment white. The men flanking him looked the same. Even as Lucas strove to keep a close watch on the men surrounding him, he looked in the direction they all did and gaped.

  Seven horsemen were galloping straight toward them, their horses large and holding steady. One male rode slightly in the lead, the others in a neat line right behind him. Lucas watched that straight line slowly curve around and realized they moved to encircle his attackers and cut off their escape. The only hesitation in that awe-inspiring maneuver was when one of the horsemen smoothly leaned down and caught up the pack Lucas had dropped. The leader never wavered, but continued on in a straight line, one that led straight for him.

  For a moment it was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. Lucas saw his enemies react to this attack as if they moved through thick mud. He saw everything clearly, from the fact that the rider headed for him was a lot smaller than the rest to the eerie sight of their black cloaks flowing out behind them and the dark blue cloth that covered most of their faces. It was all a beautifully graceful yet utterly terrifying sight. Then his enemies started to try to flee and Lucas’s ears were assaulted by the sound of swords clashing.

  Lucas was also looking for a route of escape when he realized the lead horseman had slowed. The huge black gelding the man rode reared to a halt at his side and the rider held out a surprisingly small gauntleted hand. It appeared he was about to be rescued, Lucas thought.

  “Get on ere one of these cowards realizes I am a verra easy target here,” snapped the rider.

  Despite the way the rider’s voice was muffled by the cloth wrapped around his face, Lucas felt a twinge of recognition. He tried to see the rider’s eyes but the hood of the black cloak shadowed all of the face not masked by that blue cloth. Grabbing the rider’s extended forearm, Lucas used the hold to help swing himself up into the saddle behind the man. A soft grunt escaped the man and the struggle he had to stay in the saddle was obvious, but Lucas was impressed by the strength of what he now assumed was little more than a boy.

  “My horse…” Lucas began.

  “Will be weel cared for,” the rider replied even as he kicked the horse into a gallop.

  Lucas wrapped his arms around the waist of his rescuer and hung on. His rescuer was astonishingly slender. He frowned for there was something tantalizingly familiar about the youth. Even the scent of the slim rider teased at his memories. It left him with a puzzle he hoped would soon be solved.

  For one brief moment Lucas feared he had escaped one danger and blindly stumbled into another. He quickly shook aside his suspicions. If these people meant him any harm they only needed to have left him where he was. Why they had exerted themselves to rescue him he did not know, but he suspected that, too, would be made clear once they got to wherever they were headed. And, mayhap, he had just found some allies in his quest for revenge. He had not wanted his family entangled in his search for vengeance, but, since these people seemed to be the enemies of his enemies, he saw no reason not to either join with them or seek their aid.

  Katerina tried to concentrate on riding safely through the trees in the fading light of day’s end. Fixing all of her attention on that chore was the only way she could control the maelstrom of emotions tearing through her. If she faltered in that rigid discipline she knew she would halt so that she could reassure herself that it was truly Lucas who was seated behind her, and that indulgence could put them all in danger. She had no doubt that Ranald and their men were already chasing them.

  When she had seen Lucas standing there fighting for his life, she had nearly screamed out her joy. Fortunately good sense had prevailed. Ranald might now know that Lucas had survived, but the man still thought that she was dead. That deception was vital to any chance she had of winning this war with Agnes.

  A strong thread of disbelief still twisted itself around her mind and heart. It was difficult to believe that Lucas had survived the vicious beating he had suffered and being thrown into the loch. She knew his leg had been broken, so how had he saved himself from drowning? Yet her eyes told her that it was indeed Lucas Murray she had just yanked out of Ranald’s deadly grasp. Everything from the sound of his voice to the feel of his body pressed close to hers as they rode told her that it was him.

  One question kept pounding in her mind even as she and her men scattered, only William continuing to ride with her, giving their pursuers half a dozen trails to try and follow. Why had Lucas not tried to find her, to at least let her know that he was alive? From the brief look she had gotten of the man he had obviously needed a long time to heal, but that only explained why he had not returned to Dunlochan. It did not explain why he had left her to grieve for him as he must have known she would. The possible answers to that question, which slipped so insidiously into her mind, were chilling and she quickly shook them away. Lucas knew her, knew her very well. He could not possibly believe she had had anything to do with the attack upon him.

  Seeing Old Ian up ahead, Katerina quickly reined to a halt and dismounted. She resisted the urge to help Lucas when she noticed the slight awkwardness in his dismount. Turning her whole attention to Old Ian, she handed him the reins to her horse, William swiftly doing the same.

  “I heard the mon had returned,” said Old Ian after studying Lucas closely for a moment.

  “Aye, and gave Ranald yet another chance to kill him,” said Katerina and then she grimaced. “’Tis why we had need of ye tonight. I hope we didnae pull ye away from your meal.”

  “My woman will keep it warm for me. Get ye gone now ere those swine catch sight of ye.”

  Seeing that William had already begun to brush away their trail with a leafy branch, Katerina nodded. “As soon as the pursuit has ended someone will come to fetch these beasties.”

  “Nay trouble. I have feed enough. Godspeed.”

  “And to ye, too.”

  Even as Old Ian led the horses away William followed, brushing away the trail left behind them. Knowing he would catch up to her, Katerina
silently waved to Lucas to follow her and began to jog toward the old kirk that had become one of her hiding places for far too long. Only once did she chance a look at Lucas to make certain he had no trouble in following her. There was an odd hitch to his gait but he moved quickly and showed no signs of pain. They would be able to savor their reunion later.

  Lucas was impressed by the group’s actions. Multiple trails for an enemy to follow, people readied to hide the horses, trails brushed away, and utter silence for most of the time. He realized these people had been at their work—whatever that work was—for quite a long time. It was also obvious that they had the full support of most of the people of Dunlochan. Lucas had the feeling he had become involved in something far more than simple reiving, something that may have even been behind that attempt to kill him. If they were just reivers, he had to wonder why they stayed so close to the ones they raided and fought with. It was that alone that made him think it was all something far more complicated and more dangerous than simply raiding for food and coin.

  His eyes widened as they approached a ruined stone kirk. Lucas glanced back at the man who trotted along behind them dragging a branch to disguise their trail. The man’s gaze was fixed upon the kirk whenever he was not glancing around, looking for any hint that their enemy had found them. It seemed they were indeed headed for that roofless stone building. He held silent, reminding himself that these people had snatched him from Ranald’s murderous grasp with an awe-inspiring skill, and had, thus far, revealed meticulous planning in their every move. Such people did not choose hiding places too obvious or too difficult to defend or escape from.