Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Hew tightened his grip on the axe.
There was a benefit to being hotheaded. Passion made one fearless.
It was passion that had made him boldly follow the monk to Dunlop.
Passion that had pushed him to brazenly track the cateran across Dunlop land.
Passion that had urged him to brashly insert himself between two brutes and their victim.
Now, suddenly, one glimpse of a familiar delicate moonlit cheek, the sweet curve of a jaw, the flutter of an eyelash, the open gasp of a soft mouth, drained that passion. For one awful moment, his hotheaded fearlessness wavered. He was stunned by sheer terror for the cateran.
He told himself it didn’t matter that the thief wasn’t a lad, but a lass.
It made no difference that the lass was not just any lass, but Lady Carenza.
He told himself these things. But his heart still pounded with icy fear for her. His breath still froze in his chest as more of the raging black beasts swirled around her.
Thank God, he was a trained warrior. His heart might be tender, but fierce blood pumped through it. He would protect her. And he would die before he’d reveal her secret.
“Stay there,” he repeated.
To his shock, she ignored his command.
Not only did she ignore it. She did the exact opposite of what he instructed. She turned her back on him and resumed leading her captive coo away.
The foolish lass seemed not to notice she was surrounded by stamping, snorting beasts that were twice her size. Beasts that could crush her in an instant.
He dared not cry out to her again. That would only further agitate the cattle.
There was only one thing to do. Dropping his axe, Hew let passion convince him to charge into the maelstrom of wild cattle.
No sooner did he enter the fray than his shin was struck by a stray hoof. The tip of a coo’s horn grazed his shoulder as it passed. And he was nearly crushed between two beasts determined to collide.
Dodging the lunging, darting cattle, he picked out the fastest, the one that looked like the leader. He shadowed the animal, running alongside until he could catch the base of its long horn in his bent arm. Then he dug in his heels and pulled back with all his might, slowing the coo and steering it aside.
It slipped and skidded on the sod, and its eyes still rolled in panic. But it finally stopped running.
“Easy,” he commanded breathlessly, slowing it to a saner pace. “Easy now.”
Once the first coo calmed, the others began to settle. Eventually he was able to circle the animal back in the direction of the woods. The rest of the fold gradually followed.
Still, by the time he swung around to seek out Lady Carenza, she’d gained a hundred yards. She was blithely continuing on her way with her spoils in tow, which both relieved and infuriated him.
Taking bold strides across the field toward her, he scooped up his axe and tossed it over his shoulder without missing a step.
“Wait!” he called out.
Her shoulders jerked in surprise, which gave him some satisfaction. She probably assumed the cattle had trampled him to death.
But when she wheeled around to confront him, he glimpsed a fearful plea in her eyes. A plea that caught at his heart. Dissipated his anger. And dissolved his conceit.
“Let me take the beast back, lass,” he murmured. “I won’t reveal your secret.”
She flinched once, hearing him call her lass. Then she tightened her grip on the rope around the animal’s neck.
“This one’s mine,” she whispered. “Ye can’t have him.”
It was as if her soft voice wrapped around the shell of his ear and breathed an enchantment into his soul. He lowered his axe, resting the blade on the ground. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to grant her wish.
Of course, reason dictated otherwise. It was possible the lady was fleeing an unhappy home. It was possible she was giving her father’s coo away to a crofter in need. But if both the lady and the coo went missing on the same night, it wouldn’t take a scholar to figure out the connection. And Hew had no intention of subjecting the beautiful lass to a cateran’s punishment.
But before he could discuss options, the lady’s eyes abruptly widened at something behind him, and she pulled her head back into the shadows of her hood.
Hew heard the cooherds approaching from behind.
“Who the hell are ye?” one of them demanded.
With a grim frown, Hew turned.
If there was one thing Hew hated, it was a bully. Now he confronted two of them. Worse, they appeared to be the sort of brutes whose bodies were too big for their brains.
The dunces were standing but a dozen yards from the lady, in full moonlight, yet they were too thickheaded to notice that she was a lady.
He supposed that was a blessing in this instance. She obviously didn’t wish to be recognized.
He didn’t bother answering their question. Instead he warned them, “You should walk away.”
The one with the beard puffed up his chest. “And ye should stay out o’ this.”
Hew ignored the threat. “You don’t want me to even the odds.”
“What’s that mean, even the odds?” the beardless one said, leering in challenge.
In answer, Hew casually swung his axe up where they could see it, resting the blade on his shoulder.
The lad’s leer drooped. His companion let out a low whistle.
The once leering lad whined, “We’re not even armed.”
“This?” Hew said with a shrug. “I don’t need this.” He swung it around with a showy flourish and hurled it into the ground in their midst with a resounding thud. “But I won’t stand by while two swaggering brutes threaten a wee lad half their size.”
“That ‘wee lad’ is a God-cursed cateran,” the bearded one argued.
Hew smirked. “So neither of you have ever reived a coo?”
They scowled, but couldn’t deny it. Every lad in Scotland had reived a coo. It was practically a rite of passage.
“Let’s settle this here and now,” he told them. “No fists. No bloodshed. Take the beast. Return it to the fold. I’ll take the naughty lad to Dunlop.” Of course, he had no intention of turning the lass in for the crime of reiving cattle. But they didn’t know that.
“We’re the ones who caught the thief,” the bearded one said. “We’ll take him to Dunlop.”
Hew crossed his arms. So they wanted credit for the capture? “Give me your names. I’ll tell the laird ’twas you who caught the cateran. But I’m not going to turn him over to you so you can bloody your knuckles on his face.” Then he had a second thought. “Besides, don’t you have cooherding to do?”
The beardless lad took offense at that. “Cooherdin’? We’re not cooherds.”
Hew blinked. They weren’t? “Then what are you doing out here?”
The bearded one straightened. “Watchin’ for outlaws like him.” He nodded his head toward the cateran.
Hew narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you’re not outlaws yourself?” he wondered aloud. “Maybe you were planning to reive the coos when this one came along and beat you to the fold.”
“We’re not outlaws,” the bearded one sputtered.
“Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t,” Hew said. “Are you even in the Dunlop clan?”
The other one lifted his beardless chin. “We’re the Boyles. Their neighbors.”
Boyle. He recognized that name. Weren’t those the brothers who thought they were worthy of the affections of the beautiful Lady Carenza? The idea was laughable.
But suddenly he realized why they were watching over the Dunlop coos. They hoped to do just this—catch a cateran and be rewarded by the laird of Dunlop, perhaps with a betrothal to his daughter. Indeed, they should be grateful Hew had saved them the humiliation of having bloodied their fists on the lass they intended to court.
“Wait,” the bearded one said, furrowing his brows in concentration. “How do we know ye’re not a cateran? We’ve ne’er seen ye before.”
“Aye, that’s right,” the second chimed in. “How do we know ye’re not after the coos?”
“Maybe ye’re this one’s accomplice,” the first Boyle deduced, jerking a thumb toward the cateran.
“Me? I offered you the coo,” Hew pointed out.
“We are goin’ to take the coo,” the bearded Boyle said.
“Not now you’re not,” Hew informed him.
“What?” he barked.
“Don’t be tellin’ us what to do,” the beardless Boyle said. “Our da is a laird.” He made a move toward the coo.
Hew blocked the way.
“How dare ye!” the other bellowed, his beard trembling with rage. “When our da finds out about this…” He made a lunge toward the animal.
Hew blocked him as well.
Their frustration erupted in a spate of cursing and spitting and jostling that made Hew feel like he was trying to contain a pair of wildcats chasing after a mouse.
Carenza had heard enough.
She didn’t intend to turn Hamish over to anyone. Nor would she be dragged back home to face the laird. Not even by the handsome axe-wielder who had somehow made his way unscathed through a rioting mass of cattle in a misguided attempt to rescue her.
He couldn’t protect her for long anyway. Any moment, one of the Boyles would recognize her and run tattling to her father.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
While the three fools were scuffling and swearing like suitors fighting over the same maid, she made a bold move.
Surging forward, she took hold of the axe handle in both hands and wrenched it out of the ground. Then she swung the heavy weapon in a wide arc toward the knot of brawling men.
They split apart at once, leaping back with yelps of surprise.
She stepped forward and swung again.
The Boyles squealed. Herbert staggered backwards. Gilbert fell on his arse.
“Hold on,” the Rivenloch warrior said, lifting one palm to her.
It was a brazen gesture. She could have lopped off his hand with her next swing. Not that she would have. Carenza wouldn’t harm a flea. But he didn’t know that.
“You don’t want blood on your hands,” he told her.
She wasn’t afraid of the Boyles. They were cowards. Already they were scrambling away, slipping on the wet grass in their panic.
This man, however, seemed undaunted by the fact he was unarmed while she possessed a weapon that could split him in half.
He took one cautious step forward, and she shook the sharp blade before her in warning.
“Don’t be foolish,” he growled. “You don’t want to hurt anyone. Hand it o’er.”
Another time, she might have succumbed to the lethal power of his voice. He was right. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She wouldn’t even kill a spider.
But Hamish’s life was at stake.
She shook her head, refusing him.
“I won’t turn you in,” he promised.
She didn’t believe him. She jabbed the axe forward again.
He took a judicious step back.
“Why do you want the coo?” he demanded.
She clamped her lips shut. She didn’t have to tell him. He wouldn’t understand anyway.
Then he gave her a quizzical look and asked, “Do you know these lads?”
She paused, then gave him a subtle nod.
Then he raised his voice so the Boyles could hear. “These two,” he asked, “do they belong here?”
Carenza hesitated. She had a choice.
She could admit that the Boyles were indeed welcome on her father’s land. Though they’d always been a source of annoyance to Carenza, especially lately, they were amicable enough neighbors.
But they were up to some sort of mischief. Skulking around in the dark. Messing about with her father’s cattle. Bullying people half their size.
If they’d known who she was, they would have been mortified. But they didn’t. So she could command their fate as she willed.
She shook her head. Nay, they didn’t belong here.
The Boyles sent up a loud protest.
“Are ye goin’ to believe a cateran?” the beardless one complained.
His brother added, “When our da hears what ye’ve done—”
Hew silenced them with an upraised hand and spoke to her.
“I’ll make you a trade,” he offered, stepping forward.
She shoved the axe quickly toward him again, forcing him back.
He bit out a frustrated curse. Then he nodded toward Hamish. “Take the coo. Just give me that rope from around his neck. And leave me my axe. I’ll tie these two up. The laird can find them on the morrow.”
“What?” Herbert squeaked.
“Nay!” Gilbert bellowed. “We’ll freeze to death.”
“You can cuddle with the cattle,” the warrior called back over his shoulder. “They’ll keep you warm enough.”
The Boyles weren’t going to linger long enough to be tied up. They beat a hasty retreat, heading back toward the woods.
He turned to Carenza. “Are we agreed?”
His offer was tempting. He had an honest face. A noble bearing. Earnest eyes that seemed to pierce her soul.
She blinked. She shouldn’t trust him. Why would he simply let her go?
He nodded as if reading her mind. “I know you don’t trust me, lass,” he murmured. “But I’m a knight of Rivenloch, and I swear on my honor I will keep my word.”
She considered his oath. She believed the illustrious Rivenloch tournament champion, Sir Gellir, was probably a man of honor. But she knew nothing about the rest of the clan. They could be a pack of wild savages for all she knew.
Still, the passionate sincerity in his gaze…
“Pray make haste,” he urged. “They’re getting away.”
She decided she’d trust him enough to give him the rope. But not the axe.
She nodded. Then she made a slow retreat, brandishing the weapon before her, until she could reach Hamish’s head.
The man stayed obediently rooted to the spot while she ducked under Hamish’s horns and loosened the rope around his neck. But she kept her eye on him.
Once the rope was off, the man’s impatience showed. He waved his fingers toward her.
“Hurry, lass,” he said. “They’re halfway up the hill.”
But she had one more precaution to take. Something to ensure her safety.
She slipped the rope off Hamish’s horns with her left hand. But before she tossed the coil to the warrior, she reared back her right arm and, with all her might, hurled the axe as far as she could across the field.
It arced impressively through the sky, catching the moonlight on its sharp blade as it tumbled end over end before clattering onto the ground.
Ten yards away.
She sighed in exasperation.
He was too polite to comment, but she detected a gleam of amusement in his narrowed eyes.
After that, she may have thrown the rope at him with more force than was necessary.
His reflexes were good enough to keep it from smacking him in the chest. After he caught it, he hurried off after his quarry.
This was her chance to escape.
All things considered, the odds were still in her favor.
No one knew who she was.
She had the coo.
And tying up the Boyle brothers would keep the Viking occupied long enough for her to flee with Hamish.
It was tempting to retrieve his axe and keep it for herself. But she was a woman of her word. Besides, he was a Rivenloch warrior. While he might eventually lose interest in tracking a common cateran, he’d likely follow her to the ends of the earth to get his precious weapon back.
Nay, she’d proceed as planned. Just her and Hamish and the journey ahead.
Without the rope, she had to coil her fist in the thick hair of Hamish’s neck to guide him. It wasn’t ideal. The rope would have given her greater control. But she knew he would stay close. He would sense the slightest shift in her bearing and follow her without question.
With a whispered prayer for safe travels, she guided him onto the path through the mountains.
Centuries ago, a crack in the rock had widened into a deep ravine running alongside the narrow trail that traversed the stony slope. As the path progressed, the steep shards of slick, moss-covered walls grew taller on one side and deeper on the other. Anything dropped into the chasm was gone forever. Anything and anyone.
Stray lambs sometimes slipped into the ravine. Now and then, an unwary traveler stumbled and fell to his death. Children were warned away from the path. Still, every few years, some drunken lad lost his life trying to negotiate the path blindfolded on a dare from his fellows.
But tonight, the ravine’s treacherous nature made the route the perfect choice. No one with an ounce of sense—no one but intrepid Carenza—would attempt to take a great beast like Hamish through the perilous passage. And more importantly, no one would ever try to bring him back.
Containing the Boyles took longer than Hew anticipated. There was no loyalty lost between the brothers. One was perfectly willing to flee while his sibling was captured and tied to a tree.
Eventually, Hew chased and tackled the second brother and managed to secure them both. Then, annoyed by the bearded one’s incessant caterwauling about freezing to death, he tore off a piece of the lad’s leine and stuffed it into his mouth.
But now, the lady and her coo were long gone.
Still, he wouldn’t give up. The Boyles might not have recognized who she was, or even that she was a lass. But he knew. Which meant someone else would eventually find out. If news spread that the daughter of Dunlop was reiving her father’s cattle, it would bring shame upon her and her whole clan.
On the other hand, he’d promised he wouldn’t turn her in.
There was only one thing to do.
He blew out a determined breath, loping toward the spot she’d disappeared, pausing only to retrieve his axe.
There was a primitive footpath nestled against the mountain which led away from the field. That was where she’d been headed. It must be where she’d gone.
She couldn’t travel very quickly with a coo. There was a good chance he could catch her before she got too deep into the mountains.
Increasing his pace, he moved swiftly from the wide moonlit grassland to the narrow shadowed path. The trail sloped abruptly upward. But as he climbed, the mountain on his right rose even more steeply.
The moon, hidden now behind the mountain’s peak, provided no light. Only starlight illuminated the path, which constricted more with each step.
On his right loomed a sheer face of rock, carpeted with moss and fern.
To his left plunged a crevasse as black as peat. How deep it was, he couldn’t tell.
But the narrower the trail became, the higher it rose and the darker it got, the more he worried about Lady Carenza.
Had she really come this way with the great beast?
Did she realize how dangerous this path was?
As if to prove his point, his heel slipped on rubble, scraping perilously close to the edge of the abyss. A taunting trickle of pebbles dribbled down the side, fading far below.
“Shite,” he muttered in disgust.
Was this how his life would end? Would the fierce Sir Hew du Lac fall to his death, not in battle, but on a mountain pass, chasing after a lass with a coo?
He managed to regain his footing and braced himself against the wall.
Then his heart wrenched as a horrible thought knifed through his soul.
What if the lady hadn’t made it this far?
What if she’d already met with an unspeakable accident?
What if the beast had misstepped as he had?
What if it had tumbled headlong into the crevasse, dragging its mistress down to her death?
The bitter taste of terror filled his mouth. It was too awful to contemplate.
Instead, he shook off the fear and donned the scowl he wore into battle.
By God, he was Sir Hew du Lac. A Rivenloch warrior. Fear only fed his resolve.
Steeling his nerves, he blew out a determined breath, pushed away from the wall, and swung his axe up over his shoulder.
Unfortunately, the weapon never made it to his shoulder.
Instead, the blade caught on something—a root or a rock—beside him. The halted momentum made him stagger and lose his footing. He fell to one knee. As he tried to lever up with the other leg, the earth gave way beneath his boot, launching a hailstorm of rocks into the crevasse.
He slammed his left hand forward, grasping for purchase. But his palm scraped across the ground as his weight began to pull him over the crumbling edge.
Grimacing, he scrabbled at the slick growth for a handhold and found none.
His last prayer as the earth opened its dark maw to devour him was that the lady had not met a similar fate.