Chapter 6
S word in hand, Angus assessed the three riders as they charged toward him.
The youngest, a youth of about five-and-ten years, small boned and well dressed, was nay doubt Fraiser’s heir and of little threat. The men flanking him, however, were a different matter entirely. The elder of the two was of Angus’s own height, bearded, a bit heavier and thankfully a good bit older than himself. From the man’s dress Angus took him to be a Fraiser captain. The younger, also a big man, wore Fraiser plaid but no jeweled broach, no marks of distinction other than a nasty-looking battle scar across one cheek. He was simply a skilled warrior.
As they came to a prancing halt before him on shaggy ponies, the eldest guard demanded, “Who be ye and what business have ye on Fraiser land?”
Angus looked each in the eye. “I’m Angus MacDougall and have no business with the Fraisers. I’m just passing through on my way to Beal.”
“More like eating yer way through,” the younger of the two guards grumbled, pointing to the discarded fish. “And ye have nay doubt neglected to pay Fraiser the Plaque-mail.”
As they eyed him warily, Angus mentally cursed. The fines levied by some Highland chieftains for safe passage through their lands could be backbreaking. Would the lad try to increase his father’s coffers by some exorbitant amount?
Before he could ask how much they wanted, the lad leaned toward the younger of the two guards, pointed toward Rampage, and whispered something.
Humph! If the lad thought he could take his mount he’d best rethink. Rampage would toss the lad into the river the moment he set a foot in a stirrup.
Sneering, the eldest Fraiser asked, “Why is it, MacDougall, yer horse has six legs?”
What? Angus snapped his head around. Rampage did indeed appear to be standing on six legs, four heavily muscled and feathery white limbs and two decidedly sleek, feminine ones.
Good God Almighty! Birdi had taken refuge behind his charger.
Angus sucked air through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t the blasted woman do what she was told?
The youth called, “Lady, come out where we can see ye.”
Angus bellowed, “Nay, lass! Stay right where ye are.” To the men, he said, “What do I owe for the rest and the fish?”
“Now what’s yer hurry?” the younger guard asked. Grinning in what could only be called a lascivious manner, the man eyed Rampage’s flanks and started inching his horse around to the left.
Kenning the man’s intent, Angus grasped the hilt of his broadsword in both hands and swung the claymore in menacing fashion, arcing it right and left, making the metal sing in the wind. “Keep yer distance from her.”
The older of the two guards, his sword at the ready, laughed and kicked his mount, angling to the right. “Have ye reived yerself a wife, MacDougall? Last I heard no decent lass would have Angus the Blood.”
Angus narrowed his eyes. It had been too much to hope they wouldn’t recognize him. “Since ye ken me, ye also ken what will happen if ye try to touch my woman. Ye’d best take what coins ye want and go.”
The younger guard snickered. “Now is that hospitable, MacDougall?” He angled more to the left for a better view of Birdi. “Why will ye not introduce us to yer woman? I’ll wager she’s quite fair above those lovely white thighs.”
Blood roared into Angus’s tensing muscles. There wasn’t a way he could keep both men at bay if they flanked him. Had he been alone he would have charged the closest and drawn in the other. As it was he had only one choice.
Screaming “ Vincere aut mori! ” at the top of his lungs, he charged young Fraiser. Before the startled youth could react, Angus swung his blade in a mighty arc and caught the lad’s pony across the chest with the flat of his blade. The lad and horse keened as they toppled.
The guards spun. Shouting and cursing, they flew at Angus with their swords raised.
Angus vaulted over the kicking pony, grabbed the scrambling lad by the hair, and slammed a fist into his jaw. The lad collapsed like a ragdoll in his hands. He pressed his blade to the unconscious youth’s throat as the guards bore down on him. “One step closer,” Angus yelled, “and the lad dies!”
The men reined in, exchanged glances, and growled deep in their throats. Shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed, they inched forward. Angus yanked the lad’s head back, exposing the blood he’d already let. The men’s faces blanched.
“Aye, ye ken me.” He nodded to his right. “Move over there and dismount…slowly.” To Birdi, he bellowed, “On the horse, lass. Now!” Please, God, have her make haste. He had no desire to kill the Fraiser lad. To do so would make his father, Alex Fraiser—a fierce chieftain—a blood-lust enemy of both Angus and his clan. To bring war down on innocent MacDougall heads was unthinkable. Those at Blackstone meant more to him than life itself.
Wondering what was taking Birdi so long, Angus slid his gaze from the frustrated Fraisers to his agitated horse snorting and pawing the earth.
He cursed.
All he saw were dangling feminine feet and a mound of deep green velvet lying beneath his horse’s hooves.