Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“We cannae do this forever, Me Laird,” Aiden said quietly as Fergus sliced his sword through the bushes and trees of the forest. Fergus’ arms and legs were covered in scrapes from thorns and branches, but the Laird did not seem to care.
They were searching the woods around the castle, hoping that they had not taken off yet.
“We’ll search for her to the ends of the earth if we have to,” he growled, stalking through the path he had just made.
Aiden glanced behind them, his dark brows furrowed.
“We’re too far from the horses. We have to go back.”
Fergus whirled around, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Daenae ye try it. I’m yer laird, and ye’ll obey me.”
Aiden startled, stepping back with his hands held up in defense. “Me Laird, I was only suggestin’ we get back on the horses. They may still be travelin’.
Fergus paused, hand still on his sword, his blood boiling. His woman had been taken, and he would go to hell and back to find her. But Aiden might be right. It had only been an hour since Lottie had told them Jeane was taken. It was a three-day ride to the McKay castle.
Aiden just stared at Fergus, his hands still up. Fergus felt a stab of guilt. Aiden was his friend, not just his man-at-arms, and he was being unreasonable.
“We’ll go back to the horses,” Fergus muttered, and Aiden nodded.
They trekked back toward the horses, which were tied up at the edge of the woods.
“Where to next?” Aiden asked, and Fergus drew in a long breath to calm himself.
“We’ll go into town. See if anyone has seen them. They have to stop and care for the horses.”
“Aye,” Aiden said with a nod, mounting his horse and waiting for Fergus.
They made their way into town in silence. Fergus could not speak. He could not think. All he could do was ache for Jeane.
As they approached the village, people began to come out of their homes, wanting to see the Laird.
The townspeople were curious, staring at Aiden and Fergus. Fergus did not care. He did not greet the townspeople as he usually would, making his way straight to the stables.
“Stable boy!” Fergus called when he saw the young man standing in one of the stalls, brushing down a horse.
“Aye?” The boy turned around, annoyance clear as day on his face, but when he saw Fergus, he softened.
“Me Laird,” he said quickly, rushing toward the horses. “Do ye need yer horses cared for?”
“Nay, nae now,” Fergus said. “What I need is yer memory, boy. Have ye seen a carriage travelin’ with a few men and a woman?”
The stable boy thought for a long moment. “Aye, there was a carriage. I daenae ken about the men though I did see the lady.”
Fergus stiffened. “Did she have white-blonde hair?”
The boy nodded. “Aye, Me Laird.”
“How long ago?” Fergus barked.
“It was maybe an hour ago,” the boy answered, tilting his head curiously. He was obviously interested in what was going on, but he did not ask any questions.
Fergus nodded tersely. He turned his head toward Aiden to get his attention.
“Give the boy some gold for his trouble.”
The boy’s eyes lit up when Aiden threw him a small bag of coins.
“Thank ye, Me Laird!” he exclaimed before running off, likely to buy candy or trinkets.
Fergus looked at Aiden. “We’ll go west, toward McKay castle. But we’re cuttin’ through the woods. That way, we can catch up to them.”
“Aye, Me Laird. Whatever ye say.”
Fergus took off, with Aiden close behind them. He was not sure that this shortcut would save enough time for him to catch up with them, but he had to try.
He had to find Jeane, no matter what.
“What do ye plan to do, force me to marry Lord Fraser?” Jeane asked, glaring at her father.
“Aye, if ye force me to,” her father said, as if all of this was her fault. As if she were simply some kind of inconvenience.
“I hate ye,” Jeane said quietly, meaning it with every beat of her heart.
Her father put a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “It isnae the first time ye’ve told me that, me lass. I’m immune to it.”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “I hate ye more than I’ve ever hated anythin’.”
“Ye’re just young,” Bennet said dismissively. “Ye’ll see that I’m only doin’ the right thing for ye.”
“Ye expect me to believe ye’re doin’ what’s best for me?” Jeane asked incredulously.
Bennet opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t get the chance.
Jeane heard Fergus before she saw him—a war cry that seemed to rattle the trees. He galloped up on his stallion, his sword drawn. He held it high as he moved closer to the carriage.
Jeane’s heart jumped up into her throat. She was happy to see him and Aiden circling the carriage, but she was also afraid. There were only two of them, and there were four trained guards and her father against them.
Not that her father had any type of training. He had never taken to violence of any kind and had barely any training for it, only what he had learned with a wooden sword as a child.
But his guards, on the other hand, were well trained by her father’s man-at-arms, Conor. He was one of the guards, his hard, gray eyes glaring into Jeane’s.
He had always hated her, always called her ugly and slow, and Jeane hated him back with the passion of a thousand burning suns.
He rode on the right side of the carriage, on the other side from Fergus, thank God. Jeane knew Conor was good with his sword.
“Ye will return the lass, or I will kill ye,” Fergus snarled. “Every last one of ye.” He pointed his sword toward Bennet. “And I will kill ye slowly.”
Bennet hummed, looking over at Jeane. “It seems ye have a suitor. Too bad I’ve already made the deal with Fraser.”
Bennet gave an order to the man driving the carriage, and the man whipped the horses mercilessly, just as Conor fell back, pulling around the left side of the carriage to fight with Fergus.
Their swords clashed together clumsily as they rode, and soon enough, they went off the trail, down where Jeane could not see them.
She stuck her head out of the carriage, trying to see, but she could not.
She caught sight of Aiden, fighting off two of her father’s guards on the other side. She couldn’t see Fergus at all.
Fergus, she prayed. Please be all right.
“Conor!” Bennet called out. “Kill him.” Fergus roared as he slashed at the man. Conor’s horse stumbled over a root and went down hard, throwing Conor off the horse.
Conor slid about ten feet before he got his feet out of the stirrups, and Fergus pulled up his stallion, stopping the horse and dismounting it.
He held his sword out, pointing it toward Conor as he scrambled up. Fergus had been hoping to get close enough to strike at him before he picked up his sword, but Conor was quick.
Well-trained, Fergus thought as Conor swung his sword, clashing it against Fergus’.
Fergus yelled as he pushed the man forward, backing him up against the tree bark. He did not take time to glance over at Aiden, who was fighting two men as the carriage ran off the road.
He knew that his friend could handle himself.
Fergus, on the other hand, did not care whether he died trying to reach Jeane. It would be an honorable way to go, protecting the woman he loved.
What had Bennet thought would happen, anyway? That Jeane would just give in, marry someone else? That he could take her from Fergus?
“Just give up,” Conor panted, and Fergus could tell he was losing steam even as he got in a pretty good strike against Fergus’ sword.
“I willnae give Jeane up. Nae now. Nae ever.”
Conor parried, and Fergus kept striking, over and over. As the other man backed up against a tree, his back against the bark, Fergus sneered at him.
“This is when ye meet yer Lord, Conor Addison,” Fergus warned.
“Nay,” the other man gasped, but his arms were shaking from the effort of holding Fergus’s broadsword back.
Fergus pulled back and struck again, this time piercing Conor between the ribs. Conor cried out, his hand clapping against the wound.
“Just because ye cut me doesnae mean ye’ve beaten me,” Conor said, but his voice was strained and weak. Fergus had beaten him, and he did not feel bad about separating the man’s head from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed all over Fergus’ face, chest, and tunic, but he did not care. He turned back toward the road where now the carriage was overturned. Jeane was climbing out, trying to run.
That’s me lass, Fergus thought before he was tackled from behind. He went down and rolled, turning with his sword drawn.
He wiped Conor’s blood from his face with the back of his hand and swung his sword, slashing across the man’s chest.
The man yelped and dropped to his knees. When Fergus glanced back toward the carriage, Jeane was nearly out, climbing from the carriage and setting herself down on the ground.
Fergus stepped toward her heavily, breathing hard from the effort, and then Bennet came up behind her, grabbing her around the waist and pressing a penknife to her throat.
A thin line of blood trickled from the tip of the knife down Jeane’s long throat, and Fergus’ blood seemed to turn to ice.
“If ye daenae want her to die, ye’d better keep yer distance.”
Fergus froze, holding his hands up, dropping his sword. He usually would never take his hand from his sword, but he would do anything if it meant that Jeane would get away from this safely.
He watched her, terrified, as she slowly dropped him a wink.
What was she about to do? Whatever it was, Fergus made himself ready.
“Let her go!”
Jeane drew in a sharp breath as the knife pressed against her skin, drawing blood.
“She’s me daughter,” her father argued, but Jeane could barely hear him. “She’s me property, nae yers.”
It felt again as if she were standing outside of her body, watching everything happen. Everything felt disconnected, as if she weren’t really here but perhaps at home in bed, sleeping. Dreaming.
But this was no dream, and Jeane knew it. She knew her father really would slit her throat. If she would not marry Lord Fraser, she was of no use to him, and he would bargain her life for his any day.