Chapter 6
Hell! He ran his hand through his hair nervously. If he could kick his infernal temper into the stream they walked by, he would. He looked over to find her gaze had taken a keen interest down at the pine needles they strode over. Apologize, overgrown Scottish arse.
“Keirah, please forgive my damn temper. You must understand I have a very complicated past regarding my clan.” He paused.
Telling her would take her onto the path where every other lassie or lady or lover had gone before they bolted away from him after hearing about his past. Why did sharing this with her seem more formidable than any other he had encountered before?
Perhaps it was the admiration shown in her gaze each time they had a quiet moment since he taught her the ways with the blade.
Simply tell her. It was better to cut the tether between them now rather than let it grow stronger.
“Cluaran, I was cast out by my clan upon the chief’s order, who is also my elder brother. ”
Her eyes turned wide. There was the first look which always appeared before a lass curled her lip in disgust or called him a bastard. His stomach twisted like the gnarled branch next to them.
“Aonghus, it must have been devastating,” she replied, heartfelt.
His jaw dropped. Wait…how was this reaction never seen before from a lass possible? She spoke in kindness rather than bitterness or mockery or snobbery or…ah, hell, the list was so long.
“Aye, Keirah, there was a test of loyalty which came to pass, and in his eyes I failed. Thus, the result we speak upon this eve…” His words trailed off. What was that rustling the trees in the far distance?
“Aonghus?” she whispered. “Northmen?” The word was a whimper.
He drew the sword from the scabbard on his back. Shite, if only he still had Vengeance for the other palm. He went for the second dagger from the waist strap. Leaning close to her ear, an auburn curl brushed his lips.
“I am uncertain,” he advised. He would not make the same mistake by leaving her. “You remain directly behind me then move when I move, agreed?”
“Aye.” Her gaze turned harder than a spark belonging to determination. He normally would have smiled at her spirit, but then the rippling sound became louder hidden behind the thicket.
***
The claws from fright ripped at her stomach. Why wasn’t she heaving? He was the cause for the blanket of warm fuzzy calm draped over the claws. She leaned closer as he took the lead.
Ten steps, or two or four – never had footfalls carried such a drag to them; it was like they trudged through a wretched bog and not a forest!
She darted her eyes at her protector. Huh, he appeared no longer a bull but almost a wolf stalking its prey at the way he moved with stealth.
Step where he settles his foot, don’t snap a twig by the ever-present clumsiness.
Step there, aye, there. A sweat bead weaved down her back.
Her clumsiness harnessed, anxiety claws started trying to pop through the fuzzy blanket.
Safe. He would see her safe. One step closer.
What was the odd crackling noise behind the fern embankment near the rushing brook?
Faint shadows be damned, she could still see Aonghus’s muscles flex under the tunic stretched across his back.
The wolf was ready to spring. He held his hand up for her to stop.
No, she would remain right behind him. His hand raised higher.
Dammit, MacCade! She paused and bit her lips, also halting the huff.
Her fingers clutched the dagger into a fist. Be ready.
Where was her shadow-glance? Come on, Lady Fate. What if they were about to meet some doomed end here? Even if it weren’t the enemy, it could be any matter of ominous creature, from a boar to…Her thoughts were tossed aside when Aonghus lunged forward and ripped back the foliage.
What? What was it?! Peering over the wolf-like summit, her eyes widened as much as the pair peering up at her. A tawny owl. Oh, the poor creature had a rope entangled about its leg, thus he was caught on a low sapling branch.
Her companion turned to cock a brow at her, his words edged by mirth. “Nae Northman.”
She hid a grin to whisper, “Nae.” The owl wanted to fly away, so she’d best cut the rope free. Leaning her weight onto her toes, her breath caught when Aonghus was already there; with a quick flick from his blade onto rope, he cut the bird free.
The owl’s broad wingspan bolted right into Aonghus’s face with desperation born from entrapment. After being held captive, the fair feathered friend demonstrated freedom is forever sweeter. A smile graced her lips; she and the owl had something quite in common.
Kollungr, the cruel Northman, he would have most likely cut the bird down for making him look a fool, then cooked it.
The Scotsman gave her a wry grin instead.
Lovely. He let the bird take its freedom, just like her from the Northmen’s grasp.
Then he’d followed this with daggers and throws and defense techniques.
Her foot inadvertently took another step to be closer to him with all he offered.
A whiz flew by her ear. What was that? An arrow!
A scream rose to her throat after the arrow hit him straight in the chest. Aonghus’s breath hissed before he lunged forward, taking her toward the ground, when another arrow flew in their direction from enemies charging them.
He lay on his side trying to cover her as best he could; the warm, sticky blood gushed over her fingers when she tried to hold her hand over the wound. No!
“Leave it, lass.” His breath seemed labored to her. No! It can’t be! Had the arrow tip pierced his lung?
“Keirah!” a familiar voice bellowed. Infernal Hamysh, one of Rudri’s warriors. “I will not hurt you, lass, if you follow willingly. I shall even let the lad live if the shot proves a failure to finish him off. The choice is yours, lassie.”
It was worth a chance; she must save him. Gasping, she blindly began to stand. Her legs buckled when Aonghus’s palm forced her shoulder to remain where she was. “Nae, lass, you shall stay with me,” he ordered sternly.
“I will not let him finish you,” she promised, tears stinging her eyes. He needed help; look at his face having grown pale as the moon above in mere moments. “The dagger, I may…”
“Nae.” His grip became a tight vice. “Let him advance. He shall not take you while I breathe.”
She cupped his jaw, which felt forged from iron, then nodded at his wish. Hearing the footsteps advancing behind them, the ferns lifted back. There stood a crocked gummy grin with slitty eyes looking down at her from the gnarled face belonging to Hamysh.
“Well, seems you have chosen a path to see your new lad to death’s door there, lassie,” he taunted, his foul body odor fumes swirling the air. “You still pure, lassie? He did not break your maidenhead’s veil, has he?”
She hesitated. The bow was hung upon his back, so Hamysh drew his dagger slowly in unspoken threat. She replied rapidly, “Nae.”
Hamysh leered over them. Aonghus was taking heavier breaths with each inhale. The terrified claws within her stomach ripped.
“Got you right proper there with my arrow, did I not, laddie?” The toothless grin grew wider when he took his heel and ground it onto Aonghus’s chest, right near the arrow stem protruding from his torso, releasing a gush of blood while Aonghus uttered a noise sounding between a grunt and a groan.
Help him! “Nae!” she cried out, lunging at the enemy.
Use the dagger on Hamysh’s fleshy woolen-clad thigh near the groin; cut him!
Her wrist stung like a sting from a wasp when Hamysh kicked her arm.
The violent blow caused the blade’s hilt, slick from her anxiety-laden palm, to fly out of her hand. No!
“You Scottish wretch, you will pay for your defiance.” The ominous stare the opponent wore always reminded her of a weasel. “Will let Kollungr see to settin’ you straight once I have returned you to your keeper.”
“You takin’ her to Lord Kollungr?” Aonghus questioned, appearing to drive the pain from his stare.
“Aye.”
The injured Scot asked, calmly, “Only you are here?”
“Aye.”
“Good,” Aonghus concluded. She gasped when Aonghus sprung to life, grabbing his fallen sword; in a flash his sword rose, impaling the traitor from groin to chest with one flawless move.
Hamysh’s eyes bulged from shock; a gurgling sound emanated from the weasel before he fell backward with a thump onto the spent oak leaves, dead. She reached for her savior when he collapsed onto his side once more.
“A…Aonghus.” Her voice broke as she gently laid him onto his back.
When he had first fallen, the arrow tip must have broken off, leaving the shaft remaining. Should she pull the remainder through or would this cause the bleeding to worsen, or did she…Aonghus seemed to read her thoughts. He took her hand gently after removing his ring.
“Take this, Cluaran,” he advised, pressing the gold into her palm. “Follow the stream south; in time it will lead you unto Stirling Castle. Give this ring to the gate guard, they will grant you entry to an audience with the king…”
“Nae,” she protested, “you are goin’ to be well. ’Tis only a scratch on your stubborn hide.”
He tried to laugh at her comment, but it only turned into a grimace from pain as his face paled. He…he was going to die here if fate did not lend a hand.
Where was the shadow-glance?! WHERE?
He…he stopped breathing. His weight grew heavier on her as he went slack on her lap when death took him in its embrace.
Nooooooooo!
She began crying hysterically till a shout rang from her toward the dark sky. “Where are you, fate? WHERE?”
This simply could not be one of those moments where the fates lay cast in bronze and there was no going back. Her soul sank into a petrified state at this mere possibility, which she had encountered in times past, where fate slapped her in the face to remain set in stone.
Had she slipped into these tormented folds?