Chapter Seven #2
He sighed, but reluctantly agreed. They couldn’t leave her here to fend for herself. There was no other choice to be made.
“MacLeod Keep, ye say?” Caroline interjected. “We are headed there ourselves and we have room. We would be glad to return ye home.”
None of them spoke up to say that MacLeod Keep wasn’t Seema’s home. But Anna and Fina were there. They would no doubt welcome her in their circle.
“We cannae accept such a kind offer,” Moira spoke. “But—”
“That is verra generous of ye. I will gladly accept if the offer still stands,” Seema said quietly.
Caroline beamed happily. “Of course, child.”
The rest of the meal went quickly. Errol and Richard spoke about the journey and he ensured the man that he would be rewarded generously for his kind offer.
His father would not be happy to find out that their original party of six was now a party of two. He would deal with those ramifications at a later date.
Two hours later, Moira and Seema said their tearful goodbyes and Moira waited until the Carlyles and Seema were out of sight afore turning to him.
“It seems ’tis just us now.”
Was that wariness cracking her voice?
“Aye. We should get moving.” He picked up her satchel and moved to their waiting horses. Securing Moira’s bag on her mare, he turned to find her standing in the same spot. “Lass, we need to leave.” His urgency to be on their way had him sounding gruff even to his own ears.
“Has anyone e’er told ye that ye are grumpier than a mutt stung by a bee?” She mumbled as she shuffled over.
Helping her mount, he made sure she was settled afore mounting his own horse. “In not as many words, aye.” He finally said and chuckled as he kicked his horse into a slow walk, waiting for Moira to catch up.
“How long will it take to get to our destination?”
“If we hurry we can make it by late afternoon.” That was a lofty goal. The ride would take them the better part of the day. The coming night they would have to sleep under the stars.
She prodded her horse into a trot, and he followed suit.
“Do you really think at one time our clans were united by marriage?” Moira asked.
“Nay.”
“’Twould be something if it were true, would in no’?”
“Aye. ’Twould be most unexpected.”
“Ye’re for certs ye ken where we are going?”
Errol closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for patience. It would be a very long day if the lass didn’t cease her rambling. He preferred traveling with his warriors. They didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with incessant chatter.
“Errol?”
“What, Moira?”
“Ye didnae answer me.”
He sighed, feeling as if the world was weighing his shoulders down. “I ken the area verra well.” He wouldn’t tell her why. Some things needed to remain secret—especially if her family was behind his brother’s death.
She smiled. “See? ’Twas no’ so hard to answer.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. It was going to be a long ride.
“I hope Anna, Fina, and Seema will feel better soon. ’Tis odd that they fell ill, is it no’?”
When he didn’t answer, she kept talking and answering her own questions. “And that we havenae.”
And that was how they rode for the next few hours. While she yammered on constantly, he was trying to listen to their surroundings. Not an easy task since it appeared the lass didn’t ken how to be quiet. Danger could be lurking in the shadows.
Moira may be a Hart and leading him into an ambush, but at this time, she was still his ward, and he would ensure her safety.
“Are ye listening? I feel like ye are ignoring me.”
“I am no’ ignoring ye.”
“Ye arenae listening to me, though.”
Errol stiffened as he heard a twig crack.
He looked at Moira and put his index finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet.
At first, she looked confused and then she must have understood because her eyes grew round as platters. She moved to look around, but he called her name so she would keep her attention on him.
He was almost positive they were being followed. He didn’t want their stalkers to ken he was aware of their presence. Slowly, he moved his hand to his sword and rested his palm on the hilt, ready to withdraw it.
Moira’s eyes tracked his movements, and she leaned forward, feigning that she was petting her mare, and pulled a dagger from her boot and hid it up her sleeve.
For the first time since they’d left, he longed to hear her rambling.
Looking ahead they were approaching a line of trees with low-hanging branches. It made the area dark. If there was a perfect place for them to be attacked, that was it.
He looked at Moira, whispered for her to be on guard. “Remain calm, lass,” he said quietly.
As they entered the darkness, all was quiet. No birds chirping. There was naught. Errol masked his face into a relaxed position, but his body was wound tight, ready to strike.
Halfway through the branch tunnel, they attacked. A man ran from the cover of the trees, sword raised high in the air, as he let out a cry.
Errol jumped from his horse and quickly sliced the man down. He fell in a thud at Errol’s feet. His horse angrily stomped the ground, nostrils flaring.
Moira screamed, her booted foot kicking out and catching one of the attackers square on the chin. He stumbled back but regained his balance quickly. Errol ran over and the man spun at his approach, sword out ready to fight.
“Errol! Behind ye!” Moira yelled and he ducked just in time. He heard the hiss of the blade whisk over his head.
He kicked out his right leg and knocked the man off balance.
As he did, the attacker in front of him swung and Errol felt the sting of his blade cut his upper arm.
Ignoring the searing pain, he blocked the next swing with his sword and gave a shove, pushing the man back.
He thrust his sword and the man leapt out of reach. They parried back and forth.
Moira’s yell filled his ears, and he whipped his head around to find her.
She was on the ground, running, being chased by another bandit.
Errol’s blood boiled. His rage building, he spun, swinging his sword.
Smiling as he felt his blade sink into soft flesh, catching on bone.
Blood gushed, and he kicked the man off his blade.
He ran in Moira’s direction. Pulling his dagger from his boot, he thought about throwing it at the heathen who chased her, but it was too risky. If he missed and hit her, he would never forgive himself.
Catching up to the two, he threw his body at the man in a full-on tackle. The man fell to the ground under him with an ‘oof’ as his breath left him.
He picked up the man by his tunic, bringing his face close to his. “Who are ye?” Errol growled. “How many of ye are there?”
The man was grabbing at his chest, unable to breathe.
Errol’s eyes clashed with Moira’s. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide and terrified.
“’Tis okay, lass. Sit. Breathe.” She dropped onto the ground and hugged her knees to her chest. A tear ran down her cheek.
There would be time to comfort her later. First, he needed to find out how many attackers there were. Who they were and what they wanted?
He shook the man. “How many?” He spat, fury running through his veins.
“F-f-four,” the man sputtered.
Errol had already killed three. “Including ye, or other than ye?”
“I-including me.” The man wheezed as he tried to control his breathing.
Errol pushed him away.
The man scrambled to his hands and knees, sputtering and coughing.
Checking on Moira, Errol knelt beside her. “Are ye for certs ye arenae hurt?”
She nodded, her hand reaching out to the slash on his arm. “Ye’re hurt though. Ye’ll need to be stitched.”
“I am fine. I’ve suffered worse.” He walked over to the man hunched on all fours and kicked him in the stomach, making the man fall to his back. He rolled to his side, clutching his middle.
Errol would break every one of his ribs. Every bone in his body. He would do whatever he had to get the answers he sought.
“What are ye after? Who sent ye?”
“Y-y-ye seek treasure.”
“That is what ye attacked us for? Bloody bastards.” Errol kicked him again and the man howled. “Are ye trying to make the MacLeod an enemy of ye?”
The man spat blood and Errol took a sick satisfaction in seeing the red stain the ground. “We dinnae care that ye are a MacLeod. Or that ye are with a Hart bitch,” he snarled.
Errol was on him quickly, smashing his fists into the man’s face. Over and over. He felt the bones crunch under his assault. And he reveled in the feeling. His rage out of control. The realization that the bastard could have killed Moira.
Moira.
He heard her screams. Her pleas to cease.
His breath ragged, he stopped and sank back on his heels, cradling his head in his blood-covered hands.
Their attacker’s face was a mass of tissue and bone. And blood. Lots of it.
He had called Moira a bitch. More than aught, that was what spurred him on.
Moira approached him cautiously and he hated the fear he saw in her eyes.
“I would ne’er hurt ye, lass,” he confessed. He blew out a long breath as he flexed his fingers, his knuckles bruised and swollen.
She nodded. “I ken,” she said quietly. “Let me tend to yer wounds?”
“Nay, no’ now.” He looked at the carnage around them. “We need to move in case others are following them. I need to get ye to safety.”
“Can ye ride?”
He smiled. “I’ve ridden with worse. Let us go.”