Chapter Twenty-One
Fear like Errol had never experienced afore punched him in the gut.
They were safe under the canopy of trees, but not really.
The archer was still out there, and they were vulnerable.
Moira couldn’t run, Hell. He pushed his hands through his short hair.
She couldn’t even walk if she wanted to.
All the color had drained from her face and her skin had taken on an unhealthy waxy pallor.
He was breathing heavily as he assessed their situation. Moira should be breathing heavily as well from running to safety, but her breaths were shallow. She was losing a lot of blood and he needed to stop it.
Moving quickly, he gathered moss to use as a poultice and dropped beside Moira.
Her eyes remained closed as he pulled away the tunic he had wrapped around her waist and studied her wound.
The arrow appeared to have gone clean through which was good.
It meant he wouldn’t have to pull it out or through, which would cause her even more pain.
It didn’t look like the arrow had hit any of her vital organs, for that he was thankful, but she was still bleeding profusely.
Fisting the moss, he packed it against the wound as compact as he could, then he ripped strips of his tunic away and tied them tight around her waist to keep the moss in place and apply pressure.
Once he’d tied off the last of four strips, he took what was left of his tunic and covered the strip and knotted it.
Confident that it would suffice until he could get to their supplies so he could stitch Moira’s wound closed.
Errol didn’t want to leave her side, but there was naught he could do for her right now and he needed to stay vigilant.
The man who shot Moira would need to make his way from his hiding place closer to them.
He would be daft to come straight through the hollow so Errol was for certs he was taking the long way and walking the circumference of the hollow and would approach them from what would be their back, but Errol was ready.
The bastard that shot at them? That shot Moira and put her life in danger?
He would be dead afore the day was over. It was a vow Errol looked forward to fulfilling.
But first, Errol would find out what he was doing following them. Threatening them. Trying to strike them down.
He was angry with himself that he got so lost in Moira that he hadn’t realized they were being followed. Mayhap it was the same person that had been following Moira afore he had caught up with her.
Where had the man gone to disappear from the path earlier?
Errol didn’t ken. But he would get the answers he sought.
It was his fault that Moira lay on the ground, her life in the balance. If she died, if he lost her, he would never forgive himself. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
A snap in the distance drew Errol’s attention. He squinted into the trees, trying to see what was making the noise. There was no way the man shooting at them from the clearing had already made his way around. Also, the noise was so faint. Someone adept at not being discovered was behind them.
He looked to Moira but there was no need to warn her to stay quiet. She wasn’t going to make a sound.
Errol waited, muscles tight, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
A familiar whistle sounded. To someone unfamiliar with the sound, they would think it were birdsong. Errol kenned better. Their luck was about to change.
He whistled back and waited.
Moira remained unmoving on the ground at his feet.
With a glimmer of hope, Errol repeated the whistle.
There. Not far from them, the leaves rustled, branches moving as a figure made its way to them. Soon, Robbie stepped through, joining them.
Errol stepped up and grasped his cousin’s arm and gave him a small smile.
“Robbie, what are ye doing here?” Errol’s voice was low as he asked, relieved to see his cousin.
“Yer da sent me. He kens what ye are doing.” His eyes swung to Moira, who remained still, and his eyes rounded. “What has happened? She’s injured?” His brows drew down in concern. “Will she live?”
“Aye,” he said, and he believed it. He had to.
She would live. He was demanding that she live.
“But she needs stitches and I cannae get to our supplies or our horses. There’s an archer.
” Errol dipped his head to the far side of the hollow.
“He was shooting from there. I thought he was a bad shot until he hit Moira. The bastard. He will pay with his life,” he spat.
“I believe he is skirting the circumference of the clearing to come upon us. Mayhap with newfound confidence since he managed to hit one of his targets.”
“My men arenae far from here. We’ve been following yer trail for some time.”
“Thank ye. We obviously can use yer men right about now.”
Robbie’s mouth was a thin line as he gave a curt nod. “I’ll get my men.” He moved to leave but stopped and turned. “Dinnae get yerself killed afore I come back.”
Errol chuckled. “I havenae yet.”
He watched his cousin slip quietly through the woods and returned to Moira. “All will be well, Lass. I promise ye with all my heart. I willnae lose ye now.”
*
Damn him and his off the mark shooting. Orman MacPhail had used up all his arrows trying to cut the pair down, first whilst they were sitting at the boulder, and then when they had each taken off running—in different directions no less.
He had focused on the MacLeod bastard. If he could dispatch him first, the Hart bitch would be easy to deal with.
But he was too fast, when Errol had disappeared into the woods, Orman loosed his final arrow, and when he saw the wench crumple to the ground he felt this first tinge of satisfaction he’d had in a very long time.
Then he saw her rise and make her way to the woods.
The taste of failure filled his mouth. The MacLeod bastard would be stalking him even fiercer than he was afore he’d cut down the bitch. He heard his father laughing, the sound making his ears ring.
“Ye piece of shite. Believing ye could kill aught with yer arrows. Useless. As always. Naught has changed.”
“Shut up.” Orman called out to the empty woods surrounding him.
But his father’s taunting voice continued as he lurched through the woods, his foot dragging like it always did.
He couldn’t move fast, and he couldn’t trust his horse to get him to the other side, so he had to walk.
He’d dropped his bow. It served no purpose anymore without any arrows to loose.
He had his sword, though. Well, his father’s sword.
He had never been gifted one. No’ like his brother.
Nay, his brother had received a sword made of the finest steel with the most intricate design engraved on the blade.
Their father had boasted about it proudly and given it to him in a special ceremony in front of the whole clan.
His brother had shown it off with pride whenever he had the chance.
Well, he had no use for it now, did he? Nay, instead, the blade was outside, rusting in the well where Orman had thrown it so he wouldn’t have to look upon it ever again.
His father’s voice was still in his head. Belittling him. Taunting him.
“Useless. Useless. Useless.”
He clamped his hands over his ears. “I told ye to shut up!” He shouted. Birds flew from the trees above him at the sudden noise and he swore. “Shite.” If the MacLeod didn’t ken where he was afore, he did now. And if he truly had wounded the Hart bitch, then Errol would be out for his blood.
Orman paused, waiting to see if Errol would pop out of the trees and attack. When he saw no movement, he continued on. Mayhap the bastard hadn’t been alerted to his location.
They had found all the clues. Uncovered the true reason behind the feud betwixt the MacLeods and Harts. Learned that it was naught that they had done, but a contrived plan by the MacPhail.
All that they had found was left at the last treasure they had uncovered. He’d looked through it all whilst they were sitting at the boulder. Then he had listened while the Hart bitch read the contents of the final letter.
He only needed to get rid of them and then he could destroy the clues.
None would be the wiser.
His family’s secret would remain just that.
The feuding betwixt the MacLeods and the Harts would continue.
With everything destroyed, there would be no possibility of it ever being uncovered.
All would be right in his world.
So, when he felt the sting of a blade at his back, he was taken by surprise, and his world came crashing down upon him.
*
Errol pressed the tip of his sword into the back of the man he had caught shuffling through the woods.
How Errol had not heard the louse afore he had no idea, but he was reconsidering his tracking skills.
The bastard was so loud, Errol didn’t have to make a move to cover the sound of his own footsteps.
A few of Robbie’s men, all MacLeod warriors, were protecting Moira, and Robbie and he had taken to the woods in the hopes of catching whoever it was that tried to kill them.
He had been torn on leaving Moira or taking chase.
But he kenned that he needed to be the one to find the man responsible for wounding Moira.
She was in good hands with Robbie’s men and one of them was tending to her now, stitching her wound, and making her as comfortable as possible.
She had awakened moments afore he left to track down the archer, who, now that Errol could see him, was no archer at all.
Errol promised her he would return soon, and that all would be well. She cupped his face with a weak hand and he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. She was pained, but strong. He could see the light of fire in her eyes and that was what spurred him on to leave her side. He kenned she would be well.
He couldn’t say the same for the man at the end of his blade.