Chapter 2
The camp lay in a rough ring, and fire burned low, smoke crawling across the ground. Men lounged around the logs with cups in hand, their legs stretched out and their blades near. Horses stood along a rope, their ears flicking at the sparks that rose into the sky.
“Another cup,” a guard by the flames grunted. “I earned it.”
“Aye, ye did,” a second agreed. “We are closer to making the Wolf sing. I can just feel it.”
“He willnae sing,” a third sneered. “He will squeal.”
“Close enough,” the first said. “That’s all we need to find our sister and that wretched braither of his.”
“Ye think he will tell us today or tomorrow?” the second asked.
“Nae tomorrow.” The third shook his head. “Give it a week at most. Angus plans to try a new torture method. He willnae last long.”
“Aye. I remember he mentioned it.” The first chuckled. “The one where we take his lass, is it nae?”
Neil leaned against a post and listened. The guards grew braver with each round of what he could only assume to be ale.
“I heard about his wife,” the first said. “Apparently, she is incredibly beautiful. The lucky bastard.”
“Ye saw her?” the second asked.
“Nay,” the first replied. “But I heard people talking… ye ken, before we captured him. They said that she stood straight at the altar, looking like a queen.”
“A queen,” the third sneered. “I will have her on her knees, and we will see how royal she feels.”
Neil’s jaw locked.
Wait, man.
“Aye,” the first said. “We lay her out sweet and slow. Let the Wolf watch, and he will talk quickly.”
“Ye think she screams pretty?” the second asked.
“She will,” the third said. “I will make her if I have to.”
Neil swallowed, feeling his knuckles itch. He couldn’t go out there swinging now. He needed to be strategic about this, find a way to take them out one after the other.
He did not move. Patience had kept him alive, and for now, he would rely wholly on it. A cup rolled, and the guards cursed it. Laughter rose again.
The first guard rose, swaying on his feet. “I need to take a piss. Out of the way before I wet me boots.”
“Take a friend,” the second said.
“I have me own friend.” The first patted his trousers. “Nay need for two.”
They all howled in laughter as he wandered into the shadows, humming a tune.
Neil waited until the guard was twenty paces away and the trees swallowed him. Then he crept along the tent, the canvas brushing his shoulder, and counted the drunken rhythm.
Before the guard could register what was happening, Neil pounced on him. He jammed an arm against his throat and clamped a hand over his mouth. The guard jerked once.
Neil planted his feet and drew the dagger across the guard’s throat in one swift motion. The guard tried to fight back to no avail. Neil lowered him into the shrubs once his body went limp.
“Again, tell me exactly what ye plan to do to her,” he muttered to the darkness, his tone taunting. “I am listening.”
“Is everything all right? Tam?” a voice called from the fire.
“Probably had too much ale,” another responded.
Neil tiptoed along the rear of the camp, sucking in a breath when a tent line brushed his cheek. Then he passed a pile of crates and paused. A sword leaned there, half wrapped in oily cloth.
Nae fine, but sound.
He slid it free and felt its weight.
“Now,” he whispered, “might as well get this over with.”
Two guards stayed by the fire. One was waving his cup, while the other probed the fire with a stick. The horses snorted, growing uneasy.
“Tam,” the second guard called louder. “Ye napping over there?”
“Go fetch him,” the third said. “We cannae let him lie in his own puddle.”
“Nae a chance,” the second huffed. “I daenae need to see what I can live without seeing.”
Neil used their talk like rain. He crossed to the horse line in three steady strides and pressed a palm to the nearest neck. The beast twitched and then settled.
“Easy, lad,” he murmured. “I am taking ye for a ride, that is all.”
A saddle waited at the ring, but he left it for now. He would not wake the line before he was ready to take one clean.
“Think,” he muttered to himself. “Count.”
He marked the distance from the horse to the fire, then the fire to the gap that led to the trees.
“Tam,” the second guard called. “If ye’re truly napping, I will come kick ye.”
The third laughed. “Do it.”
“Lazy swine,” the second snorted, pushing to his feet.
Neil slid back into the shadows. He wanted the second guard to come alone and take the same path. He needed two gone before he reached for the saddle.
The second guard stretched. “Hold me cup,” he said.
“Get it yerself,” the third grunted.
“Useless.” The second stumbled into the dark, following the same track.
Neil waited until their voices faded before moving again, crossing the last yards on silent feet.
The man stopped at a tree and fumbled with his laces. “Saints.”
Neil caught him from behind, clamped a hand over his mouth, and snapped his neck. A sickening crack pierced the air, and the guard bucked. Neil pulled out his dagger again and drove it fast into the man’s chest. His breath left him in a rush. Unlike the first, he didn’t give much of a fight.
“Rest,” Neil whispered.
He returned to the crates and grabbed the sword again. The steel pommel felt rough and heavy in his hand. He hadn’t held one in a long time.
A wave of determination washed over him as he tightened his grip on the pommel. A few more guards down, and he could finally be on his way.
Or he could just leave and let them discover the bodies in the morning. It could be his own way of sending a message.
“Aye,” he muttered, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Aye, I could do that.”
He untied the horse, gathered the reins, and put a foot in the stirrup. The scars all over his body pulled as he swung himself up. He swallowed the pain and set the sword across his thigh.
“Oi! Who is that?” a voice called from the fire.
A cup clattered. “Tam?”
“Nae Tam!” the first voice shouted. “The Wolf, ye fools. He escaped.”
Men scrambled, and a bench toppled over. Neil heard the hiss of swords being unsheathed and exhaled.
Two guards made a run for horses, but he was faster.
He gently kicked the stallion with his heel.
The horse surged, rearing on its hind legs, before darting across the woods and towards the darkness.
Neil pressed his thighs against the beast’s flanks, ignoring the way his body throbbed with every gallop.
Nothing more to do if the prize was his freedom now, was it?
The wind whipped at his face, and his shoulder burned where the guard had stabbed him.
As he rode further down the dirt path, realization dawned on him.
Perhaps it was because he couldn’t stop thinking about what they had said about his wife, or the mere fact that their voices followed him as he ran.
Nay. He wasn’t interested in sending a message. He wanted to finish it once and for all. Maybe one of them could tell him something about Alex.
He drew the horse to a halt, turned him, and took a blade in each hand. The night gave him space, cold and wide.
The first pursuer came at him hard, his teeth bared, his blade bobbing with each gallop of his mount. Neil steered his horse across the path and drove forward, slamming into him. Hooves struck flesh and bone, and the rider went under with a broken cry.
The second man swung from the right, close and reckless. “Take him,” he screamed. “Take him alive.”
“Come close and see,” Neil taunted.
They met knee to knee. Neil blocked a blow with his sword, drew his dagger, and drove it up under the man’s ribs. The man’s breath left in a sharp wheeze. He slid off the saddle, his body dragging across the dirt until the stirrup let him go.
“Two,” Neil said.
A third rider charged, his chin tucked, his eyes narrowed.
His blow came clean. Neil blocked it with his sword, shoved him back, then swung as hard as he could.
His blade sliced through the man’s neck, severing the head from the shoulders.
The body thumped to the ground, and the horse sprang forward.
“Three,” Neil muttered under his breath.
Only one rider remained. He circled wide, then charged, his teeth bared.
Neil met him with the flat of his blade, caught his wrist, and knocked his sword from his hand.
The man panicked and tried to throw himself away, but he couldn’t do it fast enough.
Neil kicked his knee and sent him to the ground.
Then, he dropped after him, planted a boot on his chest, and pressed the sword’s tip to the hollow at the base of his throat.
“Where is me braither?” he asked, his voice level. “Where is Alex?”
The man spat in his face.
Neil did not blink. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, the blade never leaving the man’s throat. “I am going to give ye one more chance. Where is Alex?”
“Rot,” the man hissed. “Ye and him both.”
“Wrong answer,” Neil said, before plunging the blade into his throat.
The man’s body twitched, and blood spurted against the blade. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice disappeared into the night along with his soul.
Neil stood very still, listening. No more hooves, no more shouts, only the wind rustling the tree branches. He wiped his face again, then touched two fingers to the split skin at his neck and hissed at the sting.
“Alex,” he muttered. “Where in God’s name have they put ye?”
He stood for a moment with his palm on his horse’s neck while his breathing slowed. Pride would say ride on and tear the hills apart until his brother was found. Pride would get him killed, and Alex with him.
“Nae tonight,” he sighed.
He swung himself up into the saddle and clenched his jaw as the scars pulled. He steered the horse away from the dead and looked back once to make sure no one else was running after him.
If he truly wanted to find Alex, he had to do it from a place where he could heal. From his own turf, under his own rules.