Chapter 26 Slaying the Beast
CRAEG SPIED THE men first—a knot of them surrounding someone on the road ahead.
Clad in travel-stained braies, leines, and jerkins, they wore no clan sash to identify them.
But he recognized one of the warriors. Tall, lean with greying black hair.
Hamish Macquarie.
And as Ruadh ate up the distance between them, he caught sight of a dark-haired woman struggling in their midst.
His heart lurched into his throat.
Hazel?
What is she doing out here?
Steel flashed in the afternoon light, and his stomach dropped.
His roar splintered the air, and he dug his heels into his stallion’s flanks.
Ruadh leaped forward, his stride flattening out into a gallop.
Behind him, he heard the others give chase too.
Reaching to his hip, he drew his dirk. His heavy claidheamh-mòr was still strapped across his back.
This wasn’t the time to draw it. Not yet.
An instant later, he reached the Macquaries.
They scattered like grouse flushed from the heather as Ruadh plunged into their midst. Bent low over his stallion’s neck, Craeg slashed his dirk. Shouts, grunts, and curses rang across the road.
But he wasn’t mindless in his attack. No, he went for the big brute who held Hazel in a chokehold. His blade slashed across the warrior’s face.
Screaming, he let go of Hazel.
Eyes wild, she twisted away from him, stumbling for the roadside.
Snarling a curse, Hamish Macquarie went after her.
Nat and the others reached them then, swinging down from their horses and drawing their weapons. Faolan’s snarls ripped through the air as his jaws clamped around a warrior’s boot.
Vaulting from Ruadh’s back, Craeg shrugged off his claidheamh-mòr and yanked the broadsword from its scabbard.
Macquarie was slashing at his daughter now, his dirk blade flashing.
Hazel had turned to face him. She held a dagger in her right hand, but she wasn’t using it. Instead, she backed away from the chieftain, ducking the lethal swipes of Macquarie’s blade.
Craeg dove between them.
Around him, the clang of steel and the grunts of fighting rang across the road.
But he paid none of it any mind.
Instead, his gaze speared Hamish Macquarie’s.
The chieftain bared his teeth. “Stand down, whelp. She’s mine.”
Craeg snarled back, even as he swung his broadsword. The blade was heavy, and he wielded it two-handed. It whistled through the air, and Macquarie reeled back.
Hamish’s dirk came up, but the smaller blade was no match for the arc of Craeg’s swing. Steel bit. His opponent staggered, his boots scrabbling on the packed earth.
“Ye’ll not touch her.” Craeg pressed forward, bringing the claidheamh-mòr around in a brutal overhead strike. Macquarie twisted aside, but not fast enough. The broadsword’s edge caught his shoulder, shearing through leather and flesh. Blood bloomed dark against the older man’s jerkin.
Macquarie howled, clutching at the wound. His dirk fell from nerveless fingers.
But the bastard wasn’t done. With his good arm, he yanked a second blade from his boot—a sgian-dubh—a ‘hidden knife’, small and deadly. He lunged, aiming for Craeg’s ribs.
Craeg pivoted, bringing his sword’s pommel up. It cracked into Hamish’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The chieftain’s head snapped back. He went down hard, hitting the road.
The sgian-dubh skittered away.
Panting, Craeg stood over him, the point of his broadsword hovering at Macquarie’s throat.
“Move, and I’ll end ye here,” he said softly.
Hamish spat blood. His eyes blazed with fury and pain, but he obeyed him this time.
Around them, the sounds of fighting began to fade. Craeg risked a glance. Nat had one Macquarie warrior face-down in the dirt, knee planted between his shoulder blades. The others lay groaning, disarmed.
“Craeg.”
Hazel’s voice cut through the rage that still thumped in his chest. The rage then chanted. Kill. Kill. Hamish Macquarie deserved to die for this.
He turned his head, keeping his blade steady on Macquarie’s throat.
Hazel stood a few paces away, pale but upright. Her dark hair had come loose from its braid, and dirt smudged her cheeks. But her eyes—those fierce dark-blue eyes—met his.
“I’m all right,” she replied, her voice rough yet steady. “Thank ye.”
His chest tightened. Macquarie would pay for this.
The chieftain moved then, profiting from his moment of distraction. He reeled back from the point of Craeg’s claidheamh-mòr and lunged for the sgian-dubh that lay just a few feet away. His fingers grasped the grip, and he rolled away.
Even injured and bloodied, the bastard moved faster than an eel.
But Craeg’s threat hadn’t been empty.
The savagery that tugged like a wolf on a leash surged free. He didn’t hesitate.
The broadsword rose and sliced sideways—severing Hamish Macquarie’s head from his shoulders.
Hazel’s shocked gasp filled the silence that followed.
The chieftain’s headless body slumped onto the road, limbs twitching. His right hand clutched convulsively upon the sgian-dubh’s grip.
Hamish’s head rolled across the earth and came to rest. Mouth still a rictus of hate. Blue eyes, wide and staring.
Breathing hard, Craeg straightened up. His gaze then swept over the bloodied knot of Macquaries and came to rest on the youngest of the group. Cameron Macquarie. Craeg remembered a diffident lad, gawky and lacking in confidence. That wasn’t so now.
Bloodied and panting, his face slick with sweat, the chieftain’s son stared at his father’s severed head. Face rigid. Jaw locked.
“Do ye wish to try yer luck as well?” Craeg ground out.
Fury still pulsed through him, looking for an outlet. He’d take every last one of these whoresons on, if they challenged him.
“Craeg,” Hazel said softly. A warning.
He ignored her, his attention never leaving Cameron’s face.
He was young, but he’d followed his father. He’d been a part of this, would have watched Macquarie cut his own daughter’s throat.
Cameron didn’t answer.
Craeg’s fingers flexed around the hilt of his broadsword, even as a red haze clouded his vision. “Ye should all die for this,” he ground out each word as he stared the chieftain’s son down. “Starting with ye.”
“No!” Hazel rushed forward. Her hand fastened around his right arm. “Put down yer sword, Craeg!”
His gaze cut to her, fixing upon her ashen face. Their gazes fused.
“The bloodshed ends,” she rasped. “Now.”
Craeg stared back at her. The urge to kill, to maim, still hammered against his ribs, yet Hazel’s touch drew him out of his fury. He was back in control.
Dragging in a lungful of air, he gave a tight nod.
“The man responsible for this is dead,” she went on, her fingers digging into his flesh as if she still needed to make sure that he wouldn’t lunge at Cameron Macquarie. “That is enough.”
He dragged in a lungful of air. Is it?
Moments passed, and then Hazel released his arm and stepped back.
Wordlessly, he moved over to where he’d tossed the claidheamh-mòr’s scabbard to the ground. Picking it up, he sheathed the weapon and strapped it to his back. He was aware that all eyes were on him.
The silence that had settled over the road held a tense edge.
And all the while, his pulse thundered in his skull. Despite Hazel’s intervention, his blood was still up. The urge to cut down the surviving Macquaries still pulsed through him.
Doing his best to ignore it, Craeg turned to Hazel once more. She stood a few feet back from him, her dirk now sheathed. Her eyes tracked him as he approached.
“Thank the Saints ye arrived when ye did.” Her voice caught slightly. “I thought I was done for.”
“Ye nearly were.” The urge to haul her into his arms, to crush her against him in relief, barreled into him. Instead, he took hold of her arm and steered her toward the bank that led up to a hazel thicket. He didn’t want to speak to her within earshot of anyone.
She went meekly, although the arm beneath his grip had gone rigid.
Cold washed over him, dousing the last of his anger. Was she wary of him now?
Faolan approached them both. The wolfhound’s hackles were still raised, his dark eyes wild. However, he pushed his nose into Craeg’s thigh, checking to see if he was well. Putting his hand on the hound’s head, he reassured him that he wasn’t hurt. Then, he focused on Hazel once more.
“What happened?”
Her throat worked. “Macquarie must have been watching the castle. When I left this morning, he and his men followed me.”
He stilled, his pulse spiking once more. “What were ye doing, leaving Moy?” He was aware his voice had hardened, but he couldn’t help it. Why the devil was Hazel out on the road alone?
Her chin rose, a muscle feathering in her jaw. “I was heading to Craignure … to catch a ferry to the mainland.”
Silence fell like a poleax between them. Suddenly, Craeg couldn’t draw breath. For a moment, he just stood there, stunned. “Ye were going to leave me … without even saying anything?”
She swallowed once more, a stubborn glint in her eyes now. “It was for the best.”
Heat kindled in his gut. For the best?
“Ye don’t want to marry me?” The words came out hoarsely.
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat. “Ye make everything appear so simple … but it isn’t.”
Her reply was a fist to the guts. It was simple to him. He loved her, and he’d believed she felt the same way.
She never told ye though, did she? A nasty voice whispered. She never actually said the words.
No, she hadn’t, and he’d been so caught up in his own emotions that he hadn’t thought of making sure. And now, he felt like a prize idiot.
“I’ll not be yer ruin,” she went on, her voice low, husky. “Things got out of hand between us. I agreed to things, I shouldn’t have.” Her gaze guttered then. “And now, because of me, ye have slain the Macquarie chieftain.”
“He deserved it,” Craeg ground out, surprised by his own venom. There was a reservoir of rage still there, simmering like a cauldron of boiling tar. Just moments ago, he’d been riding back to Moy with the wind in his hair and a smile on his face, thinking about the future that was waiting for him.
And now, the woman he loved was spurning him.
“I will not be the cause of any more trouble,” she replied, her own tone hardening now.
They stared at each other. Nearby, Craeg was vaguely aware of the rumble of voices as his men hauled the Macquarie warriors to their feet and bound their wrists behind them. However, it seemed far away.
“Ye can’t leave,” he said, hating how desperate he now sounded. Get a grip of yerself, man. Lord, he wished he could.
“I must.”
Heat flushed over him. “No,” he replied hoarsely. “Ye belong with me.”
Her gaze narrowed, and his skin prickled. He didn’t like the glint in her eye.
“I belong to no one but myself,” she said coldly.
“I thought ye understood me enough to know that.” Silence pulsed between them before she continued, “I had another lover once … who tried to tell me what to do, tried to mold me. He wanted a wife who was pliant and easily cowed. I’m not that woman. I will never be that woman.”
A sickly sensation rose then, curdling his stomach. He’d guessed when they’d lain together that he hadn’t been her first, and he hadn’t cared. However, he didn’t enjoy being compared to the man who’d clearly disappointed her. As if he were no different. As if he too was letting her down.
The silence between them drew out. Craeg didn’t break it. He didn’t trust himself not to dig an even deeper hole for himself, not to make the situation even worse.
Eyeing him, Hazel tucked the dirk into her belt. “A ferry leaves at dawn for Oban tomorrow, and I wish to be on it,” she said finally. “I have relatives there … they will take me in. If ye have any respect for me, Craeg, ye will not stand in my way.”
Her words lingered in the air between them. A direct challenge.
He stared at Hazel, as if seeing her properly for the first time. Who was this woman? He’d rushed headlong into this, had let the force of his passion, his feelings, carry him away. But she had changed her mind.
About him. About everything.
He wasn’t a fool, though. He knew what she was doing. Aye, he’d spoken rashly—and he wanted to punch himself in the mouth for it—but Hazel’s mind was already made up. She was deliberately distancing herself from him.
“Do ye think I’d try to stop ye?” His voice was thin and strained. It didn’t sound like his own.
She didn’t reply, although the look on her face hinted that she did.
He stepped back then, distancing himself from her. “Don’t worry, I shall see to it that ye get on that ferry tomorrow.”
She nodded stiffly, eyeing him as if he were about to pounce.
Nausea bit at the back of his throat as he moved toward his men then. Forcing himself to concentrate, he surveyed the faces of the Macquaries they’d taken captive.
Cameron Macquarie held himself with admirable defiance, shoulders back, chin raised, yet Craeg marked the shadow in his dark-blue eyes—the same shade as Hazel’s. He feared his wrath. Feared him.
Something twisted deep in Craeg’s chest. He was right to.
Suddenly, he was back in Moy’s hall, cowering as his father loomed over him, fist raised. Keep whimpering, and I’ll give ye real reason to.
He started to sweat.
Christ. Was there no escaping Leod Maclean’s curse? Today, the beast had risen from the depths, exposing him. The Macquaries knew it. So did Hazel.
Craeg fisted his hands at his sides. No. He wouldn’t let his father win. He’d slay the best, even if it killed him.
He shifted his attention to where Nat stood behind Cameron, silently awaiting his orders. Their gazes met. “Take the Macquaries back to Moy and throw them in the pit with the others,” Craeg ordered. “I’ll deal with them upon my return.”
Captain Black nodded, his own face set in hard lines. He then gestured toward Macquarie’s decapitated body. “And him?”
“Take his body … and head … with ye too.”
Craeg moved across to where Ruadh now nipped at grass by the roadside. Catching the stallion’s reins, he led him across to Hazel.
She hadn’t moved, and she still watched him, anticipating trouble. The realization made his chest tighten. He’d saved her life, but now, somehow, he’d become the enemy.
Meeting her eye, he tried to ignore the thumping of his pulse. “Come on … we have a long journey ahead.”