Chapter 7
The next day of travel was as uneventful as the first, though near dusk, William began to suspect they were being followed. They were on a deserted moor, with naught but the occasional dead tree and the distant mountains as far as the eye could see.
They rode on, pushing the horses to exhaustion, until finally they came upon a ruined cottage.
It was the best shelter they would find, and William took it.
They had a cold, silent meal, and Rose bedded down with Deidra in the lee of the wall while William, Drake, and Wallace situated themselves around the ruined cottage, keeping watch on the empty moor around them.
William knew Rose was aware something was amiss; her sharp gaze had followed him throughout the day, marking his watchfulness, but she’d said nothing.
She did not sleep now either; she still watched him and the others as she lay with Deidra.
When the child dozed off, she crept across the floor to the empty doorway where he crouched.
“Something is wrong,” she whispered, peering into the night.
“I think we’re being followed. Probably the broken men Drake spotted yesterday. They must have caught our trail and are hoping for easy prey.”
She crept back to where she’d lain down, grabbed her bag, and returned to settle beside him.
She didn’t speak and he tried to ignore her, but her presence beside him was highly distracting.
She never sought out Drake or Wallace as she did him, and he took note of it.
Though he tried, he could not long ignore the sudden industry of the woman beside him, so he finally looked to see what she was doing.
She was cleaning her gun. He watched silently as she swabbed the barrel, then pushed down wadding and an iron ball with the short ramrod.
Everything was gray in the moonlit darkness—her hair and skin and eyes shades of gray.
But his imagination painted her in the vivid colors he observed in the daylight: her hair, a sleek fall of amber and roan; her skin, glowing, a faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her narrow nose; her midnight gaze, focused intently on her work, cinnamon lashes hiding her catlike eyes.
Bracing the gun barrel between her knees, she poured gunpowder into the pan, inserted the spanner, and cranked the wheel until it caught, primed and ready to be fired. She set it carefully aside.
She looked up to find him watching, and she smiled. His heart skittered against his ribs.
“I’m ready now,” she declared, her eyes glinting.
He made a soft snort of amusement and shook his head.
“What? You don’t think me capable?”
“You are rather small.”
“Compared to you, perhaps,” she said tartly, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “It doesn’t take size to aim and fire a dag.”
He laughed softly. “That it doesn’t. Just be certain your aim is true and you don’t shoot one of us.”
She scowled prettily at him, but before she could retort, Drake hissed his name.
William pivoted in his crouching position to peer across the ruin at his brother. Drake pointed to something in the darkness.
“Stay here,” William said to Rose. He crossed to his brother. When he glanced back, Rose had assumed his position, staring out into the night, dag in her lap.
“What is it?”
“Watch there and wait,” Drake said, his voice hushed. They sat motionless for several minutes, William frowning into the dark where Drake had indicated.
“There.” Drake pointed.
William saw it—a shifting of the darkness near a sparse stand of distant trees. And the harder he stared, the more he realized there was an unnatural mass to the trees.
“Bloody hell,” William breathed. “What are they waiting for?”
“They probably hope to catch us all asleep.”
William looked over his shoulder to his daughter, sleeping peacefully, oblivious of the danger laying in wait. Damn.
“Well,” William said, removing his dag from his belt and checking the charge. “Let’s get this over with.”
Drake looked at him in disbelief, then scanned the dark, deserted moor around them pointedly. “Until they attack, what are we to do?”
“Rose,” William called in a loud whisper.
She turned and came when he gestured for her, then squatted down beside him.
“I want you to take Deidra and ride southwest, as fast as you can.”
“What? Why?”
“The broken men outnumber us,” Drake said.
“Aye. If we don’t overtake you by morn, keep going. Take her to your home and send word to my sister, Maggie Munroe. She’s married to Paden Munroe of Norcreiffe. She will take Deidra.”
William felt Drake staring at him, but he didn’t look at his brother.
Rose shook her head, confused. “If we’re outnumbered, you cannot send me away. I can shoot.”
“You’ve one shot in your dag and no time to reload. Even if we prevail, I cannot hope to keep you both from harm when they outnumber us. You must ride to safety.”
Rose nodded, her face pale. “Very well. Maggie. Paden Munroe of Norcreiffe.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Get the horse ready—and hurry.”
She did as he bid while William crept to the wall and picked his daughter up. Deidra stirred as he carried her to the horses hobbled at the other end of the cottage. They’d not unsaddled them in preparation for this eventuality.
Rose was beside him. “Let’s all go. Why are you staying here if they outnumber us?”
“Because they’ll keep following, and we must stop sometime. Best to do this when we’re prepared, rather than be ambushed later.”
“But you said you knew some Rosses near Strath Ben that were friends. Could we not ride there for help?”
“That’s another two days’ ride at least.” He smiled grimly. “Fash not—we’re not so bad with a sword.”
She exhaled loudly and stared at him, tight-lipped. She shook her head slightly as if she meant to say more, but finally she mounted. He passed Deidra up to her, then caught her hand, pressing on her cool, slender fingers.
“Remember what I said. Keep riding. Don’t turn back.”
Rose clasped his fingers back, gazing down at him with worry and fear.
Deidra blinked awake and stared at William, who was at eye level with her, then she glanced up at Rose.
Her confused gaze flew back to him. “Da?”
“You must go with Rose now, Squirrel. I’ll be seeing you soon.
” He released Rose’s fingers and took his daughter’s hand, squeezing it and pressing a kiss to the back of her small, soft palm.
He met Rose’s gaze, still fixed unhappily on him, and tried to convey to her with a look the importance of the trust he’d just placed in her.
Until tonight, he’d trusted no one but Drake with his daughter’s safety.
“Go,” he said before he changed his mind.
Rose spurred her mount and raced into the night. As expected, this was a beacon to the waiting broken men. They broke from the trees and charged the cottage.
“Make haste,” William said, swinging into the saddle. His horse, sensing impending danger, pawed and snorted nervously. Drake and Wallace mounted beside him, and, with swords drawn, they burst from the cottage, bellowing their battle cry.
Rose struggled to keep a grip on the wildly thrashing child. “No! No! Da! Uncle Drake!” she cried.
Rose held her tightly, dropping the reins once when Dede would have slithered from her arms to the ground.
“Dede! Listen to me!”
Dede shrieked and kicked. Rose was forced to slow Moireach to a walk.
Dede abruptly went still. Before Rose could reason with the child, the mare veered to the right and reared. Rose’s heart leapt in panic. She sawed on the reins, but the horse was determined to turn.
“Moireach! No, damnit!”
Rose pulled and yanked, but a demon possessed the horse. Moireach pawed at the ground and screamed furiously—then bolted forward, back to the cottage.
“No! Stop!” Rose cried, pulling on the reins. Dede clutched her waist.
Lights burst ahead of them, followed by three loud pops.
Rose pulled her dag from the saddle holster, her heart hammering in her throat.
As they drew nearer the cottage, the clouds shadowing the moon scudded aside, and she could see the fighting.
Bodies littered the ground around the structure.
Six men still battled. Three were on horseback, and another three had been unhorsed.
They fought savagely, two against one. Rose still had no control of the horse.
It raced toward the men on the ground. Rose recognized Strathwick, sword in one hand and a dirk in the other, fighting off two men.
He slashed at them with a fury she’d never guess of the taciturn man, single-handedly driving both men back.
Moireach ran at one of the marauders, surprising him so he had no time to react before her hooves drove him to the ground. She pounded him for good measure before wheeling away and turning back.
One of the horsed bandits appeared beside Rose. She tried to block his blow, but his fist struck her arm. She cried out and, clutching Deidra to her, toppled back. She landed on her back, knocking the wind from her lungs. Deidra sprawled across her chest. The dag skidded away.
Pain radiated through Rose’s back. She fought to catch her breath and clear her vision. Lights exploded before her, and a great weight still pressed into her.
Deidra screamed and the crushing weight disappeared, replaced with a burning on Rose’s scalp as someone pulled her to her knees using a handful of her hair.
“Two pretty ones,” a rough voice rasped gleefully. “No wonder they sent you away.”