Chapter 11
Night had fallen, and Nora was slumbering.
Callan smiled at her soft snores. He might have exaggerated the sounds she made, but it was fun to get under her skin once in a while. She looked peaceful, which was a far cry from earlier. The outburst felt as though it had been coming for a while and he supposed he could understand it.
Unlike him she had lived a life that had been safe and protected.
She had lived in a Keep where every need had been met and she never had to fear going hungry.
The survival skills that had been a necessity for him had been entirely unrequired for her, and now she was realizing how frivolous her life had been.
And it wasn’t over yet, because in time she would come to learn that she could not trust anyone.
Especially not him.
In the blitz of questions she seemed to have forgotten that she asked him why he came back for her.
He was glad she did as he certainly didn’t want to tell her the truth.
But as he looked at her his mind grew hazy.
There was something about her, something that unsettled him.
Feeling her body under his had stirred a desire within him that ran deeper than anything he had felt for Alison or anyone else.
The closeness made him burn inside and he felt ashamed for treating her like this because she wasn’t just any other woman.
Callan rose and stood by the fire. He stared into the flames and exhaled deeply.
The last thing he needed was to get distracted.
There were more important things than his own desire.
Killing the Laird could mean a respite for the entire Highlands.
So many families could be lifted out of poverty and despair by one swing of his sword, and he needed to remain steadfast. Nora had to be delivered to the Laird, and then the Laird would be killed.
Snap.
The sound caught Callan’s attention. He turned his head sharply and noticed a shadow of movement in the forest. From the size and shape he knew that it wasn’t wildlife.
He glanced at the fire and quickly stamped it out, the flames hissing beneath his boots.
Then, he darted away, skirting towards a tree.
He hid behind it and peered into the darkness, tracing the movement again.
He heard a cursed word under a breath, the stumble of a foot getting caught in a branch.
Callan moved swiftly and nimbly, hand ready to draw his dagger. Nora might be annoyed that he was protecting her again, but so be it. He’d rather her be annoyed than slaughtered in her sleep.
Callan moved in a wide arc, trying to stay out of the man’s vision.
He kept low as he skulked towards their pursuer and then waited near a bush.
He kept his breathing quiet. The man was trying to remain quiet but clearly lacked the practiced skill of a hunter.
He was cumbersome and did not know how to avoid making the bracken crack beneath his feet or mask his heavy, panting breaths.
As soon as he passed in front of Callan, Callan leaped up and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, squeezing tight.
The man struggled and tried to kick himself free.
Callan hooked his leg around the man’s, and the two of them fell to the ground.
Callan managed to twist to the side, avoiding being crushed under the man’s weight.
As the moonlight spilled upon his face, Callan realized that it was the same guard they had seen at the estate earlier.
“Why are ye following us?” Callan hissed, loosening his grip just enough to allow the man to speak, but otherwise he remained resolute and did not give the guard the opportunity to reach his sword or strike against Callan.
The guard grunted and writhed, but he did not seem inclined to answer Callan’s question, so Callan had to give him a little more incentive. He squeezed tighter, pulling his bicep around the man’s throat. He could feel the windpipe buckling.
“Tell me or ye will die here,” Callan said.
The man was going to die anyway, but he didn’t know that yet. Again Callan released his grip a little. The guard sucked in air and released spluttering breaths. Saliva dripped against Callan’s arm.
“I got a bad feeling about ye. Two travelers like ye asking about the Laird… we’re ordered tae take care of any threats. Came tae see if there were more of ye.”
“Ye should hae stayed at the estate. There’s one thing ye should ken about me. I work alone… and I never leave loose ends,” Callan said.
That knowledge wasn’t going to make a difference to the guard, who was swiftly rueing his judgment.
Callan squeezed and squeezed, his biceps swelling like pythons.
The guard was struggling, the last death throes of a man who knew there was no escape.
He rolled back and forth, but nothing could break Callan’s iron grip now.
He spat and his eyes bulged and while Callan couldn’t quite tell in the shade of the night, the guard’s face turned a sickly shade of purple.
He twitched violently, and then suddenly all the movement stopped. There were no more frantic breaths, no more writhing. Just stillness.
Callan waited a moment, just in case the guard was somehow feigning death, but when Callan was sure he didn’t sense anything, he pushed the man away and rubbed the saliva off his arm.
He grimaced as he dusted himself down and stretched his arms before rummaging around the man’s body.
He found a pouch of coins and smiled, taking it as the spoils of battle.
“Well, that’s another guard down. I wonder if the Laird will notice that his numbers are dwindling. It’ll take me a while tae dismantle his army one guard at a time, but I suppose it’ll keep me occupied for a while,” he said, then tossed the pouch in the air and sauntered back to camp.
Nora awoke with a start.
She wasn’t entirely sure what caused her to stir, but she blinked rapidly, confused that it was still night.
When she looked across at the fire it had been extinguished.
Smoke swirled in the air, wispy plumes that were clinging to existence.
A few small embers were glowing, but the light they exuded was not enough to offer comfort or warmth. Nora rose slowly.
“Callan?” she whispered, her voice sounding strange and alien in the night, as though it was wrong to speak at such a time.
There was no response. Her chest grew tight as she peered around the darkness and could not see Callan at all.
The horse was slumbering, so where was Callan?
The first thought that strayed through her mind was that he’d left her.
He was the one who kept the fire burning through the night, so what had happened? Surely he wouldn’t have been captured?
No, she would have heard the disturbance. And as for leaving her… why would he do that after all this time? Whatever she thought about him, he didn’t seem the type to creep away in the middle of the night. If he was going to leave then he would tell her face to face.
He’d probably enjoy seeing her reaction.
Was it because of what happened earlier?
No, nothing happened.
Nothing happened, she repeated the thought to convince herself. They hadn’t kissed. They hadn’t done anything else. She was still pure. She was still virtuous. Laird MacPherson would have no cause to complain.
Nora ran her hand through her hair and looked around. Suddenly she heard a disturbance. What if Callan was in danger?
She vowed that she would not sit by and wait for trouble to find her, nor would she hide and hope for it to pass.
Perhaps this was an opportunity for her to protect Callan and start to eat away at the debt she had accrued.
She glanced around quickly and picked up the nearest stick she could find.
It was long and thick, with gnarled bumps pressing unevenly into her palms.
She crept towards the noise, peering from beyond a tree.
At first she thought she must have been mistaken because nothing was revealed to her.
The night was a shroud and the darkness was impenetrable, but the longer she stared the more her eyes became used to it and then…
there! Movement on the ground. It looked like two huge worms wriggling together, but then she heard the murmur of voices.
She couldn’t tell what they said, but they were definitely men.
Nora steeled herself against her fear as she gripped her stick.
Callan might well be the one suffering. She thought about what he had said earlier, to not attack without thought.
Nora planned things in her mind.
She would bring the huge stick down upon the enemy’s head and hope that it would be enough to knock them out.
If not, then… then she would have to try again.
She practiced swinging the stick quickly, using both ends.
There wasn’t enough time to practice too much thought, not now. There was only time for action.
Nora pressed forward, only to realize that the fight was already over. Someone rose. It was Callan. She’d know his silhouette anywhere. She almost cried out to him before she watched him carefully. He bent down and took something from the body. He tossed it in the air.
A coin pouch.
Jagged puzzled pieces joined together in her mind. The coin she’d seen him give Ellie, the pouch with the insignia, the wounds he’d suffered, telling her that he’d bumped into someone. No, there was more to it than that and she had been blind. She had been naive.
Willingly so? Perhaps because Callan caused havoc in her mind and it was impossible to think straight when he was around. Now she found herself having to redefine her impression of him again. What kind of man went around killing and stealing?
The kind of man she hated.
The kind of man that was a blight upon the Highlands.
The kind of man who had killed her parents…