Chapter 7
Hew tightened his grip on the axe.
There was a benefit to being hotheaded. Passion made one fearless.
It was passion that had made him boldly follow the monk to Dunlop.
Passion that had pushed him to brazenly track the cateran across Dunlop land.
Passion that had urged him to brashly insert himself between two brutes and their victim.
Now, suddenly, one glimpse of a familiar delicate moonlit cheek, the sweet curve of a jaw, the flutter of an eyelash, the open gasp of a soft mouth, drained that passion. For one awful moment, his hotheaded fearlessness wavered. He was stunned by sheer terror for the cateran.
He told himself it didn’t matter that the thief wasn’t a lad, but a lass.
It made no difference that the lass was not just any lass, but Lady Carenza.
He told himself these things. But his heart still pounded with icy fear for her. His breath still froze in his chest as more of the raging black beasts swirled around her.
Thank God, he was a trained warrior. His heart might be tender, but fierce blood pumped through it. He would protect her. And he would die before he’d reveal her secret.
“Stay there,” he repeated.
To his shock, she ignored his command.
Not only did she ignore it. She did the exact opposite of what he instructed. She turned her back on him and resumed leading her captive coo away.
The foolish lass seemed not to notice she was surrounded by stamping, snorting beasts that were twice her size. Beasts that could crush her in an instant.
He dared not cry out to her again. That would only further agitate the cattle.
There was only one thing to do. Dropping his axe, Hew let passion convince him to charge into the maelstrom of wild cattle.
No sooner did he enter the fray than his shin was struck by a stray hoof. The tip of a coo’s horn grazed his shoulder as it passed. And he was nearly crushed between two beasts determined to collide.
Dodging the lunging, darting cattle, he picked out the fastest, the one that looked like the leader.
He shadowed the animal, running alongside until he could catch the base of its long horn in his bent arm.
Then he dug in his heels and pulled back with all his might, slowing the coo and steering it aside.
It slipped and skidded on the sod, and its eyes still rolled in panic. But it finally stopped running.
“Easy,” he commanded breathlessly, slowing it to a saner pace. “Easy now.”
Once the first coo calmed, the others began to settle. Eventually he was able to circle the animal back in the direction of the woods. The rest of the fold gradually followed.
Still, by the time he swung around to seek out Lady Carenza, she’d gained a hundred yards. She was blithely continuing on her way with her spoils in tow, which both relieved and infuriated him.
Taking bold strides across the field toward her, he scooped up his axe and tossed it over his shoulder without missing a step.
“Wait!” he called out.
Her shoulders jerked in surprise, which gave him some satisfaction. She probably assumed the cattle had trampled him to death.
But when she wheeled around to confront him, he glimpsed a fearful plea in her eyes. A plea that caught at his heart. Dissipated his anger. And dissolved his conceit.
“Let me take the beast back, lass,” he murmured. “I won’t reveal your secret.”
She flinched once, hearing him call her lass. Then she tightened her grip on the rope around the animal’s neck.
“This one’s mine,” she whispered. “Ye can’t have him.”
It was as if her soft voice wrapped around the shell of his ear and breathed an enchantment into his soul. He lowered his axe, resting the blade on the ground. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to grant her wish.
Of course, reason dictated otherwise. It was possible the lady was fleeing an unhappy home.
It was possible she was giving her father’s coo away to a crofter in need.
But if both the lady and the coo went missing on the same night, it wouldn’t take a scholar to figure out the connection.
And Hew had no intention of subjecting the beautiful lass to a cateran’s punishment.
But before he could discuss options, the lady’s eyes abruptly widened at something behind him, and she pulled her head back into the shadows of her hood.
Hew heard the cooherds approaching from behind.
“Who the hell are ye?” one of them demanded.
With a grim frown, Hew turned.
If there was one thing Hew hated, it was a bully. Now he confronted two of them. Worse, they appeared to be the sort of brutes whose bodies were too big for their brains.
The dunces were standing but a dozen yards from the lady, in full moonlight, yet they were too thickheaded to notice that she was a lady.
He supposed that was a blessing in this instance. She obviously didn’t wish to be recognized.
He didn’t bother answering their question. Instead he warned them, “You should walk away.”
The one with the beard puffed up his chest. “And ye should stay out o’ this.”
Hew ignored the threat. “You don’t want me to even the odds.”
“What’s that mean, even the odds?” the beardless one said, leering in challenge.
In answer, Hew casually swung his axe up where they could see it, resting the blade on his shoulder.
The lad’s leer drooped. His companion let out a low whistle.
The once leering lad whined, “We’re not even armed.”
“This?” Hew said with a shrug. “I don’t need this.” He swung it around with a showy flourish and hurled it into the ground in their midst with a resounding thud. “But I won’t stand by while two swaggering brutes threaten a wee lad half their size.”
“That ‘wee lad’ is a God-cursed cateran,” the bearded one argued.
Hew smirked. “So neither of you have ever reived a coo?”
They scowled, but couldn’t deny it. Every lad in Scotland had reived a coo. It was practically a rite of passage.
“Let’s settle this here and now,” he told them. “No fists. No bloodshed. Take the beast. Return it to the fold. I’ll take the naughty lad to Dunlop.” Of course, he had no intention of turning the lass in for the crime of reiving cattle. But they didn’t know that.
“We’re the ones who caught the thief,” the bearded one said. “We’ll take him to Dunlop.”
Hew crossed his arms. So they wanted credit for the capture? “Give me your names. I’ll tell the laird ’twas you who caught the cateran. But I’m not going to turn him over to you so you can bloody your knuckles on his face.” Then he had a second thought. “Besides, don’t you have cooherding to do?”
The beardless lad took offense at that. “Cooherdin’? We’re not cooherds.”
Hew blinked. They weren’t? “Then what are you doing out here?”
The bearded one straightened. “Watchin’ for outlaws like him.” He nodded his head toward the cateran.
Hew narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you’re not outlaws yourself?” he wondered aloud. “Maybe you were planning to reive the coos when this one came along and beat you to the fold.”
“We’re not outlaws,” the bearded one sputtered.
“Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t,” Hew said. “Are you even in the Dunlop clan?”
The other one lifted his beardless chin. “We’re the Boyles. Their neighbors.”
Boyle. He recognized that name. Weren’t those the brothers who thought they were worthy of the affections of the beautiful Lady Carenza? The idea was laughable.
But suddenly he realized why they were watching over the Dunlop coos.
They hoped to do just this—catch a cateran and be rewarded by the laird of Dunlop, perhaps with a betrothal to his daughter.
Indeed, they should be grateful Hew had saved them the humiliation of having bloodied their fists on the lass they intended to court.
“Wait,” the bearded one said, furrowing his brows in concentration. “How do we know ye’re not a cateran? We’ve ne’er seen ye before.”
“Aye, that’s right,” the second chimed in. “How do we know ye’re not after the coos?”
“Maybe ye’re this one’s accomplice,” the first Boyle deduced, jerking a thumb toward the cateran.
“Me? I offered you the coo,” Hew pointed out.
“We are goin’ to take the coo,” the bearded Boyle said.
“Not now you’re not,” Hew informed him.
“What?” he barked.
“Don’t be tellin’ us what to do,” the beardless Boyle said. “Our da is a laird.” He made a move toward the coo.
Hew blocked the way.
“How dare ye!” the other bellowed, his beard trembling with rage. “When our da finds out about this…” He made a lunge toward the animal.
Hew blocked him as well.
Their frustration erupted in a spate of cursing and spitting and jostling that made Hew feel like he was trying to contain a pair of wildcats chasing after a mouse.
Carenza had heard enough.
She didn’t intend to turn Hamish over to anyone. Nor would she be dragged back home to face the laird. Not even by the handsome axe-wielder who had somehow made his way unscathed through a rioting mass of cattle in a misguided attempt to rescue her.
He couldn’t protect her for long anyway. Any moment, one of the Boyles would recognize her and run tattling to her father.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
While the three fools were scuffling and swearing like suitors fighting over the same maid, she made a bold move.
Surging forward, she took hold of the axe handle in both hands and wrenched it out of the ground. Then she swung the heavy weapon in a wide arc toward the knot of brawling men.
They split apart at once, leaping back with yelps of surprise.
She stepped forward and swung again.
The Boyles squealed. Herbert staggered backwards. Gilbert fell on his arse.
“Hold on,” the Rivenloch warrior said, lifting one palm to her.
It was a brazen gesture. She could have lopped off his hand with her next swing. Not that she would have. Carenza wouldn’t harm a flea. But he didn’t know that.
“You don’t want blood on your hands,” he told her.
She wasn’t afraid of the Boyles. They were cowards. Already they were scrambling away, slipping on the wet grass in their panic.