Chapter 7 #2
This man, however, seemed undaunted by the fact he was unarmed while she possessed a weapon that could split him in half.
He took one cautious step forward, and she shook the sharp blade before her in warning.
“Don’t be foolish,” he growled. “You don’t want to hurt anyone. Hand it o’er.”
Another time, she might have succumbed to the lethal power of his voice. He was right. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She wouldn’t even kill a spider.
But Hamish’s life was at stake.
She shook her head, refusing him.
“I won’t turn you in,” he promised.
She didn’t believe him. She jabbed the axe forward again.
He took a judicious step back.
“Why do you want the coo?” he demanded.
She clamped her lips shut. She didn’t have to tell him. He wouldn’t understand anyway.
Then he gave her a quizzical look and asked, “Do you know these lads?”
She paused, then gave him a subtle nod.
Then he raised his voice so the Boyles could hear. “These two,” he asked, “do they belong here?”
Carenza hesitated. She had a choice.
She could admit that the Boyles were indeed welcome on her father’s land. Though they’d always been a source of annoyance to Carenza, especially lately, they were amicable enough neighbors.
But they were up to some sort of mischief. Skulking around in the dark. Messing about with her father’s cattle. Bullying people half their size.
If they’d known who she was, they would have been mortified. But they didn’t. So she could command their fate as she willed.
She shook her head. Nay, they didn’t belong here.
The Boyles sent up a loud protest.
“Are ye goin’ to believe a cateran?” the beardless one complained.
His brother added, “When our da hears what ye’ve done—”
Hew silenced them with an upraised hand and spoke to her.
“I’ll make you a trade,” he offered, stepping forward.
She shoved the axe quickly toward him again, forcing him back.
He bit out a frustrated curse. Then he nodded toward Hamish. “Take the coo. Just give me that rope from around his neck. And leave me my axe. I’ll tie these two up. The laird can find them on the morrow.”
“What?” Herbert squeaked.
“Nay!” Gilbert bellowed. “We’ll freeze to death.”
“You can cuddle with the cattle,” the warrior called back over his shoulder. “They’ll keep you warm enough.”
The Boyles weren’t going to linger long enough to be tied up. They beat a hasty retreat, heading back toward the woods.
He turned to Carenza. “Are we agreed?”
His offer was tempting. He had an honest face. A noble bearing. Earnest eyes that seemed to pierce her soul.
She blinked. She shouldn’t trust him. Why would he simply let her go?
He nodded as if reading her mind. “I know you don’t trust me, lass,” he murmured. “But I’m a knight of Rivenloch, and I swear on my honor I will keep my word.”
She considered his oath. She believed the illustrious Rivenloch tournament champion, Sir Gellir, was probably a man of honor. But she knew nothing about the rest of the clan. They could be a pack of wild savages for all she knew.
Still, the passionate sincerity in his gaze…
“Pray make haste,” he urged. “They’re getting away.”
She decided she’d trust him enough to give him the rope. But not the axe.
She nodded. Then she made a slow retreat, brandishing the weapon before her, until she could reach Hamish’s head.
The man stayed obediently rooted to the spot while she ducked under Hamish’s horns and loosened the rope around his neck. But she kept her eye on him.
Once the rope was off, the man’s impatience showed. He waved his fingers toward her.
“Hurry, lass,” he said. “They’re halfway up the hill.”
But she had one more precaution to take. Something to ensure her safety.
She slipped the rope off Hamish’s horns with her left hand. But before she tossed the coil to the warrior, she reared back her right arm and, with all her might, hurled the axe as far as she could across the field.
It arced impressively through the sky, catching the moonlight on its sharp blade as it tumbled end over end before clattering onto the ground.
Ten yards away.
She sighed in exasperation.
He was too polite to comment, but she detected a gleam of amusement in his narrowed eyes.
After that, she may have thrown the rope at him with more force than was necessary.
His reflexes were good enough to keep it from smacking him in the chest. After he caught it, he hurried off after his quarry.
This was her chance to escape.
All things considered, the odds were still in her favor.
No one knew who she was.
She had the coo.
And tying up the Boyle brothers would keep the Viking occupied long enough for her to flee with Hamish.
It was tempting to retrieve his axe and keep it for herself. But she was a woman of her word. Besides, he was a Rivenloch warrior. While he might eventually lose interest in tracking a common cateran, he’d likely follow her to the ends of the earth to get his precious weapon back.
Nay, she’d proceed as planned. Just her and Hamish and the journey ahead.
Without the rope, she had to coil her fist in the thick hair of Hamish’s neck to guide him. It wasn’t ideal. The rope would have given her greater control. But she knew he would stay close. He would sense the slightest shift in her bearing and follow her without question.
With a whispered prayer for safe travels, she guided him onto the path through the mountains.
Centuries ago, a crack in the rock had widened into a deep ravine running alongside the narrow trail that traversed the stony slope.
As the path progressed, the steep shards of slick, moss-covered walls grew taller on one side and deeper on the other.
Anything dropped into the chasm was gone forever. Anything and anyone.
Stray lambs sometimes slipped into the ravine. Now and then, an unwary traveler stumbled and fell to his death. Children were warned away from the path. Still, every few years, some drunken lad lost his life trying to negotiate the path blindfolded on a dare from his fellows.
But tonight, the ravine’s treacherous nature made the route the perfect choice. No one with an ounce of sense—no one but intrepid Carenza—would attempt to take a great beast like Hamish through the perilous passage. And more importantly, no one would ever try to bring him back.
Containing the Boyles took longer than Hew anticipated. There was no loyalty lost between the brothers. One was perfectly willing to flee while his sibling was captured and tied to a tree.
Eventually, Hew chased and tackled the second brother and managed to secure them both. Then, annoyed by the bearded one’s incessant caterwauling about freezing to death, he tore off a piece of the lad’s leine and stuffed it into his mouth.
But now, the lady and her coo were long gone.
Still, he wouldn’t give up. The Boyles might not have recognized who she was, or even that she was a lass. But he knew. Which meant someone else would eventually find out. If news spread that the daughter of Dunlop was reiving her father’s cattle, it would bring shame upon her and her whole clan.
On the other hand, he’d promised he wouldn’t turn her in.
There was only one thing to do.
He blew out a determined breath, loping toward the spot she’d disappeared, pausing only to retrieve his axe.
There was a primitive footpath nestled against the mountain which led away from the field. That was where she’d been headed. It must be where she’d gone.
She couldn’t travel very quickly with a coo. There was a good chance he could catch her before she got too deep into the mountains.
Increasing his pace, he moved swiftly from the wide moonlit grassland to the narrow shadowed path. The trail sloped abruptly upward. But as he climbed, the mountain on his right rose even more steeply.
The moon, hidden now behind the mountain’s peak, provided no light. Only starlight illuminated the path, which constricted more with each step.
On his right loomed a sheer face of rock, carpeted with moss and fern.
To his left plunged a crevasse as black as peat. How deep it was, he couldn’t tell.
But the narrower the trail became, the higher it rose and the darker it got, the more he worried about Lady Carenza.
Had she really come this way with the great beast?
Did she realize how dangerous this path was?
As if to prove his point, his heel slipped on rubble, scraping perilously close to the edge of the abyss. A taunting trickle of pebbles dribbled down the side, fading far below.
“Shite,” he muttered in disgust.
Was this how his life would end? Would the fierce Sir Hew du Lac fall to his death, not in battle, but on a mountain pass, chasing after a lass with a coo?
He managed to regain his footing and braced himself against the wall.
Then his heart wrenched as a horrible thought knifed through his soul.
What if the lady hadn’t made it this far?
What if she’d already met with an unspeakable accident?
What if the beast had misstepped as he had?
What if it had tumbled headlong into the crevasse, dragging its mistress down to her death?
The bitter taste of terror filled his mouth. It was too awful to contemplate.
Instead, he shook off the fear and donned the scowl he wore into battle.
By God, he was Sir Hew du Lac. A Rivenloch warrior. Fear only fed his resolve.
Steeling his nerves, he blew out a determined breath, pushed away from the wall, and swung his axe up over his shoulder.
Unfortunately, the weapon never made it to his shoulder.
Instead, the blade caught on something—a root or a rock—beside him. The halted momentum made him stagger and lose his footing. He fell to one knee. As he tried to lever up with the other leg, the earth gave way beneath his boot, launching a hailstorm of rocks into the crevasse.
He slammed his left hand forward, grasping for purchase. But his palm scraped across the ground as his weight began to pull him over the crumbling edge.
Grimacing, he scrabbled at the slick growth for a handhold and found none.
His last prayer as the earth opened its dark maw to devour him was that the lady had not met a similar fate.