Chapter 2 #2
They got onto the path unseen and ran lightly along it until they came to a shed.
He yanked her behind it after him and made her flatten herself against the wooden planks as they made their way to the far end of the building.
When they reached it he peered around the corner, checking for Sinclair’s men. His luck held: it was clear.
“All right, come on,” he urged her, pushing her in front of him onto the path. They had only gone a few steps further when Catriona let out a gasp and jerked violently backwards, her hand torn from his grip.
Malcolm pivoted on the balls of his feet, dirk posed.
A few feet away stood a heavily armed soldier wearing Sinclair colors.
He had one hand clamped around Catriona’s neck, while the other held a dagger pointed at her throat.
A cold chill ran down Malcolm’s spine, but he remained calm, meeting the soldier’s gaze unwaveringly.
“What have we here then?” the soldier asked, looking from Malcolm to Catriona and back with small, assessing eyes.
“If ye have any sense, ye’ll let her go,” Malcolm said quietly, moving infinitesimally closer.
The soldier grinned through yellowed teeth. “I dinnae ken who ye are, friend, but if ye dinnae back off, I’ll slit her throat,” he said, his blade waving dangerously close to Catriona’s eyes. They were fixed on Malcolm, full of fear and pleading.
Malcolm breathed and stepped forward another pace. “Nay, ye willnae. Yer maister will cut yer ballocks off and feed them tae his dogs if ye harm a hair on her head,” he countered reasonably.
The man’s bushy brows shot up. “So, this is the lass we’ve been searchin’ fer, is it? Thank ye, friend, I’m grateful tae ye. Looks like I’ll be keepin’ me ballocks and gettin’ a big reward from the boss fer findin’ her. I almost feel bad fer killin’ ye.”
“Dinnae be so hasty. How much does he pay ye in a twelvemonth, yer laird?” Malcolm asked, sidling nearer. “I’ll double it if ye give her tae me.”
The soldier seemed to consider it but then shook his head. “Nah, Laird Sinclair has promised a promotion tae the man who brings her tae him. That’s worth more tae?—”
He did not finish the sentence because Malcolm’s fist smashed into his mouth. The soldier dropped the dirk and staggered backwards, blood pouring from a split lip. Malcolm wrenched Catriona away from him and pushed her down the pathway, wanting her at a safe distance while the fighting happened.
“Run, Cat, run! Make for the orchard, I’ll meet ye there!” he whisper-shouted, turning to meet the soldier. The man had retrieved his blade and was wielding it as he charged at Malcolm.
“Ye bastard, I’ll cut ye tae pieces fer that!” he roared, stabbing viciously at Malcolm’s face and throat.
Malcolm grunted, dexterously dodging the blows.
At the same time, his left arm shot up, blocking the blade’s descending arc, knocking his foe off balance long enough for him to get a solid, two-hand grip on the man’s elbow joint.
Using all his bodyweight, he bent the arm backwards.
There was a sickening crunch. The soldier roared with pain, dropped his dirk again, then doubled over and vomited.
Malcolm brought up his own blade, and he was about to finish the fellow before he could raise the alarm when a slight movement to his right caught his eye. He flicked a fast glance in that direction, expecting another attacker, and did a double take.
To his amazement, Catriona was standing nearby, watching them fight. Anger at her disobedience flared inside him.
Did I nae tell her tae go?! And why is she starin’ like that?
“I told ye tae run!” he shouted at her, struggling to keep his eyes on her and his opponent at the same time. He noticed she had a small rock clutched in her fist.
What’s she daein’ with that?
Just then, she drew back her arm and flung the rock at the soldier with all her might. In disbelief, Malcolm tracked the missile, which hit the man’s injured arm, eliciting another yell of pain before it bounced off and landed in the bushes.
“What the hell dae ye think ye’re daein’?” Malcolm yelled at her, furious.
“I’m tryin’ tae help,” she shouted back, stooping to find another rock.
“Then dae as I tell ye and get out of here!” he roared, his anger waning for a moment in the face of her incredible, stupid courage. But when he thought of the danger she was in, it flared back up with fresh heat.
She daesnae trust me tae protect her, he realized, furious.
There was no time to check if she had obeyed him this time because Malcolm noticed his opponent was now scrabbling on the ground for his lost dirk.
He found it and snatched it up with a snarl.
Malcolm braced himself for a renewed attack, intending to dispatch the man quickly before his comrades heard his bellows of agony and came looking for him.
Maddened by pain and rage, the soldier charged at him again, slashing at him wildly.
Malcolm directed his fury with Catriona at his opponent and deftly ducked the barrage of blows.
He thrust upwards with his shoulder, blocking the blade’s trajectory, ramming into the man and knocking him backwards to the ground.
Malcolm was on him in a moment, grabbing a handful of hair, and yanking back his head to expose his throat.
With a quick slash of his dirk, he finished him off.
Panting, Malcolm threw the corpse to the ground and squatted next to it, extracting his dirk from its throat.
Heedless of the fountain of crimson which spattered his boots and trews, he used the dead man’s coat to clean his blade before rising.
The kill had done nothing to quell his anger with Catriona.
It bubbled hotly in his belly while he rose to his feet, stuck the blade into his belt with his own.
Figuring it would buy them a little more time, he dragged the body into the concealing bushes and kicked dirt over the pooling blood. That done, he scanned the immediate vicinity for any other enemy soldiers and was glad to see none.
But that could change anytime, so we’d best get movin’.
He turned to Catriona, intending to give her a piece of his mind.
But he pulled up short in surprise to find her standing beside him.
She looked down at the corpse then up at him, her face partially hidden beneath her hood.
He expected her to be shocked, frightened by the sight of blood and killing. But she showed no sign of it.
Is there somethin’ wrong with her? he wondered. Can she have changed so much from the lass who used tae cry over dead rabbits and nurse birds with broken wings back tae health? What happened tae her?
But he knew what had happened to her. Or rather, who.
That mad bastard Torcall Sinclair.