Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Aye, that’s right. He sent us tae fetch ye. As the last livin’ Grant heir, he’s certain ye’d wish tae ally with him in the fight tae take back yer birthright from the MacDonalds.”
Raven thought of her uncle, her mother’s brother, and her mouth turned down.
Memories came flooding back, unpleasant ones.
Made orphans at an early age, Cody had been forced to take on the heavy mantle of Laird Grant at the tender age of twelve.
Clearly too young to rule himself, Uncle Herman had obligingly stepped in as guardian and political advisor, acting as de facto laird of the clan until Cody reached his majority.
At the same time, he had become Raven’s guardian too.
Herman’s grip on Cody during those years had been absolute and inescapable, with Cody grateful for his uncle’s guidance, following him blindly.
In her eyes, her uncle was to blame for turning her sweet, funny brother into an arrogant, entitled man with a fatal obsession that had dragged them into war with the MacDonalds and their allies.
It had been different for Raven. Being a girl, her uncle had spared her little time and no true affection, using her when it suited him as a tool to control Cody.
Intelligent and insightful, she had quickly seen through the man’s benevolent fa?ade to the cold, scheming heart beneath, realizing he was a man who lusted after power and exploited Cody’s youth and inexperience to his own purpose.
Moreover, this meant that after the defeat and Cody’s death, he had deserted them, gone who knew where, taking men who had fought with him, leaving her and the rest of the clan undefended, at the mercy of the MacDonalds. He was a vile traitor!
On a more personal level, he had never allowed her any freedom for herself, leaving her with indelible scars which, over time, had hardened into a deep resentment of any man who would dictate her fate as he had tried to do.
It was that deep, burning resentment which surfaced now and blotted out her fear.
“So, me uncle thinks I’ll throw me lot in with him, daes he, the traitor?” she said, letting the bitterness show.
“Aye, of course,” the man replied, sounding confident. “Ye share a common goal, defeatin’ the MacDonalds and throwin’ them out of our lands. And yer flight tells me he’s right. Ye hate the MacDonalds as much as he daes. Why else would ye flee from weddin’ Daemon MacDonald?”
Raven could not argue with that, but her uncle had miscalculated.
“Aye, I hate the MacDonalds, and ’tis true I’m fleein’ from a forced weddin’,” she answered. “But I despise me uncle just as much as the MacDonalds, so ye can tell him I’d rather die than go anywhere near him.”
The man’s head jerked up beneath the hood, eyes glinting as they fixed on her, his mouth a thin line.
Raven went on, anger making her bold. “The man’s a traitor tae the clan, a betrayer, and a bloody thief.
’Tis because of him that this terrible fate has befallen me and me people.
If he wasnae such a yellow-bellied cur who stole half our fortune and then our army and ran off, desertin’ us tae save his own skin, then the MacDonalds would never have triumphed, and me brither would still be alive! ”
“Yer uncle has made strategic retreat with as many men as would follow him, intendin’ tae regroup and fight another day,” the man defended his master.
“Ye’re loyal at least, but ye’re a fool tae place yer hopes in that villain.
Ye’d best go back tae him,” Raven answered with studied coldness learned from Herman himself, “and remind him that with me brither dead, he has nay claim over Clan Grant nor me. I ken very well he wants tae use me fer his own ends, which is why joinin’ with him is the last thing I’d ever dae. ”
Despite not knowing what she would do or where she would go without Todd to protect her from the hazards of journeying alone—returning to the castle was obviously out of the question—she lifted her chin and added in her best imperial tone, “Now, leave me be and go on yer way, so I can be on mine.”
“I’m afraid that willnae be possible,” the hooded man replied. “Me orders are tae take ye tae yer uncle whether ye want tae come or nae.”
His words struck a fresh chill in Raven’s heart. “I told ye, I’m nae comin’ with—” she started. But the hooded man had already turned from her and was walking away towards his horse. “Bring her,” he said to his men over his shoulder.
Overwhelmed again by fear, she shrank away as two of the men advanced on her, while the other ran to his horse and fetched a rope, clearly meaning to bind her. With no way to defend herself, she shrank back.
“Dinnae lay a hand on me, ye cannae force me tae go with ye,” she hissed, making ready to lift her skirts and plunge into the darkness.
Knifeman chuckled, and the other two grinned as they came for her. “I think ye’ll find we can, lass. Now, will ye come quietly or dae we have tae bind ye?” he said, obviously enjoying himself. Their leader stood by his mount a few feet away, watching silently.
“Stay back, dinnae touch me!” she shouted, her heart pounding in her ears.
Realizing she was powerless but determined not to be taken, she grabbed her skirts and took to her heels as fast as she could, hoping to lose them in the darkness.
But she got no more than few feet before two of them seized her by the arms and began dragging her back.
“Get off me, let me go, ye brutes!” she shouted, struggling with all the strength she had to free herself, eliciting laugher and curses. When the third one approached, leading the chestnut mare with a rope in his hands, panic took hold. She fought even harder.
“Help! Help! Someone please help me!” she yelled, letting out a series of piercing screams that echoed through the night.
“Ye there, stop and let the lassie go!” The sharp command cut across the air, stopping Raven’s captors in their tracks, putting them instantly on alert.
“Who the devil is that?” the leader hissed, then to the men. “Shut her up and hold on tae her!”
The hand on Raven’s arm dug cruelly into her flesh and a hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her screams, making it hard to breathe as she was pressed into her captor’s body.
All four men drew their weapons as they silently peered about into the darkness, trying to locate the source of the voice. In the stillness, the sound of steady hoofbeats and the jingle of a harness, muffled by the fog, floated to Raven’s ears like the sound of music. A rider was approaching!
Above the restraining hand crushing her mouth, Raven’s eyes searched the darkness in the direction of the sounds as they drew nearer, hope flickering to life in her breast.
’Tis a miracle that someone heard me screams and came tae answer them.
She silently prayed that whoever was out there was bringing deliverance and not more peril.
She gasped as a huge shadow appeared out of the misty darkness, resolving into rider and horse.
As they came nearer, Raven made out a tall, broad-shouldered stranger in dark clothing, sword in hand.
Seeing them, he reined in sharply and in one fluid movement slid easily from the saddle.
He strode towards them, posture relaxed yet alert.
A couple of yards away, he stopped, planting his boots a few feet apart.
Raven stared at the huge man, whose features were hidden in shadow, and felt a strange shiver run through her body. His presence was commanding, he radiated power, so much that even her captors seemed to momentarily falter.
“I said let go of the lass,” the behemoth said in a calm, gravelly voice.
“I strongly advise ye tae keep yer nose out, stranger. This is nae yer business,” said the hooded man tightly.
The stranger’s eyes were dark pools of shadow, yet Raven could feel them on her, and her skin prickled. “When I hear a lass screamin’ like that, I figure it makes it me business,” he said.
“Like the man said, ye’d best back off and nae stick yer snout where ’tis nae wanted if ye want tae live,” Knifeman suddenly snarled. His companions flanked him, closing ranks against the intruder, protecting their prize, blades poised.
The behemoth ignored the threat and replied in the same calm tone, “I’ve told ye twice already tae let the lassie go. I’ll give ye one more chance tae dae as I say.”
“Or what, ye—” Knifeman started to jeer, stepping forward, blade raised.
What happened next was so quick it took Raven’s breath away.
The stranger suddenly lunged forward, and, as though his sword was an extension of his arm, made the barest movement with its tip.
When he moved back, Raven gasped to see Knifeman’s throat open in an obscene grin and blood well up from the wound to pour down his front.
Knifeman went down right in front of her, gurgling, clutching at his throat before collapsing to one side and lying still.
Time seemed to stop for a fraction of a moment, then erupted in a rush as the other soldiers reacted.
“Why, ye bastard, I’ll kill ye fer that!
” spat the hooded man, charging at the stranger with a furious roar, sword held high for attack.
At the same moment, the soldier who had tried to jump Todd leapt forward to attack as well.
Raven’s captor, the one whose hand she had injured, released his hand from her mouth and, before she knew what was happening, quickly transferred his grasp from her neck and buried his hand cruelly in her hair, forcing her to back away.
Though she gasped in pain, she could not tear her eyes from the stranger, marveling at the lithe poise with which he easily blocked the hooded man’s sword with his own at the same time as landing a mighty kick in the other soldier’s belly that sent him sprawling onto his back with a thud and a sharp cry.
In the moment before he hit the ground, the stranger’s left arm darted forward and seemed to punch the hooded man in his exposed chest. It was only when his arm pulled back that Raven glimpsed the dirk in his fist. The hooded man, wearing a look of surprise, clutched his chest and began to topple forward.
The stranger did not wait for him to fall but lunged forward at his sprawling comrade and, without hesitation, plunged his sword into his throat.
A scream muffled by blood tore from the man’s mouth before he jerked violently then quickly expired.
With a twisting flourish, the stranger pulled out his sword, his powerful body already turning towards Raven and her captor. Facing them now, he slipped the dirk deftly into his belt and hefted his dripping sword on one huge fist, long, muscular legs braced.
Raven’s breath caught, not only from the explosion of cold brutality playing out before her, but also from the contained control, perfect balance, and precision of the stranger’s movements.
Obviously, he was a skilled warrior, one capable of felling three armed, trained soldiers without so much as breaking a sweat or letting out a ragged breath.
Who is this man?
Clearly badly rattled, her captor tightened his grip on her hair, making her cry out in pain. He yanked her close to his chest, waving the tip of his blade in the vicinity of her throat. Clearly intending to use her as a human shield, he forced her backwards.
“Get back, ye bastard and let me go on me way or I’ll slit her throat,” he snarled at the warrior.
“Let the lassie go and I might let ye live,” the stranger retorted in a low growl that chilled Raven’s marrow only a little less than the blade hovering near her throat.
As she was dragged backwards, the stranger followed, pacing their every step slowly with the intensity of a mountain lion stalking prey.
“Ye lie,” the soldier panted, jerking Raven painfully by the hair again.
“I have nay intention of dyin’ today, but if ye dinnae back off right now, she will.
” But his threat had no effect on the stranger, who continued to bear down on them.
“I mean it, I’ll kill her!” her captor roared past her ear, making her jump out of her skin.
Terrified and in pain as she was, Raven kept her eyes on the stranger’s shadowed face as she was violently jerked backwards, silently pleading with him to save her before her near hysterical captor carried out his threat.
But he only paced them, and she had almost given up hope when, in a lightening move, he suddenly darted forward and knocked her captor’s sword out of his hand with his own.
The jarring shock made her captor’s savage hold on her hair loosen.
He flailed uselessly after the weapon, and in that instant, the stranger’s other arm shot forward, his hand gripped Raven’s forearm and pulled her free of the other man’s grasp, yanking her towards him.
She cannoned into a broad chest as solid as a wall and sort of bounced off it.
But his hold on her arm remained, steadying her as she tottered, willing her shaking legs to hold her up.
Together, they watched her captor turn and stagger into the darkness.
Dazed and shaken by her ordeal, Raven wanted to ask why the stranger was letting the man live when he could so easily have finished him off.
But for several moments, she could not move or speak.
Her breath came in short, shallow pants, while her heart hammered wildly in her chest.
Did that really just happen? Did I just escape death by inches at the hands of this stranger?