Chapter Twenty Eight
Hooves pounded the earth in the distance. One side of Ian’s lips upturned in a lazy smile. “I missed being a Saint.” Lowering his black hooded mask over his face, he glanced back at the others.
“Jo, keep back until we’ve subdued the warriors under Thane’s command.”
She nodded her assent. “Remember, those are my clansmen.” Brows drawn, her gaze darted to Nick.
“Jo, look at me.”
She did as Ian had bidden her.
“Ye needn’t fash yerself. We all understand what is at risk.”
She nodded and turned her horse around, heading higher up the ridge to safety.
Ian turned back around, his gaze scanning his fellow agents.
Their horses snorted and stomped at the ground.
“Saints, masks on,” he hissed. “Stick to the code. Ye’re called by yer saint’s name.
The warriors we charge at are not our true enemy.
Our aim is to steal away the abbot,” he said looking pointedly at Nick.
“Disarm, maim if ye must, but remember yerselves, lads...we’re thieves, not murderers. ”
Narrowing his eyes to see through the slits in his mask, he scanned the ribbon of road beyond the trees. The coach they’d been tracking, which bore the seal of Haddington Abbey, careened into view along with nine Fergusson warriors, plus the driver.
Ramsay nosed his horse forward, stopping beside Ian. “Which one is Thane?”
“I don’t see him. He must be in the coach.” Ian stretched his neck to one side and then the other. He took up his reins. “Saints, let’s ride!”
He kicked his horse in the flanks and reached the roadside at a gallop and met the Fergusson warriors head on.
One thought raced through his mind—these were his kinsmen now.
Steel rang in a harsh clash. Fury swept through him, but he kept it in check.
One warrior charged at him. He parried, then swung.
The flat side of his sword slammed his attacker’s forearm.
The warrior’s blade dropped to the ground.
One warrior disarmed.
Ian swung around, parrying another blow. He sliced his sword down, knocking his attacker’s blade to the ground.
Another warrior disarmed.
Sword raised high, he readied for the next assault, but only a cloud of dust stirred.
He scanned the saints—none injured, all had kept their seats.
Then he eyed the warriors on the ground.
Some were clutching minor wounds, but none were dead.
With a grunt of approval, Ian swung down from his horse.
The other Saints followed. The defeated men’s eyes flashed wide, and they scurried back to the carriage, which had been driven into a ditch.
In the early light of day, Ian knew they were a terrific sight with their great height and black hooded masks.
Ian turned to Ramsay and David, “St. James and St. Michael, secure the carriage. Get the abbot.”
With a nod, Ramsay stormed over to the carriage with David following just behind.
Next, Ian motioned to Nick. “St. George, gather the weapons.”
Then Ian turned to Paul. “St. Martin...” Ian took a deep breath and locked eyes with Thane, whom David had just pulled from the carriage. “Hold him and keep him away from me!”
“Ye’re d...d...demons,” Thane stammered,
“Nay,” Nick growled, storming at Thane.
“St. George,” Ian warned. “Stick to the code!”
Nick seized Thane’s tunic in his fist, snatching him away from Paul. “We’re not demons. We’re Saints!” he snarled through his mask, then shot his fist up, slamming Thane under his chin. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground.
An instant later, Jo rode down the slope.
Ian smiled at her, although he knew she couldn’t see. “I told ye Saint George has grown soft.”
THERE WAS A PART OF Jo, the part that seethed with fury at Thane’s betrayal, that wished Nick was still as vicious as ever and had done as he’d threatened at the Harborage, slicing Thane from stem to stern.
But when she dismounted from her horse, she drew a deep breath and remembered the Saint’s code.
She passed by Thane’s crumpled form without a second glance.
The person truly weighing on her mind was the abbot.
She hurried to the carriage, peered inside and, to her surprise, spied three men with burlap sacks on their heads, crammed together on the same seat, their bodies twisted awkwardly. None spoke, but each emitted strangled noises that were further muffled by the sacks.
“What’s the delay?” Ian called.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “He tied their wrists to the counterbalance.” Turning back, she bit her lip while she watched Ramsay and David attempt to slice through their bindings.
“Is Thane dead yet?” David gritted. “Because if he’s not, I claim the honor. These ropes are carving into their wrists.” Then he leaned back. “Blast this damn mask! I can hardly see!”
“Keep it on, St. Michael,” Ramsay warned him. “Stick to the code.”
Jo scanned the prisoners; two wore hose while the other wore the robes of a monk. Reaching out, she whisked the rough fabric off the abbot’s head. He squinted against the light and struggled to speak.
“He’s gagged!”
“Jo,” Ian called to her.
She backed out of the carriage and met his gaze. “Allow me to help,” he said, brandishing a small dirk.
She nodded and stepped aside. Ian leaned into the carriage, and after a few short moments, the abbot emerged. Angry gashes marred his wrists, and the edges of his mouth looked cracked and sore, but otherwise, he seemed in good health.
“Abbot Matthew!”
“I’m all right, Lady Josselyn.”
“Lady Josselyn!”
Jo whirled around. Ten Fergusson warriors were laying on their stomachs, face down with their hands on the backs of their heads while Nick paced in front of them.
“Who said that?”
“I did,” the one nearest to her blurted.
“I don’t remember giving ye permission to speak,” Nick snarled.
“Stand down, St. George. Remember, these are my men. They were not aware of Thane’s treachery.” She rushed to the man’s side. “Ye may rise.”
He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes widened and filled with unmistakable reverence. “It is ye!”
She nodded and swallowed hard against the sudden knot in her throat. “Forgive me, but I do not remember yer name.”
“I am Hamish, the captain’s youngest brother.”
Jo smiled. “Of course.”
Tears flooded his eyes, and he squeezed her hand. “Are ye truly here, my lady?”
She nodded and gently tugged on his arm. “Please rise.”
Hamish stared cautiously at Nick. “Who are these...men?”
She glanced at Nick, who was glaring down at Hamish through the slits in his nightmarish mask. “Ye’ve naught to fear, Hamish. They’re Scotland’s heroes. If ye’re loyal to me and loyal to Scotland, they will not harm ye.”
“I am,” Hamish said fervently. “We all are, everyone of us. In fact, we just marched on the house of a corrupt abbot who betrayed yer father. Thane can tell ye himself.” His gaze scanned the roadside and carriage, then settled on Abbot Matthew.
His eyes flashed wide. “’Tis him, there.
He betrayed yer father. Thane can tell ye...
” His words trailed off when he spied Thane unconscious on the ground.
Jo sought Hamish’s gaze. “Thane lied to ye. He was the one who betrayed my father.” She looked at the rest of the men still lying on ground. “Rise warriors of Clan Fergusson!”
Slowly, her kinsmen stood, their expressions fluctuating between awe and terror, depending upon whom they set their gazes. “The abbot is innocent.”
Hamish made the sign of the cross. “Then we kidnapped a man of the cloth?” He dropped to his knees. “Dear Heavenly Father, forgive us!”
“Ye needn’t be afraid,” Jo soothed, helping Hamish, once again, to his feet. “Thane is to blame, and he, alone, will be held responsible. If my father were here—”
“He is here!”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Jo whirled around. Ian lumbered out of the carriage, supporting one of the other men to the ground. She could see now that his hose were badly tattered, and a tangled mess of straggly brown hair further obscured his downturned face. Suddenly dizzy, she stumbled back.
Nick grabbed her. “I’ve got ye.”
She straightened, her heart pounding. Could it be?
“Da?” The word came out hoarse, choked from her throat.
The man slowly raised his head, his hair stiffly falling away from his face. “Josselyn,” he croaked.
A sob tore from her throat. She rushed forward and threw her arms around him. “Da!” she cried again and again.
“Be careful,” she heard Ian warn her. “He’s badly hurt.”
She pulled away, searching her father’s face.
The slightest smile curved his lips. “I’ll be all right now. I’ve got my wee lass.” Tears leaked from the slits of his eyes, which squinted against the light. He wrapped her in one tremulous arm. He was painfully thin. She could feel his spine and ribs jutting through the skin of his back.
“Oh, Da!” She hugged him again, only gentler this time, and she cried unabashedly, tears of joy and of sorrow. Her father was battered and broken, but he was alive!
“Lady Josselyn!”
She pulled away slightly from her father’s embrace to see who spoke.
A young man with wheat colored hair and a spattering of freckles, stood next to Ramsay, who looked even larger than usual, standing next to the lad.
She knew the young man instantly. He was Ruby’s younger brother.
“Samuel!” Brows drawn, she reached out to take his hand. “How came ye to be here?”
Squinting against the bright sunshine, he rubbed his head. “Thane took a club to me.”
Her eyes flashed wide. “But why?”
“I saw him leave the keep. It was getting late. The sun was beginning to set. I...I followed him into the woods.” Samuel gripped his head in his hands.
“He was on his knees gazing down into what looked like a pit of some kind. I came up behind him and asked him if he needed my help, and he turned on me.” He shook his hand.
“That’s all I remember.” Then he took her hand.
“But, my lady, ye’re here, standing before my very eyes.
” Then Samuel’s gaze shifted to her father, and his eyes shot wide.
“My laird,” he exclaimed and dropped to one knee, but he groaned again, gripping his head between his hands.
“I appreciate the gesture, lad,” Malcom rasped. “But give yer head a rest.”
“Listen, we all have a lot to talk about,” Ian chimed in.
Jo turned and met his sky-blue gaze, visible through the slits of his mask.
“But let us save our catching up for the carriage ride home.” He turned to Ramsay.
“St. James, help Samuel and Laird Fergusson back into the carriage.” Then he turned to Paul.
“St. Martin, give the Fergusson warriors back their swords and help them round up their horses. St. Michael, bind Thane’s hands. ”
“Gladly,” David said with relish.
“Then secure him to one of the horses,” Ian continued. “Ye have the pleasure of escorting him to Toonan.” Then Ian’s gaze shifted to Nick. “Saint George, ride for Durham. Someone there needs a full accounting of all that has transpired.”
Nick gave a curt nod before turning on his heel and walking toward his horse.
“Wait, St. George,” Jo cried and hastened to his side. “There is a young baker named Joseph. He keeps a stand in the very heart of the market square. Will ye tell him that Jo said thank ye for his many kindnesses.”
Nick dipped his head in acknowledgment of her request.
“Thank ye,” she said. Turning on her heel, she started to walk away, but then she jerked around. “Wait, there is one more thing I wish ye to say to him.” A smile curved her lips. “Tell him that my name is Josselyn.”