Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (31 page)

Lachlann's voice, deep and sure among the others, had drawn her there. In the three days since Colin's return, she had scarcely seen him; Alpin told her he had gone to see Mairi and the charcoal burner at the other end of the loch. He returned so late on the third night that she already slept, although the ringing of the hammer woke her briefly, long before dawn.

Distraught herself, she sensed his anger, too, and she regretted finding no moment to speak with him about what had given her a little hope. Now he turned to look at her, his eyes piercing blue even across the yard.

She called to the dogs, and Lachlann, who stood with Robson, ordered them back to the house with an efficient command. To her surprise, they obeyed, even little Grainne, who cocked her head at the tall man and then went scurrying after Solas.

"You are going out on another patrol," she observed as Robson turned to greet her. Men led horses out of the stable, with weapons lashed to the saddles. She frowned. "So soon after the last one? Has something happened?" With a growing sense of alarm, she glanced at Lachlann, who watched her steadily.

"A messenger came from Sir Colin at Strathlan," Robson said. "The MacArthurs stole eight cows from his lands last night, and he wants the rebels caught."

"He just arranged their pardon!" she exclaimed. She looked around. "Where is Colin? I would speak with him!"

"He is not here. He sent word that he has gone to Perth for a few days. His message said that the men should be taken and held, and he will attend to the matter when he returns."

"Their pardon is not in place yet," Lachlann added curtly. "Cattle thieving is a crime, not a prank. Sir Colin is not the sort to overlook that—not even to indulge his bride." His gaze and his manner were distinctly cool.

She lifted her chin at that, though she could not deny it.

"Lady Eva, if we do find them, it may go ill for them," Robson said. "I am sorry to tell you so."

"Fire and sword?" Eva asked in alarm.

"Not this time, but we must escalate our search. MacKerron, whenever you are ready." He nodded briskly and walked away.

"Ready?" Eva whirled. "You mean to go out on patrol after my brother and his men?"

"I do. But I know what I am doing."

"How can you follow orders to harm my kinsmen?"

"Harm them? I mean to find them," he said calmly. "You will not tell me where they are hiding."

"I agreed to that to protect them!"

"I am trying to protect them as well," he said between his teeth. "Better I find them than some of these men. Robson does not care for this task, but he will do his duty. If you know where Simon is, for love of God, tell me."

"I am never sure where he is from one day to the next."

"Then I must find him myself, before these men do, with or without your help. I have to get my gear." He strode back to the smithy, banging the door behind him.

Panic rising, Eva hurried toward Robson, wending her way through the throng of men and horses. "John Robson," she called. "Some of these men are my own kinsmen."

He turned. "I understand that, but they are acting outside the law. We have little choice, pardon or none. Sir Colin is concerned about his property and that of his neighbors, who have all suffered damage because of your rebellious kinsmen. The MacArthurs risk losing whatever pardon and good graces they might gain through your marriage."

Eva saw Lachlann striding back toward the stable. He had donned his mirror-bright steel cuirass and was buckling the waist as he walked. His dark hair hung down to frame his jaw, and a long midnight blue cloak swept over his shoulders.

She caught her breath for an instant, remembering the sight of him at her door in the moonlight, looking like a faery rider. But there was nothing magical about him now as he prepared to ride after her brother and her kinsmen. She scowled.

"Your garron has been saddled, MacKerron," Robson said.

"Where do you plan to patrol tonight?" Eva asked.

"The raids have been in the northwest lately, so we will ride in that direction," Robson said. "The weather is clear, and the nights grow dark earlier, so the raids have increased."

"The wind is brisk from the north," Lachlann said. "Raiders might venture south rather than into the face of such a wind."

"A good point, but first we will ride into the hills. They were sighted there most recently." Robson walked away to speak with his men, and Lachlann turned to Eva.

"Go inside and lock your door."

"Why are you going with them, after my brother?"

"Your brother, and my friend," he said quietly. "I told you I intend to find them. But I want you to lock yourself inside."

She lifted her chin. "Do not worry about me, smith."

"Eva," he said, a little wearily, "I think I will always worry about you."

Touched by his remark, she hesitated, then made a quick decision. "You know the waterfall that cuts through the gorge up high, that we call the Mare's White Tail."

He nodded. "I remember. There are caves near it."

"If Robson and the men ride that way... men might be hiding in those caves. Send Robson another way. Please, Lachlann."

He regarded her for a moment. "Go inside," he repeated brusquely and strode toward the stable, his cloak billowing behind him.

* * *

Lachlann expected her to keep to the house, but a fair warning, swiftly delivered, might save lives tonight. Even if Lachlann found her brother on his own, he might be followed.

She watched in the gathering twilight as the men rode away, Lachlann mounted beside Robson, who gestured toward the great ring of hills that rose behind the smithy lands.

Simon and his men were hiding in those very hills. That, if nothing else, decided her.

Hastily she changed out of her gown and chemise into the belted plaid, trews, and shirt that she used for sword practices, and tucked her braid inside the shirt. Then she took from beneath the mattress the old steel sword and leather scabbard that Alpin had lent her for her defense if she should ever need it. Although she hoped never to have to fight a man, despite her training, tonight she would be glad of its protection.

Looping the scabbard to her belt, she left the dogs resting by the hearth and slipped outside. The sky deepened to indigo, and the sunset was a bright band of color behind the dark hills.

Steadying the scabbard with one hand, she ran at a fast pace until she attained the first hill. She skimmed its base to reach the hill behind it and began to climb. The rugged slope was wooded and slippery with leaves. Although the incline could be treacherous, especially as the light faded, she knew a hidden path and proceeded carefully.

On another face of the hill, an easier path allowed access for horses, but this rough route was shortest. Eva could hear the thunder of hoofbeats in the hills, and knew that Robson and his men came near the area where Simon and his men were hiding.

Pausing on a shale outcrop, she looked around at the layered shapes and slopes of rock, hill, and forest. The great loch spread below, mirroring the rich colors of the sunset. Narrowing her eyes, she glimpsed horsemen riding along the floor of the glen, armor glinting like stars. They must have spread out, she realized, into the hills and along the glen.

Farther up the slope, she saw the plume of a slender waterfall spilling out of the dark, rocky scree above the wooded lower part of the hill. Simon had set up a temporary camp in one of the well-concealed caves up there.

Climbing higher, so that her breath burned in her chest, she ran between clumps of pale birches and taller trees, her footsteps crushing fallen leaves, so that she could not move silently. She kept the high mass of rock in sight, with the milky tail of water splicing its face.

Then she heard shouts and crashing footsteps, and saw the gleam of steel between the trees. She ducked behind a pine and saw three soldiers walking nearby.

Slipping along to hide behind another tree trunk, she watched the men, who did not see her. To reach the caves, she had to cross an open area. When the men turned away, she dashed out of the shadows and ran diagonally across the wooded slope.

"Halt!" a male voice called. "Hold, boy!"

She stepped into the shelter of some pines and waited breathlessly. Then, brushing boughs away, she moved forward and stopped. The men were nearby, close and without warning. They must have doubled back to meet her route. They shouted and advanced, swords drawn.

Eva's blood ran cold. Dropping her left foot back in a wary stance, she drew her sword almost without thinking, her knees flexible, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. She lifted the sword in her right hand, raising her left in a guarding position as she moved sideways.

The men moved with her, three parts of the circle she completed. Two of them were tall and large men, swords and armor gleaming, and the third was quick, armed with an axe. She hardly looked at the shadowed faces beneath their helmets, intent on the slithering light along the blade edges that tilted toward her.

"Hold, boy," one of them said.

She stepped to the side again, and they went with her. If she ran, she would be caught, for the men were long-legged and fit. Better, she knew, to defend herself facing them directly, ready and trained for the encounter.

She had never thought to draw a sword and face an armed man in earnest, let alone three at once. Now the moment had come with heart-stopping suddenness.

"Hold," one of the men said again. "Who are you?"

"What are you doing here?" another asked, and poised his sword at an angle that would cut at her lower legs if she attempted to flee. The third soldier lunged forward, axe raised.

Bending her knees, she canted her sword tip upward. The man with the axe came toward her, and she swept her blade down to push aside the long handle of the axe. Then she skittered backward, flexing her fingers on her sword hilt, balancing her left hand out to the side. None of the men had shields, and though she sometimes trained with one, she lacked one as well. What she most needed, and did not have, was protective gear; she would have to rely on skill and deftness alone.

A taller man stepped toward her, turning his edge deftly to catch her blade with a clanking sound. As he deflected the tip and pushed her blade aside, she almost lost her grip. Her practices with Alpin had been controlled, every move studied and repeated. Now she needed strength, swiftness, and clear thought. But her heart raced, and her thoughts went strangely blank.

Those endlessly repeated drills served her well, for stances and blade handling were ingrained in her. She lifted to strike, moving in a circular pattern, and the tall man rounded with her. To either side, she saw the others advancing.

Quick and clever, she moved out of range before they could lash out at her or her blade. The second man jabbed at her, his style coarse and blunt compared to the swift ease of the tallest knight. Her diagonal lunge took her out of the path of his downstrike. Letting her blade swing behind her shoulder, she defended her back and moved away again. Turning, blade weaving and wary, free hand extended for balance, she faced them.

The man with the axe lunged close, and his short, deadly edge clipped her blade. She felt the vibration of the blow in her shoulder and back as she stepped sideways. Then the tallest knight swung at her, but the arc of his strike was slow, firm, and relaxed, not a blow meant to harm. She blocked it easily.

"Good," he said as if in approval. Surprised, she countered as he swung from overhead, slow and controlled. "Good," he said again. He turned to the other two. "I can take this one easily," he said. "He is but a lad. It is pointless for us to use three men to fight this one boy. Go ahead, and I will catch up to you." While he spoke, he kept his sword angled and ready to meet Eva in flesh or steel if she tried to move.

The two soldiers hurried off, and the tall knight turned toward her, sword raised. Eva had paused, staring at him.

"I do not wish to harm you, boy. Stop now, and we will talk." He spoke in Gaelic, which none of Robson's men spoke well. Unable to see him clearly in the darkness, she knew that brown velvet voice, felt its thrum inside her.

Lachlann lifted his sword and swept the blade toward her.

Stunned, thrown off momentarily, she stepped through another rote movement of strike and counterstrike, and followed him in a slow dance of swords.

* * *

The boy moved like a wildcat, intent and lithe. Lachlann circled warily, with no intent to harm. He assumed that the fellow was a young MacArthur, given the furtive behavior suited to a rebel, and the glimpse he had seen of dark hair and a finely shaped face. Some MacArthur males had almost pretty features, a cause for some teasing in better times.

Which lad this was, he did not know. The Glen Fhionn MacArthurs all looked alike, he thought testily. This one had the same features as most of them, including Eva—

Damn.
He stared through the shadows, halting his step. What the devil was Eva doing dressed as a boy, and where had she learned to handle a sword? Frowning, he realized that Alpin must have taught her.

He had sent the guards away so that he could convince the boy that he was no threat. Now, as Eva backed toward a cluster of pine trees, he decided to play along to discover her game. He advanced as she retreated, holding his sword at a controlled but threatening angle.