Page 96 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
Chapter 22
Catherine closed her eyes in a brief prayer of thanksgiving at the sound of Duncan’s voice, before it dawned on her that he didn’t appear—which probably meant he hadn’t come with a large contingent of men. Or was it a trick? She couldn’t know—and the sheriff couldn’t know, either. The two mercenaries who hadn’t gone on patrol drew their swords and pistols.
Sheriff Welcker’s smile grew slowly. “Why, Carlyle, is that yourself, come to me at last? I couldn’t have used the girl for any better result.”
“Let her and the children go and I’ll let ye live,” called Duncan.
The sheriff chuckled. “Show yourself and we’ll discuss it like gentlemen.”
Finn slid her hand into Cat’s, and they glanced at each other with worry.
“Throw down your pistols,” Duncan demanded. “I don’t want a stray bullet harming your captives.”
As the sheriff began to laugh, a shot rang out, so close that he ducked.
“Or the pistols of my men can harm ye,” Duncan added.
The sheriff tossed aside his pistols, then nodded to the mercenaries, who reluctantly did the same.
Duncan appeared from between two trees, his claymore ready but held relaxed. The sheriff drew his sword.
Cat met Duncan’s gaze across the expanse of the beach, and she felt something swell up inside her—gratitude, surely. He wore only his belted plaid and his shirt, as if his coat would hinder him. The wind caught his sleeves, and the folds of plaid, but Duncan himself stood like a rock, tall, masculine, determined. She might not trust him about some things, but she knew he would never abandon her and the children. His glance for her was brief and betrayed no emotion, but something passed between them and she was grateful for it.
Duncan eyed the sheriff. “I thought I’d lure ye into the open, and it happened at last.”
The sheriff threw his arms wide. “This is the open? I see a deserted beach with my men all around.”
“I see ye with your hands dirty in the ugly theft of children.”
“‘Ugly theft?’ What harsh words—and untrue.”
Cat gasped.
“I’m saving these children,” Sheriff Welcker insisted.
“Saving them?” Duncan repeated in disbelief. “Are ye trying to make noble your greed?”
“No doubt the money is welcome, and I damned well deserve it after the poverty-stricken childhood I had. But who better to know what these children are suffering here, than me? In America, they’ll only be indentured for seven years. They’ll learn a trade, have a chance to better themselves, far more than they ever would in the Highlands. Ye think returning them to their cursed families is better?”
“Ye’re mad,” Duncan said bitterly. “I have witnesses as to what ye’ve done, but I didn’t have your participation. I do now.”
“Ye won’t live long enough for that to happen.”
“And you think ye’ll kill me?” Duncan scoffed. “Without your pistol, ye’re not even a man.”
The sheriff’s sword came up. “I can defeat a coward skulking in the brush easily enough.”
“Do ye think so?” Duncan asked softly. “Shall we see what ye can do?”
Cat wanted to call his name, warn him about how many sailors were on the ship, how many mercenaries lingered in the woods. This was madness. There were surely no other clansmen, and the sheriff knew it as well. He was simply toying with Duncan. She wanted to believe that Duncan was toying with him, but couldn’t let herself. Even the children were silent, watching the tableau.
Sheriff Welcker impatiently waved back his men as he approached Duncan across the rocky beach. The well-trained mercenaries didn’t leave Cat or the children, frustrating her chance to lead the children into the woods. Instead, she watched the sheriff and Duncan circle each other. The sheriff was lean, but there was a wiry strength to him, and without any sense of decency or a conscience, he might be a formidable opponent.
But Duncan was a Highlander, a warrior who believed in defending his people more than benefiting himself. As an outlaw, he could have fled to the continent, sold his sword arm as a mercenary, lived a better life than here. But instead, he hid in a cave near his people so that he could keep them safe. Much as Cat detested what he’d done to her, she knew and appreciated his strengths.
When the sheriff thrust out his sword, and Duncan parried it and slid to the side with the skill of a dancer, she took a gasping breath. For long moments, she didn’t even hear the sound of breathing, only the clash of metal and the grunts of the sheriff as he tried to parry Duncan’s slashes. Duncan’s face showed narrow-eyed concentration, and his claymore flashed reflections of sunlight as he moved it with precision. Slowly the sheriff gave ground. When the man fell to one knee, Duncan waited. With a grimace of anger, the sheriff came up thrusting low. Duncan jumped over his blade, slashing sideways in a move that the sheriff barely repelled before it could slice off his arm.
One sound at last broke Cat’s concentration on the fight: the swish of swords leaving their sheaths as the mercenaries moved closer to the children and her. She didn’t dare cry out a warning, for fear of distracting Duncan. But the children pressed ever closer to her, even the mute boy. She wished she could gather them all within her embrace, but with her hands tied together, all she could do was hold little Adam against her chest while he trembled.
