Page 55 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
“Probably by nightfall,” Cinead said, his tone now hard and vicious. “He’s on a hunt, lass, but instead of beasts, he is hunting this killer, and believe me, lass, he willnae have any mercy on this bastard.”
The trail had ended on the rocky lands to the north and Lucas felt a ball of frustration tighten his gut. He felt like a lamb being toyed with by a wolf—and he hated it. He did not know where to turn and while the waiting drove him mad, he refused to sink into gloom.
His men, five, including Oliver and Ian had made camp while Neil and Gilroy had gone hunting. A screech of a falcon had him looking up, watching as the bird circled before it decided to reston its master’s Galan’s arm. The bird, whose name was Finn—‘fair’—had a majestic profile, cream and gray plumage and a mackerel patterning on its back and wing.
The bird was as much a weapon as their swords were, as it spotted their prey, animal or human, a far off. Now, though, even it was at a loss. Since he had known the skill of following even the faintest tracks to lead him to his prey, never had he lost his mark…until now. The men who had killed his guard had vanished into smoke.
“North of here is McKenna’s lands and to the east is Boar’s,” Oliver said. “If the men came from either lands, it makes nay sense as we’ve never had an issue with either of them.”
“It began a mystery and it still is one,” Lucas sighed grimly. “We’ll wait out the night and start afresh in the morning.”
A resounding of “ayes” came from his fellow warriors. He started the fire and waved the flames to build it up, throwing kindling in to get it roaring, when Neil and Gilroy each returned with two rabbits each. In under an hour, the hares were roasting over the fire while Ian and Galan took up the watch.
“How is yer lass doing?” Oliver asked, sitting aside Lucas.
“On the outside, she’s doing well but I ken she is worried to death,” Lucas said while turning the spit. He then eyed Oliver, “What about Eilidh? She should be ready to deliver any day now. D’ye think ye’ll get back before then?”
“I can only hope so,” Oliver replied, “But if nay, then it is what it will be.”
They lapsed into silence, but Lucas could imagine what was going through his second’s mind—who were these mysterious foes? And how had they known how to elude them?
After eating, they pulled out their thin rolls and laid for sleep. The fire’s light flickered over Oliver, casting a warm glow over his boulder-wide shoulders as he dozed. How could he be so relaxed? Lucas wanted to find these enemies, every last one of them, and put them to the sword.
Resting his back on a tree, he let his gaze droop and while his heartbeat slowed, he did not sleep, rather, he lingered on the line between awake and slumber. Then—when the shadows began to shift around his camp, he was glad that he had not succumbed.
When the man lifted from the shadows, the firelight glinted over a wicked blade, moments before it descended on Ian, but the youngest’s hand shot out and in moments the two were wrestling on the ground.
He was already out of his place when another launched into the clearing, and he used his boot to kick the fire’s embers into this one’s face. The man screamed and clawed at his eyes, moments before Lucas pounced on him and got him down on the ground, both arms twisted behind his back.
“Who are ye?” He demanded, twisting the attacker’s arm that much tighter, “Tell me now! Who sent ye!”
The man kept on screaming, and struggling to break free, while Ian had his attacker in a similar hold. Oliver had a torch lit and when he jammed it in the middle of the ground, Lucas saw that the two men looked eerily alike—they were twin mercenaries.
Both dark-haired with hard black eyes and hateful sneers on their face. One of them hawked and spat a load of blood-filled spittle at Lucas’s feet. “Ye’ll never get a word out of me, ye stinking pile of shite.”
Casually, Niel boxed his ears, sending the man’s head snapping to the side. It was a miracle he had not snapped his neck. “Ye want to try that again, boy,” Niel’s deep tone carried tones of menace and impending death with it. “Answer his lairdship, now.”
“I daenae think I will,” the man sneered.
Ian shoved the other into the small ring they had created, and he crouched near the two with a dirk out at the ready. With the blade lifted, he said, “Talk or ye’ll die.”
“I amnae afraid of death,” the man spat. “Matter of fact, ye might have to kill me because I will nae talk.”
Still, Lucas pressed, “Tell us who sent ye and we might let ye live in prison for the rest of yer lives, or if nay, ye’ll be drawn and quartered.”
“Nay,” one of them spat—and before Lucas could react, he jabbed a hand into a pouch at his side, took out a wineskin and gulped. His eyes bulged and he collapsed on the ground, just as the other grabbed the dirk from Ian and slashed his throat— each one, quicker than a flash of lightning.
Lucas stepped away from the blood soaking into the earth and flattened his lips. “They werenae going to talk anyway.”
“What shall we do with the bodies?” Galan asked.
“Let them stay where they are, by morn, they’ll be feed for the buzzards,” Lucas said. “We shall find another camp and by daybreak, go back home. We’ve come out here and searched for nothin’.”
“Aye, sir,” Oliver nodded then looked to the sky, “That’s in three hours give or take.”
Looking down at the bodies, Lucas felt an odd sense that he had seen one of them before but try as he might, he could not place one of them anywhere.
Dismissing the thought, he said, “Let us move out then.”
