Page 40 of Beyond Dreams

“Riders,” he said briefly, moving his squinting gaze along the valley and the ridges. “Swing your leg over,” he instructed. The hard gallop he’d advised against earlier might well be necessary now, and side-saddle would hinder his wish for speed, should they need it. Fleetingly, he abandoned his search for the coming riders to take hold of the reins and hand them to her. She’d adjusted her seat, her skirts now disheveled around her knees, revealing shapely calves and ankles, neither of which were covered in hose. “Bluidy hell,” he snarled.

His next glance across the three forward ridges that flanked the glen of wildflowers showed a party of five riders come to a halt atop the eastern most, treeless hill. Little could be discerned of their identity by the silhouettes, save that one of them carried a lance, not something any of his men would travel with. So far isolated was Thallane that travelers were rarely met, passersby being a cause for concern. If these strangers rode down the braeside hard, they’d be upon them in under a minute. He should have taken to the trees fringing the valley the second he’d detected riders. Damn her and her kiss, for how it befuddled him.

’Twas improbable that he and Holly could outrun them, not riding two upon the destrier’s back while these men were mounted on swift coursers, and not for the two whole miles they would need to cover to reach Thallane. Of course there was no place to hide in the middle of an open glen and it was unlikely he and Holly and his destrier would have been overlooked. And so they were not, he guessed, when the party of five began the trek down the slope toward the valley.

“Who are they, Duncan?” Holly asked, her voice much calmer than he might have expected.

“I dinna ken,” he said, lifting her closer foot and wedging it into the stirrup, taking precious seconds to adjust the length of the leather strap, telling himself now was not the time to dwell upon the softness of her skin. “Trouble is my guess. Put your other foot in the stirrup,” he barked at her but couldn’t take the time to fit that one properly. He took hold of her thigh, gripping both fabric and skin, compelling her anxious gaze to his. “Hold the reins tight, knee his sides to keep him moving,” he said succinctly. “You ken where Thallane is. Straight back there and send Graeme or the guard out. Aye?”

“Duncan—no. Please, I—” And now her voice rose as the blood drained from her face.

“You have no choice, lass,” he said with plenty of urgency. He released her leg and gown and shoved at the destrier’s neck to turn him and face him in the right direction, at the closest and lowest hill and Thallane two miles beyond it. He gave a sharp swat to his rump, propelling the horse into motion.

He watched for only a moment to make sure Holly kept her seat. She did, but not easily, flopping about gracelessly atop the saddle with only one foot in the stirrups to help maintain control of her own body as the horse sped away.

“God’s teeth,” he seethed. She’d never make it all the way back to Thallane. Her only hope was that she made it over the hill and out of sight. When she became less and less visible for being swallowed up by the trees, Duncan turned and confronted the coming riders, pleased that they’d not pressed their own steeds too hard and were not upon him and thus, too close to pursue Holly.

To further dissuade them from chasing Holly by skirting widely around him, Duncan adopted a wide-legged stance and withdrew his sword, laying it casually over his shoulder, his seemingly languid movements belying his unwelcoming mien. Naturally—all things being as imagined, that these wanderers were up to no good— they would believe him disadvantaged, being only one man and without a horse. He was pleased to allow them a false sense of security.

Before they reached him and reined in, Duncan spared a moment to commit to memory a new directive to himself: no more kissing his wife so far away from Thallane, out in the open where his complete and utter distraction, wrought by so generous and stirring a kiss, could be used against him.

When the riders stopped a dozen yards in front of him, they did so abruptly, sending sprays of petals and blooms flittering into the air. One of the coursers objected to the hard stop, lifting his front hooves into the air and whinnying loudly.

They wore no plaids or any other identifying accessories that he wasn’t able to name them as being kin to the MacHeths or any of the other few clans within a twenty mile radius. Their horses were healthy, likely stolen, being in better shape than the reckless and scruffy men who sat upon them. In fact, they appeared so untidy in person and garb that he judged them outlaws, either by choice or by writ of law, expecting to make their living dishonorably, taking as opposed to earning.

Duncan focused on the man in the center of the group of five, in receipt of that one’s lazily arrogant sneer. He’d been surrounded by warriors his entire life, men of competence and those not gifted so, men of good faith and ones owning dark hearts, men he would die for and ones he would slay without blinking an eye. This one here was nothing, a pretender at best, surrounding himself with misfits and simpletons, the only ones he was qualified to lead.

“Sent the lass off,” the man began, his sneer growing until it was filled with malicious humor. “But she’ll nae outrun us.”

Duncan had no desire to engage the man’s theatrics and so stated plainly. “You are on MacQuillan land, in the heart of Gairloch, and I can state unequivocally you are nae welcome. Turn yourselves around and save your lives.”

They wouldn’t, he knew, which was more to his liking. He’d rather deal with them today and not have to worry about their return at some later date.

They guffawed at this, looking at each other and then all around, as if to taunt him about being all alone.

“Take us but a few seconds to dispose of you,” said the black-eyed leader, “and then catch up with the lass with the flying brown hair and the bare legs.”

Duncan grinned at him and shook his head. “My wife dinna ken how to ride, if you can believe it. But you’ll be dead ere I am, so you’ll nae be catching up to her or anyone else.”

They chortled again, amused by what they might suppose was only bravado.

He foresaw no problem disposing of the five ruffians. Their leader wouldn’t engage first, would test Duncan’s prowess by advancing his men first. One of the outlaws was too big and heavy to be any threat, likely carried that lance so that he didn’t ever have to dismount, could fight at a distance; he only needed to be unseated to render him useless. One man held an axe, which would be no match for Duncan’s sword. A dough-faced boy among them looked as if he’d bolt in fright as soon as Duncan dispatched the first and second man.

Possibly, Duncan would not emerge unscathed, but he would emerge the victor, he was sure.

He lifted his hand, palm up, and crooked his four fingers at the group.

“C’mon then. I dinna have all day.”

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