The Devil in Plaid(21)

He brought his mount around and charged forward. His horse and sword collided with a MacKenzie rider. He slammed to the ground, then jumped to his feet an instant later, deflecting a blow, then another. Growling, he swung his blade back around faster than the enemy could recover, cleaving the man’s head from his neck.

He pushed forward on foot, parrying and striking his way through the throng. Screams of the dying combined with the din of clashing blades. Then an arrow whizzed past his head, grazing his cheek. A garbled cry resounded behind him. He turned and saw Grant fall, the arrow lodged in his throat.

Rage consumed him. He whirled around to see where the arrow came from and spotted a MacKenzie warrior perched on one of the boulders, reloading his weapon. Jamie bent and snaked his dagger from his boot and hurled it toward the enemy, hitting his mark. A breath later, the crossbow slipped from the warrior’s fingers. His body tipped forward, crashing down below. Jamie’s horse raced by. He gripped its mane and swung up in the saddle, turning his mount around in time to see Niall being pulled from his horse.

“Nay,” he shouted, swinging his sword, cutting down MacKenzie warriors with every blow, but he could not reach Niall in time.

His men were dead, along with more than half the MacKenzie warriors. The others thundered after him. He whirled his horse around and raced back toward the thicket.

“Fiona,” he shouted. “On yer feet!”

She appeared just as he sped past. He grabbed her waist, flinging her over his horse and charged through the narrow pass. He leapt over fallen logs and bent forward with Fiona, ducking beneath low branches. Pounding hooves coming up behind blasted in his ears.

They were outnumbered, but he knew this land like no other. He charged down a slope and jumped over a steep but narrow ravine, his horse not hesitating for an instant. He doubted the untried Mackenzie beasts would make the same jump, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. Weaving around trees, he tore across the land to the Firth of Luath. Water splashed their legs as they raced across. On the other side, he swung down with Fiona in his arms. Setting her on her feet, he gave his mount a firm spank on its rear. It jumped forward, then galloped down the pass while he cut through a cluster of trees, heading up into the Famhair Hills.

*

Fiona lifted her skirts, struggling to keep up with the MacLeod’s fierce pace. They climbed the steep pass, scrambling over rocks and down again through narrow stone crevices. She had never traversed the Famhair Hills that divided their lands, but she had heard men speak of the treacherous terrain.

For the third time, her foot caught on her tunic. She stumbled, landing hard on her knees. An involuntary cry fled her lips. Her eyes widened when the MacLeod whirled around and grasped the hilt of his sword behind his head. In a flash, he unsheathed his blade, his eyes narrowing on her. She flinched, shielding her face behind her arms, but then she felt a tug on her skirts. He sliced through the front of the fabric, bringing the length to just below her knees.

She blushed when she saw her bare ankles and calves, but she had no time to protest or express her embarrassment. He grabbed her arm and pulled her ever upward. She panted. Her heart raced. She kept her eyes trained on the ground to secure her footing, but she chanced upward glances. This time she spied the entrance to a cave. He jerked her forward. In moments, they were enclosed in darkness.

“Stay here,” his voice was deep and heavy in the musty gloom. “Do not move from this very spot. I am going to search the area and wipe clean our tracks.”

She sat on the stone, her heart pounding in her ears, her breaths coming quick and loud, echoing around her. His steps retreated. He crossed into the dim light. The outline of his massive frame filled the entrance, and then he was gone.

She sat there in the blackness feeling as if she were waiting at the gates of hades—for that is what her life had become—Hell. Not a month ago, she had been betrothed to an angel, securing for her kin an alliance with the wealthiest and largest clan in the northwest Highlands. But those blissful days had shattered around her with the speed of lightning slashing across the sky. Her sweet, soft-spoken Adam was dead. And in Ranulf MacKenzie, a new, cruel and powerful enemy had arisen. Tears stung her eyes, thinking of the poor cottars whose last moments must have been so hellish that they welcomed the mercy death had brought to them. She prayed their souls now rested peacefully among the angels.

But there were no angels for her, only a dark cave where she sat awaiting her betrothed, whose harsh tongue and fierce hands terrified her. Her heart pounded harder. She pushed against the cold, jagged walls.

Were they closing in on her?

Her chest tightened, making her breaths even shorter. Panic sought to claim her mind, and she was losing the battle.





Chapter Twelve


Jamie’s heart ached with grief. Grant and Niall had been two of his finest captains, not to mention his kinsmen. Ranulf MacKenzie had already stolen so much from his clan, and now Jamie had to return home and tell poor Katie, Niall’s young wife, that he would not be home to welcome their first child into the world. Grant had yet to marry, but his mum and da would be devastated to learn of their son’s death.

He gripped his head in his hands. How had it happened?

He had been so careful.

It was not happenstance that put the MacKenzie warriors in their path. It had been an ambush. This he did not doubt. Somehow, the enemy had known their course.

Could the MacDonnell have betrayed him? But Jamie shook his head. He did not doubt Gordon MacDonnell’s affection for his daughter. Mayhap, Fiona had earned the malice of some of her kin. A selfish lady was bound to have enemies. Still, he remembered the devoted farewells called out by her people as she left Castle Creagan.