“Aye, ye can handle the hellion later,” the other one added.
Neal yanked her arm a bit higher, and, in spite of herself, she screamed.
“I can easily break it,” he said as calmly as if he were deciding what to wear. “Ye’d best remember that.”
He gave her a shove that had her stumbling forward. She managed to catch herself before falling. Red-hot rage spread through her, nearly obscuring her vision with its haze.
“Get her on her horse,” he said, “and make sure one of you stays on either side.”
The first man led Misty to a rock. “Ye can climb on from here.”
At least now there was some distance between her and Neal. She tried to keep from shaking. She needed tothink. Maybe once she got on Misty, she could get away? But Rory was lying on the ground. She couldn’t leave him. Then she remembered that this morning, she’d strapped on thesgian dubhRory had given her. Her fiery anger disappeared, to be replaced with icy-cold resolve.
She’d done it almost as a lark, as part of her new traveling outfit, but perhaps divine intervention—or one of the Scottish faeries—had prodded her to do it. Neal wasn’t that far away… She took another step, pretending to stumble again, and pulled the blade from its sheath beneath her breeches. Holding the knife close to her side, she straightened. She no longer shook. Instead, she felt calm. Almost detached.
“Neal.”
He turned at the sound of her voice. “What?”
“I have something for you.” Even as she said the words, she quickly took her stance—thank God Rory had made her practice until she could move with lightning speed—and the blade hurled through the air, striking Neal just below the ribs.
His eyes widened as he grasped the handle, yanked the blade out, and threw it to the ground. Then he clenched his hands over his belly as he fell to his knees.
For a moment nobody moved.
Then all hell broke loose.
…
Rory stirred, coming back to consciousness abruptly as sharp pain tore through his leg. He sat up and waited for the world to stop swirling around him. As his head cleared, he saw the damn arrow stuck in his thigh. He couldn’t pull it out without causing the wound to gush blood, and he didn’t know how deep it was, either. Better to leave it in for now. Clenching his teeth, he grabbed the shaft near his leg to hold it steady while he broke off the rest of it. Even so, the world went black momentarily as the pain seared through him again.
How long have I been out?He looked around, but there was no sign of Juliana or Misty. He didn’t see any signs of a struggle, either, but the ground was rocky and the horses had trampled the snow. Had she been able to escape to safety? He hoped she’d turned around when she saw him and ridden back to Dalwhinnie.
Who had attacked them, anyway? He studied the broken shaft and fletching. He didn’t recognize the cock feather as unique, but the clans had ceased making their own arrows decades ago, since they were generally used for hunting and not identification in battle anymore. He tossed it aside and picked up the good-size rock that had apparently hit him in the head. Whoever aimed it must have been close to be so accurate.
Which meant someone had been waiting. Highly unlikely for highwaymen to stake out the pass, hoping to catch an unwary traveler at the onset of a blizzard. Much more likely that it had been Neal Cameron… But how would he have known they’d be taking this long route home? Rory cursed suddenly.
Morag.It was no secret at Invergarry which way he and Juliana had planned to go. Nor was it any secret why they were taking that route. He and Calum had discussed outwitting Cameron on more than one occasion. If Morag had been malicious enough to put a thistle under Misty’s saddle, the wretched woman could very well have sent word to Neal.
The question was: Did they have Juliana, and which way did they go?
The question was answered by a piercing scream.
Rory leaped to his feet, steeling himself against the hot-iron agony burning his leg, and limped to Baron. With near superhuman effort, he managed to get a foot in the stirrup and haul himself up while at the same time turning the gelding toward the sound. He’d just rounded the boulders when he saw Neal Cameron fall to his knees.
Then things happened simultaneously. The man who’d been tending the horses ran toward Neal. In a vague, peripheral way, Rory was aware that blood was gushing from Neal’s belly and a knife lay on the ground, but it was the blur of movement to his right that caught his attention. Another man who’d been near Misty had drawn his dagger and was approaching Juliana, who stood in the middle of the small clearing with no place to go.
“Àrd Choille!” Rory yelled the MacGregor battle cry as he drew his sword and bore down on the man.
The man turned, dropped the knife, and attempted to draw his own sword, but it was too late. Rory swung, wanting to lop the man’s head off, but he managed to hold back his rage and slice through the man’s weapon arm instead. The cur howled as he clenched it and hobbled toward Neal and his partner.
“Shoot the damn bastard!” Neal managed to say.
Rory whirled Baron, intending to pull Juliana up behind him and get the hell out of there before the unwounded man could pull his musket. Instead, his fierce little warrior had picked up the knife the wounded one had dropped and assumed a throwing stance.
“Do not move,” she said—assumedly to the three Camerons, but Rory wasn’t sure if she meant him, too. “I am not going anywhere with you. Do I have to make myself clearer?”
In spite of the dire circumstances, Rory bit back a grin. Juliana’s hair looked as if it were about to ignite. She reminded him of Boudicca just then, but even that war queen had needed help. He gestured with his sword.
