Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
15
Sorcha traveled with Currie and his men for several hours. Her hands were tied behind her back to prevent any attempt at escape, and there was a rope around her waist as well, the other end of which was tied to Currie’s saddle.
She had mentioned several times that she needed to relieve herself, hoping that they would free her hands to do so, or give her some other opportunity to liberate herself, but she had drastically underestimated Currie’s cunning, it seemed, as he snickered and told her to release her bladder into her underclothes for all he cared.
So she tromped along through weeds and mud and stony patches of the ground until her feet hurt and her skin was slick with perspiration. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps, and she did not know how much longer she could be pulled along in such a fashion.
“Please!” she panted desperately. “Might we not rest, just for a moment or two, so that I may catch my breath? The way back to Castle Campbell is long indeed, and we have much still to travel!”
“Is it a long way?” Currie mused sardonically. “Funny…on horseback, it seems like very little distance at all! We shall stop to rest when I say we shall, girl.”
“But I cannot remain on my feet much longer!” she protested.
“Suit yourself!” he replied with a shrug. “Topple over when you feel you must, and you shall be dragged the rest of the way.” He shook his head slowly. “That’s the thing about you Campbell scum, isn’t it? You’re not tougher than the rest of us, you’re not older or more experienced, you’re not braver or more worthy. ‘Tis your bloodline you hide behind, aye…that and your accursed ‘cleverness.’ For that is how you see yourselves, is it not? A pack of wily boys and girls who believe they can outwit their elders indefinitely and thus always get their own way? Well, how is that working out for you now, eh?”
He laughed cruelly, and his cohorts joined him.
So Sorcha continued to limp and stagger along, wondering if she might, in fact, collapse soon. Her nose itched, and she felt fairly certain that if the devil were to suddenly appear before her and offer to scratch it in exchange for her immortal soul, she would give the proposal serious consideration.
Currie’s words had hit her like thrown daggers as she thought about what life had been like for her and her siblings. Sometimes it seemed as though the entire world of adults had suddenly and viciously turned on them for no reason, as though they had been surrounded by countless dogs who were friendly and obedient one moment, then rabid and bloodthirsty the next.
Their loving parents had been murdered by their fiend of an uncle. Sorcha, Aodh, and Freya had been separated from Moire and Dand and sent to be imprisoned for years by a clan of filthy brutes and pigs. They’d been reunited, only to have that brief shred of happiness snatched away from them by the blackmail and extortion of the Grant clan, forcing their rightful laird to give up his title and practically exile himself.
And now this latest ignominy at the hands of Nathan Fraser and Ryan McKenna.
It felt like more than she could possibly bear.
How much misery and misfortune must one family endure?she wondered. If we somehow prevail through this latest agony, will lasting happiness be our reward, or only more tragedy and heartache?
Yes, Currie’s words may have been like thrown daggers; however, they were still outdone by the actual dagger that was suddenly thrown from the side of the road.
The blade arced through the air with keen precision, slicing through the rope that tethered Sorcha to Currie’s saddle. Currie and his men scarcely had time to react before another thrown knife buried itself in the shoulder of one of the guards. He yowled with pain, pulling it out and tossing it to the ground.
“What the devil is going on here?” Currie demanded.
Another knife came, this one planting itself in the thigh of the other guard, eliciting an additional cry of anguish. “We’re being attacked!” the guard wailed.
“Then fight back, you imbecile!”
“Against who, sir?” The first guard gestured at the wooded area around them. “We cannot see who they are, or how many they are, or where they are! We may as well be fighting ghosts!”
At that, a sinister laugh emanated from the trees above, causing the guards (and Currie) to visibly shudder. “Very well,” Currie announced. “Then grab the rope at once, and we shall take the girl and leave!”
“You will leave,” Malcolm’s voice called out from the spot where he was hiding. “But she will remain if you value your lives.”
“There!” Currie pointed in the direction the voice had come from. “Follow the sound of his voice, you fools, and dispatch him!”
The guards nocked their crossbows, aimed, and fired at the source of the sound.
But when they went to investigate, there was no body or blood; indeed, no indication that anyone had been there at all.
Another knife twirled end over end from the underbrush on the other side of them, lodging itself in Currie’s left hand. He screamed, staring with bulging and bloodshot eyes at the weapon that now protruded from his palm.
“Show yourself, coward!” one of the guards yelled. “I’d wager you’ll run out of blades afore we run out of arrows!”
“You have no idea how many daggers I have upon my person,” Malcolm answered from cover. “Come to think of it, I’ve quite lost count myself. And surely you cannot be silly enough to believe I have missed your vital areas on purpose. No, I shall not run out of blades any time soon, but you have run out of warnings. Leave your captive and return to the rock you collectively crawled out from beneath, and you may continue to draw breath—without whistling through a hole in your throat, that is.”
Currie and the guards exchanged worried glances, then bolted. “McKenna shall hear of this!” Currie bellowed over his shoulder.
A few moments passed, and then Malcolm leaped down from the branches nimbly, just inches away from Sorcha.
She laughed gaily. “How on earth did you do that? You were amazing! You were like some sort of phantom!”
“Aye, I can be quite stealthy and surpassingly lethal when such skills are called upon,” he replied with a smile. “A fact you might have come to know well had I remained in service as your guard for much longer.”
“But why did you return for me?” she asked. “I thought you had gone off to pursue whichever adventure the open roads presented to you?”
He gestured to the arrows that had been fired at him. “Was that not adventure enough, then? Should the tips of the shafts have been aflame as well, to add to the excitement?”
Sorcha put a hand on his arm, looking deep into his eyes. “No more jests, Malc—Marcus.”
He shook his head. “No, please, do continue to call me Malcolm. I’ve come to quite enjoy the sound of it, especially when spoken by you.”
She did not respond, merely continuing to gaze upon him, waiting for his answer.
Malcolm sighed, unable to keep quiet any longer. “I…did not ride long, my lady, before changing direction to intercept you on your way to Castle Campbell. I do not know why. Perhaps I felt that I had left words unspoken with my brother. Perhaps I simply felt the need to look upon your beauty one last time.”
His words touched her, and she found herself moving closer to him. “Or perhaps you sought to talk me out of marrying him?”
He had no answer for that. As he said, he was wholly uncertain of his motives himself. And indeed, it was possible that her words hit closer to home than he might have liked to admit.
“If I had,” he asked haltingly, “would I have succeeded?”
Sorcha had continued to draw nearer to him by the moment, though she was uncertain of whether it was deliberate on her part or if she was simply being compelled by powerful forces far beyond the control of either of them.
She only knew that their lips were inches apart…and then they were pressed together, hungrily, passionately, urgently, so hard that it almost hurt.
On the deepest and most primal level, Sorcha understood that what she was feeling was more than the warmth of their breath mingling, more than their bodies touching. It was their souls connecting like two entire worlds colliding in a brilliant burst of devastating beauty, destroying each individually so that the heat and energy of their meeting could create something more blindingly beautiful than either could have conceived alone. Something that would blaze in the sky for millennia to come, like a sun or a comet.
Something that would endure forever.
Sorcha wanted more than anything to simply surrender herself to that wonderful moment, to allow it to take them wherever it would.
But Malcolm’s hands clamped firmly on her upper arms, pushing her away from him.
“We cannot do this, my lady.” The sadness in his voice was as grinding, ponderous, and fatalistic as the movement of the segments of the earth against each other in some dreadful yet inevitable quake.
“There is no one here to see us,” she breathed.
He shook his head. “No. But that does not matter now. You may not marry Nathan, and you may not marry Ryan McKenna. But you will marry someone, right enough, and when you do, that man will be of noble blood. I am not.”
“I care not for such things, I promise you!” she balked. “Your lineage matters not to me!”
“No, I believe it does not, and I am touched by that—more than you can possibly know. But it does matter to your family and to your people. As I understand it, your family has already survived the disgrace of one of your siblings due to a marriage to a commoner. I would not have it sustain another such blow, even if you would. I would not do you such a dishonor.”
“It is no dishonor to me!” she insisted.
“Think, Sorcha, I beg you! If you leave your title behind to enjoy the fruits of ‘true love’ as your older brother did, who shall be left to lead your clan if Aodh and Freya do not survive this plague? There would be no Campbells left! Your line would die out, and Ryan McKenna and his ghouls would see your clan dismantled and rebuilt in their own images! You must preserve your family, no matter the cost!”
She sighed. “I shall let this matter rest, if only for the moment so that we may concentrate on more immediate matters. Now that you have freed me from my captors, what comes next?”
“I have a plan,” he told her. “However, for it to work, we shall have to part ways for a time.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “No! I shall not feel safe without you!”
“And you shall certainly not be safe while with me,” he said with a wry grin. “In fact, I daresay that while I attend to a bit of strategic business on your behalf, the safest place for you will be within the walls of Castle Campbell itself.”
Sorcha could not believe he would say such a strange and senseless thing.
Not until he explained his plan.
