Amanda Scott (40 page)

When they began to ride down the steep hill from the top of the ridge, he fixed his attention firmly on staying in the saddle.
Since he had no control over the horse except with his heels, he hoped it could find its way without stumbling. In any event,
he could barely see the track, so he watched the landscape ahead, instead, hoping to see Willie and his lads coming to the
rescue.

Instead, he saw a line of torches cresting the next hilltop, their light glinting on weaponry and armorial banners, as a company
of foot soldiers streamed toward them.

“There they be, lads,” Eustace exclaimed. “I recognize their banners.”

Kit stared at the force streaming toward them, but then movement caught his eye, and his gaze shifted to the bottom of the
hill, where another, very large rider with a torch had appeared. To his shock, he recognized Sir Toby Bell, apparently waiting
patiently for Eustace.

Had Eustace seen him? Was Toby friend or foe? The answer to that last question was plain, though, because only another traitor
would have known where to find both Eustace and the English army.

“I dinna trust them English,” one of the men muttered loudly enough for everyone else to hear.

“I don’t trust them either,” Eustace said. “Nonetheless, lads, we’ve clearly had no time to hang our prisoner before their
descent upon us, and folks will hear about that troop crossing the line. So, when someone finds the lad with a bullet in him,
everyone will assume the English killed him. Haul him off that horse now and bring him to me,” he added curtly. “You lads
yonder, light torches so we can see.”

* * *

“He’s going to shoot Kit!” Catriona exclaimed. “We must stop him!”

“Kill Eustace, Maggie!” Fergus shrieked. “I ken he’s the one. Ye’ll save your Claud and Catriona’s lad wi’ a single stroke.”

But a new idea struck Maggie. Swiftly thinking it through, she muttered, “Nay, nay, for there be only one reason now for Eustace
tae kill the lad.”

“He’s going to shoot him because he believes the English army is at hand,” Catriona said. “Fergus, stop them!”

“Nay, ye mustna do that, Fergus,” Maggie said.

“Oh, what have we done?” Catriona wailed.

“Nobbut what I meant tae do,” Maggie said. “Recall me warning ye that whenever a body thinks a plan must succeed, summat happens
tae queer it. I ken now who Claud’s mortal must be, and sakes but we should ha’ seen it afore.”

“Eustace,” Fergus insisted.

“Nay, Olivia,” Catriona said. “Isn’t that right, Maggie?”

“It canna be Olivia,” Maggie said. “She were sleeping earlier and I couldna feel Claud’s presence in her chamber. I feel it
now, though, stronger than ever, and the truth ha’ been flaunting itself at us from the outset, Catriona, because what be
more likely than that Claud’s mortal were present when Claud disappeared?”

Catriona went perfectly still as the truth struck hard. “No,” she whispered.

“Aye, Claud’s mortal can be no other,” Maggie said.

“But then all our plans will fail,” Catriona said with a gasp.

“Who is it?” Fergus demanded.

“There be only one who were there when Jonah cast Claud into the mortal world—only one, sithee, who be here now,” Maggie said.
“That be Kit Chisholm.”

“But me lass loves him,” Fergus wailed. “Ye canna kill him!”

“I must,” Maggie said. “I’ll no condemn Claud tae save any mortal.”

“But ye’ll be sacrificing yourself at the same time,” Fergus reminded her. “At least, let Eustace kill him. If anyone deserves
tae fly wi’ the Host, it’s Eustace.”

“Nay, for if anyone else kills the mortal, Claud will die wi’ him,” Maggie reminded him. “There be only one resolution tae
all this.”

She raised her hands toward the sky.

“
No, “he muttered. “Ye mustna kill him. mam. Ye’ll fly wi’ the Host an ye do anything so daft, for Jonah be right here watching
ye.”

He could no longer see Catriona, only Maggie with her hands held aloft and her intentions crystal clear.

Evil laughter floated in the air around him. He knew it came either from a gathering of the Host. waiting to claim him and
Maggie, or from Jonah himself, watching gleefully to see how his game played out now that he had forced all his geese into
one corner. In that instant, all his pent-up anxiety and worry turned to a fury that outmatched any his mother had ever produced.

“Is that the English army yonder?” Anne asked Berridge.

“I doubt it’s a Scottish one,” he said. “The majority of our lads ride their own horses, and although there be many from the
Highlands who likely came south on foot, their leaders are always mounted. I see no beasts with that lot.”

But Anne’s attention had already shifted from the soldiers to activity directly below them. She and Berridge had been following
Eustace’s party for some time, keeping only enough distance to avoid detection, and at first she had been relieved to see
the soldiers, thinking they must be Scots who would surely help free Kit from Eustace and his men. But her realization that
the approaching soldiers were more likely English chilled her, and seeing Eustace stop nearly sent her into a panic.

“Faith, but he means to murder Kit in cold blood,” she said, raising the hood of Kit’s long black cloak and pulling it forward
to conceal her face. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Toby on horseback at the bottom of the hill, watching Eustace.

“What are you doing?” Berridge demanded.

“I’m going to stop Eustace, of course.” Without another word, she pulled Kit’s pistol from her saddle holster and urged the
gelding forward.

“Lass, wait!”

“If you have a pistol,” Anne called over her shoulder, “I suggest you draw it and follow me.”

As two of Eustace’s men hustled Kit toward him, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed in nearly the same moment
by a deafening clap of thunder.

“The gods are angry, lads,” Kit shouted to his captors. “That sky was clear when we left Mute Hill House.”

“Shut up,” one of them snapped, but he looked fearfully upward.

The English army was drawing rapidly closer, and Kit saw that the rider he had recognized as Toby Bell still sat on his horse
at the bottom of the hill, watching them. Eustace had not so much as acknowledged the man’s presence, but it was clear enough
now that Toby must have served as his spokesman with the English.

“Are you going to shoot me yourself, uncle?” Kit demanded.

“Don’t be daft,” Eustace snapped. To one of his own men, he said, “You there, draw your pistol and put an end to him.”

“God rot ye, I’m nae murderer,” the man said.

“I’ll pay you fifty marks,” Eustace said evenly.

“Aye, well then,” the man said, drawing his pistol at once.

He took careful aim, and every man there watched him. Only Eustace and Kit turned at the sound of thundering hoofbeats on
the hill behind them, and saw the dark rider bearing down on them, pistol drawn and ready.

The rider’s similarity to the Black Fox of the Highlands, along with a sudden sharp tingle of electricity in the air, made
Kit’s hair stand on end.

His executioner held the gun to his head.

The scream formed deep within him, as all the anger he had felt for so long reached its peak in a rage so strong that it became
an entity in and of itself. “Curse ye, Jonah Bonewits!” he cried, and what happened next astonished him.

Kit had time only to draw a single breath before the shot rang out, but he scarcely heard it before a double-forking flash
of lightning and its simultaneous crack of thunder drowned it out, and the gun that had been only inches from his head flew
out of the executioner’s hand.

Cries of terror followed, and when he glanced toward the English army, he saw that where Sir Toby Bell had been sitting on
his horse, only a smoking, charred lump remained.

M
aggie, ye missed him!” Fergus cried.

Maggie stared in shock at the charred lump that had been Sir Toby Bell. “I canna ha’ missed him,” she whispered. “Wha’ ha’
I done?”

“Ye’ve done nowt but good, mam,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Whirling, she beheld the son she had never expected to see again.

“Claud!”

“Aye, ’tis m’self. returned tae plague ye,” he said, grinning.

“B-but how?”

Looking apologetic, he said, “I lost me temper.”

Catriona flew to him, flinging herself into his arms.

“Easy, lass,” he said, staggering. “I used up most o’ me strength diverting me mam’s lightning bolt tae save your lad.”

“But Claud,” Maggie said, worried anew, “though I dinna ken how ye managed it, ye killed a mortal when ye killed Toby Bell.
Ye’ll be banished forever.”

“’Twas nae mortal, mam. ’Twas Jonah himself, shifted tae Toby’s shape. Sir Toby ha’ been safe at Mute Hill House all along.
I kent fine that Jonah were nearby, and when I saw Toby riding a horse, ‘twere plain wha’ Jonah had done, for ye heard yourself
that Toby doesna ever mount a horse but rides in a special cart made tae bear his great weight. Ye should ha’ recognized him,
too, I think.”

“I told ye Jonah were near,” Fergus said righteously.

“Aye, and ye told us Eustace were Claud’s mortal,” Maggie said. “But as ye heard, ’twas nobbut Kit Chisholm, just as I said.”

“Aye,” Claud admitted, “and I couldna let ye kill Kit and suffer banishment for my sake. His death would also ha’ meant Catriona
had failed in her task, and I couldna let that happen, because the truce betwixt the Merry Folk and the Helping Hands would
ha’ died, and ye’d worked too hard tae build that truce.”

Maggie eyed him with new respect. “I still dinna ken how ye managed it.”

He shrugged. “I waited until ye grew angry, and then I compounded me own anger wi’ yours, and took summat from Jonah as well,
although I dinna ken exactly what. Ye’re both me parents, after all. Stands tae reason I could learn from ye.”

“Ye did more than learn,” Maggie said gently. “Ye couldna ha’ done it, did ye no ha’ great powers o’ your own, Claud. Ye saved
yourself, and nae mistake.”

Claud grinned impishly. “Mayhap even me dad will be proud o’ me now.”

With a wry smile, Maggie said, “I dinna think he’ll tell ye so, however. Whether ye’ve damaged him still remains tae be seen.”

“I shouted his name as I flung that bolt, so I broke his spell and all it affects.”

“Ye’re a good lad,” Maggie said, putting an arm around him and hugging him. “Whether Jonah be proud o’ ye or no, I’m as proud
as I can be.”

“Me, too,” Catriona said, snuggling in to get her share.

Claud chuckled, reaching hungrily for her.

“Fergus,” Maggie said, “it be time for me tae let the Chief ken wha’ ha’ passed here, and time too, sithee, for your army
tae retreat.”

Kit was still staring at the charred remains of Toby Bell when he heard a snarl and a warning shout, and turned to find Eustace
drawing his sword.

As quick as thought, Kit reached toward the nearest man, realizing only as he grasped the fellow’s sword and snatched it from
its scabbard that his bindings had somehow disappeared. He had no time to wonder about that, however, because Eustace was
lunging murderously toward him.

Throwing up the borrowed sword, Kit deflected his uncle’s blade. As Eustace lunged again, another man leaped at Kit with sword
drawn, but a second shot rang out, and the newly threatening weapon arced up and out of its owner’s hand to disappear into
the night.

Certain that he did not stand a chance, that the English army would be upon them in moments, Kit glanced over his shoulder,
only to see that the torches on the hillside had vanished. Eustace reclaimed his attention at once, and as he set himself
to disarm him, he paid scant heed to new rumbles of thunder disturbing the night.

Another shot rang out, and the voice that had warned him before and that he now recognized as Tam’s bellowed, “Hold where
ye are or die!”

Eustace ignored the command, lunging again, but this time, Kit caught the blade high, and with a flick of his wrist, slid
his own blade down it to its hilt and forced it downward. Closing then, he grabbed his uncle’s wrist and twisted hard, forcing
him to drop his weapon. When it fell to the ground, Kit put his foot on it.

“Step back, uncle,” he ordered grimly. “I doubt that any man here, yours or mine, would object if I spitted you right now,
after what you’ve tried to do to me.”

Only when he heard Willie’s voice and then Patrick MacRae’s in the distance did he realize that substantial reinforcements
had arrived, that the latest thundering had been the sound of their horses racing down the hill.

Looking over the scene, he discovered that while his attention had been riveted on Eustace, Willie’s reivers and men from
Dunsithe had surrounded and disarmed Eustace’s men. Some were busily lighting more torches, although the moon was already
peeking out from behind the heavy clouds that had gathered so quickly and mysteriously overhead.

The English army had disappeared.

A little to one side of all the others, a slender mounted rider in a voluminous black-hooded cloak held a pistol aimed steadily
at Eustace.

With a last glance around to be sure that everything was under control, Kit strode toward the black-clad rider.

“You can put that pistol away now,” he said, his tone low-pitched and neutral despite the strong temptation he felt to pull
her from her saddle.

“Did they hurt you?” she asked, keeping her voice low, too.

“No.”

She had pulled the hood as far forward as it could go, yet he knew that any man looking closely would recognize her. Glancing
over his shoulder, he saw Tam a short distance away, also mounted, his pistol aimed indiscriminately at a group of Eustace’s
men. Gesturing to him to approach, Kit turned back to Anne, saying grimly, “I want you to ride back to Mute Hill with Tam
… that is, with Berridge. And if you are wise, sweetheart, you’ll let none of these others guess who you are.”

“Ingrate,” she muttered.