Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (13 page)

"Now
go
," Alistair said, giving her a
push.

"Finn, come," she called over her shoulder
as she sprinted toward the water. The dog bounded over to her side, tail
wagging. Just as she stepped into the icy burn she looked back and saw Alistair
leap onto Germain's back. He turned toward her, and when he smiled, Deirdre
felt her eyes fill.

"God go with you," he said. "I'll find
ye if I can."

The water was deeper than it looked. It swirled about
Deirdre's knees, clutching at her heavy skirts, trying to drag her under. She
staggered on, Maeve heavy in her arms, but froze as she heard raised voices. Finn
looked back, whining, but stilled when Deirdre laid a hand on his head.

It could mean only one thing. Alistair was trying to
hold them off to buy her time to get away. She stood in the foaming water, her
legs numb from the cold, and felt Maeve burning with the fever. Enough, she
thought. This has gone far enough.

She struggled to the bank and ran toward the voices, hampered
by the weight of the child and her wet skirts. Her breath came in sobbing gasps
as she stumbled through the clutching undergrowth.

She reached the road in time to see a group of
Maxwells on horses, watching something she could not see.

"You have no right to take me. I've done ye no
harm."

She sagged against the tree, dizzy with relief, as she
recognized Alistair's voice.

"We heard ye were travelin' with a woman and a
child," a deep voice answered. "Where are they?"

"You heard wrong," Alistair said flatly. "Now
stand aside and let me pass."

"This is Kirallen land, ye fool," the other
man answered contemptuously. "And 'tis well known ye've been banished by
the laird's own word. But if ye give us the woman and the bairn we'll let
Kirallen settle it—if he can find ye."

"Weel, thank you Dougal," Alistair answered,
"But I'm afraid I canna oblige. I told ye already that I travel
alone."

Deirdre's heart sank a little further. Dougal Maxwell
had been Brodie's closest friend and was renowned for both his skill at arms
and his utter contempt for anything female. Deirdre could not remember him
speaking a single word to her in all the weary years at Cranston Keep.

"Then we'll bring ye to Kirallen," Dougal
answered. "And I think he'd far rather have us bring your carcass than to
trouble about ye any more."

"You can try," Alistair said and though
Deirdre could not see his face, he sounded more amused than frightened.

The men shifted and Deirdre could see him then,
standing with his back against a sturdy oak. He looked completely unconcerned,
almost bored as he regarded Dougal and another man who stood before him, both
with drawn swords pointed at his heart.

You fool, Deirdre thought, watching through a shimmer
of tears as the rest of the Maxwells dismounted. Do you think you can stand
against them all?

She stepped into the road and opened her mouth to cry
out, then stopped, speechless, as Alistair's blade appeared in his hand. How
did he do that? she wondered, confused. I never even saw him move. Dougal
Maxwell was equally surprised. A moment later he dropped to his knees, one hand
clutched to his bleeding thigh.

The second man engaged Alistair, but he was outmatched
from the start. In the time it took Deirdre to draw breath, he was disarmed and
backing swiftly towards his horse.

That left eight of them against a single man. But if
the odds alarmed Alistair, he gave no sign of it. He was even smiling a little
as he waited for the next attack to come. The Maxwells nudged each other, but
none of them stepped forward. Alistair grinned, lifting his sword in an
invitation none was quite ready to accept.

Deirdre's heart was pounding furiously, and much as
she longed to cry out, she was afraid that matters had gone too far for her to
stop them now. The next few seconds seemed to stretch on endlessly as they all
stood frozen in their places, like painted figures on a frieze.

The taut silence was shattered by the sound of
galloping hoofbeats, and a dozen mounted men rounded the bend. Kirallens,
Deirdre thought, recognizing their colors. Ah, God, there was nothing that
could save Alistair now.

Their leader sat astride an enormous gray stallion. He
pulled up so sharply that the horse pranced beneath him, but he brought it
easily under control and surveyed the men before him with a long cool look.

"What is this?" he called. "Did you
find the lady?"

"Nay," Dougal Maxwell answered, rising to
his feet, hand clutched over his bleeding leg. "Not yet. But we did find
something that might interest ye."

Alistair leaned against the tree and crossed one ankle
over the other. "Hello, Jemmy," he said casually.

The man on the stallion went very still. His dark eyes
were hooded and his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. "Hello,
Alistair. I didn't expect to find you here."

"Aye, well, 'tis a bit of a surprise to me, as
well," Alistair admitted. "But here I am."

"He ran off with the woman," Dougal said. "A
woodsman said he gave them shelter two nights ago. He stole her away and now
he's hiding her."

"Did you steal the Maxwell lady?" Jemmy
Kirallen asked, never taking his gaze from Alistair.

"Nay."

"Lying bastard!" Dougal cried. "Take
him—alive. We'll have the truth from him—"

"He says the woman isn't with him," Jemmy
said.

"He lies!"

"Do you?" Jemmy said, raising one brow as he
turned back to Alistair.

Alistair looked around, as though inviting them all to
see he was alone, then shrugged.

"And what difference does it make to you if he
lies or no?" Dougal demanded. "He's a banished man! Give him to us
and we'll have the truth from him—and we'll make sure he never troubles ye
again."

"That's very neighborly of you, Dougal,"
Jemmy said. "But I think I can handle him myself."

Alistair smiled.

"Listen, Kirallen," Dougal said, his face
reddening. "It's the woman we want—"

"Then I suggest you go and look for her,"
Jemmy said curtly. "For myself, I begin to think she never came this way
at all. We've scoured every acre for three days now and seen no sign of
her."

"But what of him?" Dougal cried, pointing to
Alistair.

"He is none of your concern. This is a Kirallen
matter and I'll thank you to stay out of it."

"But—"

"Go, Dougal," Jemmy said softly. "Just
take your men and go.
Now
."

Deirdre watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Dougal
and his men rode off. When they were gone Alistair looked up at Jemmy.

"My thanks for that," he said. "I'd
lief as not have died at Maxwell's hands."

Jemmy turned to his men. "Ride back and see that
Maxwell finds his way home again," he ordered sharply. "All but Donal
and Conal."

The men wheeled their horses and galloped after Maxwell,
not without some regretful looks over their shoulders. Two young red-haired
knights pulled their horses to either side of Jemmy's.

"Well, Jemmy?" Alistair asked. "I
suppose it's too much to hope you'll let me go upon my way?"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

"Wait!"

Deirdre ran out from the shelter of the trees,
tripping on the sodden hem of her skirt to fall hard upon her knees.

"Please," she cried. "You can't—please—it
wasn't his fault at all, he was but trying to help me—"

"Oh, Christ," Alistair muttered, thrusting
his weapon into the soft dirt and coming to help her to her feet. "For
God's sake, Deirdre, you should have been long gone—"

"I couldn't," she said, and all at once the
days of fear and hiding caught up to her as tears of exhaustion spilled over to
stream down her cheeks. "I wouldn't run off an leave you. They meant to
kill you—I was about to come out, truly, Alistair, but then—then—"

Some of the anger died from his eyes and he brushed
the tears from her face. "Whisht, now, don't cry."

Maeve struggled to sit up. "Star," she
croaked, holding out her arms.

"I'm right here, sweeting," he said, taking
the child from Deirdre. He put her over his shoulder and turned to Jemmy.

"The Maxwell lady, I presume," Jemmy said.

"And her daughter."  Alistair sighed.

"He didn't lie," Deirdre said, the words
stumbling over one another in her desperate haste to make Jemmy Kirallen
understand. "Not really. He didn't steal us, my lord, we left on our own,
that's the truth of it. Brodie did promise—my father made him—but the Maxwell
wouldn't listen—and—and he said he would keep my child," her voice broke
on a sob but she hurried on, "So I had to run off, my lord, I had to take
her home. Alistair but met us in the wood—he helped us out of kindness—and now—now
Maeve is sick, and then the Maxwells came and—"

She began to cry with frustration, knowing her words
made no sense at all but too tired to begin again.

"Donal, Conal," Jemmy ordered. "Please
escort Lady Maxwell and her daughter back to Ravenspur. I would rather no one
knows of our visitors quite yet," he added and the two young men nodded
their understanding. "Take her directly to my lady's bower and explain
what's happened. Lady Maxwell," he added gently to Deirdre. "Go with
them. My lady will know what to do for your daughter. As for the rest—we'll
sort it all out later, when you have had a chance to rest."

"But," Deirdre said. "What of—"

"Go," Alistair said firmly. "And you
too, Finn," he added to the dog who stood before him, teeth bared and
hackles raised.

A light rain began to fall and Alistair watched
Deirdre and the child ride off through a shimmer of moisture. Deirdre turned
once and lifted her hand, and from somewhere he summoned the strength to smile
as he returned the wave. The sound of the horses faded into silence, broken
only by the patter of rain upon the leaves. And finally he and Jemmy were
alone.

A
listair stared down at his sword. It stood point down
in the damp earth at his feet, raindrops sliding off its shining surface. He
could pick it up and fight for his life, but the last time he and Jemmy had
matched blades, it ended with Alistair disarmed and the point of Jemmy's sword
against his throat. Of course, he thought dispassionately, Jemmy had surprised
him. There was a good chance things would go differently today. But though he
tried to summon his old anger against Jemmy, he felt nothing but a chill
distaste at the thought of killing his foster brother, no matter how little he
might like him.

Of course Jemmy would have no such scruples. Why
should he?  Jemmy, after all, was merely carrying out his father's orders. They
had both heard the laird pronounce Alistair's banishment. "If ye are found
on Kirallen lands, any man may slay ye out of hand."  Well, here he was,
and here was Jemmy, and there seemed little doubt of what would happen next.

Alistair knew he should feel something—fear seemed the
appropriate response of a man who was staring into the face of his own death. But
now that the moment had come, he seemed to have used up every emotion save
regret.

The rain continued to fall and finally he raised his
head to find Jemmy staring at some point in the far distance, apparently lost
in his own thoughts. He looked ill, Alistair noticed for the first time. The
skin stretched taut over his high sharp cheekbones held a grayish tinge and his
long dark eyes were shadowed. One hand was absently rubbing his shoulder as
though it pained him.

"Come on, man, what are ye waiting for?"
Alistair said roughly. "Let's get on with it."

Jemmy started and looked down at him. "Get on
with what?" he said, sounding as annoyed as Alistair felt himself. "Oh,
I see, you think—" He grinned suddenly, looking so like Ian that Alistair
felt the breath catch in his throat. "Ah, Alistair, I could almost say I
missed you. I should have known you'd be snapping orders right up to the
end." 

He leaned back in the saddle and laughed, then winced
a little, his hand going back to his shoulder. "So, you have it all
planned out? Well, go on then, what is it to be? Should I string you up on
yonder oak? Or did you have something else in mind?"

Alistair stared up at him in confusion. Jemmy had been
a solemn child who returned from his travels a grim and brooding man. In all
the weeks they'd spent together the year before, Alistair had seldom seen him
even smile, let alone laugh as free and easy as he'd done just now. He's picked
a strange time to develop a sense of humor, Alistair thought sourly. Especially
one so like Ian's had been. For a moment it could have been Jemmy's brother
sitting there, laughing at Alistair as he'd often done before.

"Or," Jemmy said, his dark eyes narrowing. "Did
you hope I would come down so you could cut me into pieces?"

Alistair picked up his sword and flung it into the
woods, followed by his dagger. After a moment he pulled the knife from his boot
and tossed it after them, then held out his hands.

"I dinna know what game you're playing," he
said stiffly. "But I trust ye are satisfied the now."

Jemmy nodded. "Aye, I am."  He toyed with
the reins, then added quietly, "Even so, I'm afraid I'd be no match for
you today. But it doesn't matter, because I have no intention of fighting you. I
haven't really been looking for the Maxwell lady these past days. I've been
looking for you."

"Why?"

Jemmy slumped in his saddle, looking suddenly
exhausted. "My father is dying."

Of all the things Alistair had thought that Jemmy
might say, this was the last, and the news hit him like a blow. In that moment
he forgot the anger that had been between him and the laird and thought only of
the thousand kindnesses his foster father had shown him.

He remembered the laird's face when he pronounced the
sentence of banishment, the tears that had stood in the old man's eyes as he
bid Alistair farewell.

"I have to see him," he said.

"He wants to see you, too. Go on, then, and get
your things."