Susana and the Scot (23 page)

The vision she beheld as she rounded the last curve sent a bolt of cold lightning down her spine. Her bowels churned.

Isobel stood on the banks of the loch, surrounded by a coterie of beefy, burly men—who clearly hadn't washed in some time. They each had weapons, pointed at her wee daughter, and they were closing in. That she had her bow raised and—even as Susana watched—let an arrow fly did not calm her mother's heart. There were six grown men and only one small girl and she could only point her arrow at one at a time. It wouldn't be long until one of them rushed her.

One man lay on the bank moaning and clutching at the arrow in his thigh. Clearly Isobel had found her mark on that bastard.

Fury raged within her and she pulled an arrow from her quiver. But before she had a chance to fire, Andrew launched himself from his steed with an enraged bellow. He and Hamish barreled into the clearing and, unsheathing their swords in a practically choreographed motion, they advanced on the scene in a trice.

Susana wasn't far behind, with her bow and quiver in hand.

At Andrew's cry, the men surrounding Isobel whipped around to face this new threat, but it was a mistake. Isobel let her next arrow fly. It landed in the larger one's backside. He howled and whirled back on her, but she already had another arrow nocked.

Pride blossomed in Susana's chest. She was only five, but her daughter was fierce. Not fierce enough to fight off six grown men, but fierce enough to try.

Andrew and Hamish advanced with their swords at the ready and engaged the uninjured men, drawing them to the left and away from Isobel. When she saw an opening, Susana ran to her daughter's side.

“Mama,” Isobel cried, and launched herself into her arms. Susana held her tight. Thank God she was all right—

The villain Isobel had shot in the thigh crawled closer and attempted to seize her ankle. Susana halted him, brandishing an arrow at his face. The man paled and eased back, but his narrowed eyes spat vitriol. She tugged Isobel toward the horses and safety, skirting around the melee, balancing her daughter and her bow with a practiced finesse.

But her bow wasn't necessary.

Andrew and Hamish fought the four men who were still on their feet with astounding skill. Her eye was drawn to Andrew, the elegant swing of his sword, the clever ripostes and lunges. It was almost as though he were one with the battle, as though he anticipated his opponent's every move, as though this were a well-practiced dance.

It was mesmerizing to watch. The ripple of muscle, the bunch of his thighs as he lunged, the ferocity of his expression as he battled to protect her daughter.

Something hardened in her chest and cracked a little.

It might have been six years of resentment. Or her childish desire to make him pay for his crimes. Or her unholy fear that he would break her heart again.

As unwise as it might be to let all that go, she couldn't help but do so. At least a little.

“He's verra good,” Isobel whispered in her ear.

Susana tightened her hold. “Aye. He is.”

They both were, but there was no doubt, Andrew was better.

It didn't take the other men long to realize they were outclassed. One by one, they disengaged and ran into the woods. When Hamish charged after them, Andrew called him back. “We have these bastards,” he said, gesturing to the wounded men. “Let's take them back to the castle and interrogate them. We can send patrols out for the others.”

Isobel wriggled and, certain the threat had been vanquished, Susana let her go. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she bounded over to Andrew and stared up at him with shining eyes. “That was brilliant!” she crowed, holding wide her arms and spinning around.

He chuckled and patted her on the head. Then he knelt before her and let her examine his sword. She expressed disappointment that there was no blood and they both laughed.

Susana's chest ached, seeing them like that, their heads together in the afternoon sunlight. Their so-similar faces. Their matching dimples.

Ach, far too painful. She had to look away. Her gaze tangled with Hamish's and she winced, reminded that he had noticed the similarities as well.

Then again, what soul with eyes could not see the truth of it?

Andrew seemed to be the only one who remained oblivious.

Which was fine and good.

She didn't know why it pained her heart so.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Andrew seethed as he and Hamish bound the captured men and tossed them over their horses. He'd known in his heart these woods were dangerous. He should have insisted on increasing the patrols sooner.

That Isobel had been at risk chilled him to the bone.

And with his rage, a question whirled in his mind.

Why?

Why attack a small girl? She had nothing of value to steal.

Various possibilities barraged him, each chilling his blood more than the last. Were they just villains grasping at any opportunity for malice and mayhem? Had they intended to kidnap her for ransom? Was there something far more sinister happening here? The worst part was not knowing. If he understood a threat, he would meet it, conquer it. This was nothing but a perplexing mystery.

When they arrived at the castle, Keir met them. His frown darkened as he noted the two bound men.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“Isobel was attacked by the loch,” Susana said, tossing herself from her mount. “We caught these two in the act.” She frowned and glanced at Andrew and Hamish. “They did.”

“There were four more that escaped. We need to send patrols out to find them. And we need to interrogate this lot,” Hamish said, grabbing one man by his belt and tugging him from the steed. He landed on the dirt with an
oof
.

“Of course. At once.” Keir nodded.

“And then we should lock them in the dungeon,” Susana said.

Andrew's head jerked around. Surely she was jesting? But no. She was not. Hell hath no fury like a mother facing a threat to her child. “You have a dungeon?” he asked.

“It's ancient. And rarely used for anything but storage,” she said. “But it has cells that will hold them.” He considered himself lucky that she hadn't decided to house his company there.

Her eyes burned with ferocity. For the sake of these men, he certainly hoped there were no torture devices in that dungeon. He glared at the bastards, recalling what they'd done. Well, at least, not very many torture devices. His pulse still thrummed at the memory of Isobel in peril. He wasn't sure why this ignited the fire in his belly so, but it did.

“Let's take them down there at once, but before we talk to them, I'd like to talk to Isobel first, while her memory is fresh. Maybe she has some insight on what they hoped to achieve in this.” He sent Susana a questing look. When she nodded, he knelt before the girl. While she was still pale and shaking, her chin jutted with determination “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Her nose wrinkled. “But I forgot my bow.”

“No worries. We'll send someone back for it.” He leveled a speaking look at Hamish, who nodded and spun on his heel. Not only would he fetch Isobel's bow, he would rally the troops to scour the woods for the other miscreants. He refocused on Isobel. “Do you feel up to a chat?”

“A-Aye.”

Her gaze locked on his. Her eyes were wide and pooling with a dampness she would likely deny. Still, he brushed the tears away. “Shall we go inside … where it's safe?”

Her chin wobbled, but she nodded. Damn, but he hated to see her so vulnerable. When he took her hand, she threaded her fingers through his and allowed him to lead her into the castle. His heart ached for her, the poor wee thing. What a fright she must have had. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to adore that little girl. Aye, she was rebellious and mouthy and far too stubborn for her own good, but she was also plucky and clever and skilled.

“I was verra proud of you,” he said as the made their way to the parlor. He chose that room because it was the closest, and of all the rooms on the ground floor, it had a calm ambience.

“Proud of me?”

“Aye,” he said. “You were verra brave.”

Her lips tweaked and a little of her élan returned. He led her to a comfortable chair and when she was seated, he sat across from her. Susana stood at his side. She probably wasn't aware that her hand rested on his shoulder, or that her fingers tangled in his hair.

He ignored that and focused on Isobel. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Her lashes flickered. “I went hunting…”

“With Siobhan?” Susana asked sharply. Andrew shot her a quelling glance.

Isobel pinkened. She wound her fingers. “Nae. He dinna want to go.”

“Peiter?”

Isobel snorted. Clearly she'd divined that her mother had set a guard and lost him posthaste.

“Ah,” Andrew said softly. “So you went alone?”

“Aye.” She peeped at her mother. “I'm sorry. I should have obeyed you.”

“Doona worry about that now, darling. I'm just relieved you're all right.”

Ironically, Isobel seemed to relax, as though she was much more concerned with her mother's displeasure than the fact that she'd been attacked. Although judging from Susana's tone, and her judicious use of the word
now
, this wasn't the last she would hear of it.

Andrew edged closer. “Can you tell me what happened while you were out hunting?”

She shrugged. “They just surrounded me.” Her eyes narrowed. “They were laughing. Like I was stupid.”

“You're no' stupid.”

“I'm not. I shot one when he said something nasty about Mama and then they stopped laughing.” She shuddered. “But then they got mean.”

“What did they want?” Susana asked.

“I doona know what they wanted. One of them said, get the girl. She's the one he wants.” She sniffed. “He's the one I shot with an arrow.”

“He?” Susana frowned at Andrew. “He who?”

Isobel shrugged. “They dinna say.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

She shrugged again. “Nae.”

Andrew and Susana exchanged a glance. They both knew, if there was anything more to be learned, it would have to be from the men they'd captured. With any luck, Hamish and his team would track down the others.

Maybe there were torture devices in the dungeon. At the moment he was totally fine with it if Susana decided to use them.

“Well, thank you for telling us, Isobel,” he said. “And you were verra brave.”

She glowed with his praise.

“It might be a good idea to stay indoors until we discover what those blackhearts wanted. What do you think?”

Her chin tipped up. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“I'm asking you what you think is the wise course.”

Though Susana's fingers had tightened imperceptibly in his hair—or perhaps perceptibly—she seemed to understand and agree with his approach. Giving Isobel the decision would go much farther in gaining her cooperation than ordering her to obey. And try though they might, short of locking her in the dungeon as well, the girl would do as she pleased.

Fortunately, her lashes flickered and her rebellious expression melted. “It was rather alarming,” she admitted.

He stroked her hand. “I can imagine so. I was scared for you.”

“As was I.”

Isobel ignored her mother. She narrowed her gaze on Andrew. “You were scared?”

“Verra scared.”

“You doona seem like you are afraid of anything.”

“I was verra afraid that you would be hurt, Isobel. That nearly scared me to death. It does”—he winked—“each and every time.”

“Well…” She drummed her fingers on her knee. “I doona want to scare you … So perhaps it is better if I stay inside. For the time being.” She studied her mother to assess her reaction. Susana, to her credit, forced a very blasé smile. But her grip on his hair was brutal.

“Verra good choice, Isobel,” Andrew said. He sat forward, surely not in an attempt to free his hair. “You are growing up into a verra wise young lady.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you mean it?”

“I absolutely do. I know it's not always easy making the smart choice. Giving up things you want to do in exchange for prudence. Or to protect people you care about from worry and fear. But it is something a wise young lady does.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Aye. It is. I suppose.”

He grinned. “I'm verra proud of you for making the wise choice, Isobel.”

Good God. Her smile slayed him. Brilliant and hopeful and tremulous. Such joy. Such delight. Such pride. In that smile he had a glimpse of the woman she would become and it gored him in the gut. Eviscerated him.

For some reason, it filled him with a restless want, a desire to be there, so see her grow up, to mature, to wed.

But he wouldn't be here. Not then.

He was here to do his mission and then leave.

Why did he have the sense that walking away from Dounreay Castle would break his heart?

*   *   *

Oh, lord.

Susana turned away from the scene of Andrew smiling at Isobel, and Isobel beaming back. She swiped the tears from her eyes. He was so good with her. So patient and certainly more disciplined a parent than she'd ever been.

How wrong was it that she was keeping them apart? How unfair to them both?

“Susana?” His arms came around her, warm and strong. He pulled her close. “Are you all right.”

“I'm f-f-f-fine,” she snuffled.

His hold tightened and she allowed herself to be cradled there, if just for a moment. The comfort was far too sweet.

“Mama? Why are you crying?”

She couldn't respond, other than a shrug. She couldn't even look at her daughter.

“She was verra worried, too,” Andrew said. His low voice rumbled around her. “Your mama loves you verra much and sometimes it's a heavy load to bear, worrying about a daughter. Surely you understand.”