The Highlander's Lady (6 page)

If her brother had made sure she knew one thing, it was that the world was not safe for a woman. She was vulnerable. Weaker. And men took advantage of that all the time. No one knew that better than Byron and Myra. Their father had drilled it into their heads before he passed, and then Byron had taken up the litany.

Their mother, God rest her soul, had been
assaulted
. She survived it, but was never the same again. Myra
scarcely
remembered her mother, as she’d taken her own life when Myra was barely seven summers.

’Twas then her father showed her the secret passageways,
and never let her out
of the castle walls
again.
She wasn’t even allowed to greet guests. Became like a ghost herself.
And now, here she was, completely alone, with barely a means to protect herself, set about on a treacherous journey.
The wide open space set her on edge. She longed for the confinement of Foulis as much as she yearned to not crave it.
The English were bound to be teaming around Wallace’s camp, waiting for the moment they could attack. She’d be lucky to make it.

Byron wouldn’t have tasked her with the impossible. She had to tell herself that again and again. He had to have believed she could make it. He’d taught her well to defend herself—although she lacked for weapons. If he believed in her, then she needed to believe too.

Myra closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to the heavens, to God, to her brother, to see her safely to Eilean Donan.

Promised to speak and think more like a lady—no
more curse words.

The horse’s feet clopped on the ground
, kicking up tufts of grass where the earth was moist from the water. As much as she wanted to stay near the water, Myra was aware that Coney’s lone footprints would lead an assailant straight toward her.
A lone rider was ripe for the picking—a female even more so.

She veered away from the burn and stopped.
Satan’s ballocks!
A group of haggard looking horsemen came out of the trees to her le
ft their gazes directed at her.
Evil grins curled their nasty lips, showing r
otten
teeth and a few
vulgar
tongues waggled in her direction. Myra only looked at them for a moment before kicking Coney into a gallop.
Not today.
She would not be a victim.

Barely a
day
had gone by since
leaving Rose and already she was done for.
Nay, she’d not let them take her.

“Go!” she shouted to her horse, leaning low over his mane, and hanging on for dear life.
Coney raced along the burn, his hooves digging deep into the moist earth and flinging rocks, grass and mud with them.

The men gave chase, shouting indiscernible threats behind her.

Myra had no idea where she was, or where she should go. There was bound to be a village or hut or something along the length of the burn. Where there was
a stream
, there
was bound to be someone nearby
.

“Help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Help me!”

There were no answering calls besides the barbs behind her. No one rushed to her aid, not even God struck down those who would see her removed from her task of saving Robert the Bruce.
Ballocks! Ballocks! Ballocks!
A lot of good her promise of using more ladylike words in exchange for protection did.

There was no one to help her, she was sure of it, and she was probably only gaining the attention of more vagrants who would see her for their supper.

If it came down to it, she would fight these men with every last breath she had. If they were going to take her, at least one of them was going down with her.

Myra turned back for a split second to see they gained on her. That split second was all it took.

Pain splintered her head and she felt herself falling backward
, away from her horse. She hit the ground—breath forced painfully from her lungs.
Through dazed, blurry eyes, she made out the low-hanging branch of a tree.

“Zounds…” she muttered. Myra gripped the dirk from her hip, forcing her eyes to focus. Forcing the pain in her head to go away.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Och…”

Her head hurt like the devil. Nausea gripped her. She rolled to the side in time to see how close they were.
The men reined in their mounts and the animals
whinnied at such abrupt treatment.
Coney meandered somewhere nearby, she hoped
.

“Well, well, well. Would ye look at that?”
O
ne
of the disgusting men chuckled as he dismounted
.

H
is steps
,
slow and measured
,
scared the piss out of her.
His boots came into view, and she forced herself to glance up as he
bent toward her.

Chapter
Four

T
he hilt of Myra’s dirk dug deep into her palm. Her jaw hurt from clenching it so tight. She watched as the man moved toward her with nightmarish slowness. Almost like she watched the whole episode occur from afar as it happened to someone else.
His
knees hit the ground beside her,
spraying dirt onto her face but luckily not into her eyes.

“N
ay
!” Her ear piercing shriek rent the air, and she wasn’t even aware of the force she put behind it until it came out.

The man, slick with his own grease, paused a moment
, his hands outstretched. I
n that moment of hesitation, Myra took action.

She ripped the dirk from her belt loop, raised it over her head and without a moment’s thought or uncertainty, she struck out. Her arm vibrated as her blade sank home. Myra opened her eyes not realizing she’d closed them, and at the same time pulled her blade out to strike again.
The only sound the man made was a
gurgle, and she could see why as ribbons of liquid red flowed with eerie elegance from his neck.

His
hands clutched to his wounded throat, eyes bulging in her direction, although they were so clouded, she didn’t think he truly saw her. Myra scooted away from him, up onto her knees, her dagger still poised to hit its mark should any of his friends follow.

“Stay away from me!”

The men looked with horror at
their leader and again at her as the man fell completely to the ground, the life gone from him.
Myra moved to crouch on her feet, her legs, filled with such tension, she was ready to spring up and run for miles if she had to.

“We only wanted a bit of fun,” one of them grumbled. “And ye killed him.”

Myra took note of their dirty
, ripped
plaids, all differing
in
color
from one another
.
Whether they were outlaws, from the same clans or differing clans, i
t mattered little.

“I’m not of a mind to have any form of fun with ye.” Her voice was gravelly, strained. Her blood surged with some kind of power, which she’d heard her brother mention sometimes happened in battle. He called it the battle rush, and she certainly felt that way.

The men looked to each other, mumbling. Myra prayed they contemplated leaving. The three of them could easily overpower her if they decided to.
They probably knew it too. If they had any true love for their fallen leader they may indeed seek revenge on her person.
She would fight them
with every last breath she had. If she was going to go down, she wasn’t going alone.
Please…
go away.

Myra’s feet tingled, and her knees were starting to shake. She loosed her grip on the dagger in an effort to stretch her fingers and repositioned her hold, elbows out, ready to strike.

“Get out of here, lass,” the one who’d spoken before said.
He glanced at his men and then back at her, murder in his eyes. But at least he’d had the forethought to send her away.

Myra backed away, one excruciating step at a time. From the corner of her eye she spied Coney munching on grass
. Damn horse! Didn’t he know
his mistress’ life was in
danger?
Not a warhorse at all, but
, lucky for her,
he was fast as lightning.

“We’ll not harm ye, ye have my word.
And we hope ye’ll not harm us,” he said.

They were
lying. Waiting for her to run so they could chase her again. These men liked to the chase, she could tell.
Myra didn’t respond, only kept her gaze on them as she found Coney’s reins with her free hand. She lifted her leg, blindly searching with her foot for the stirrup—she dare not
take her eyes off the group. Could be a ploy, a trick they had in mind to take her guard down a notch.

Myra was not going to be fooled today.
She’d not be a victim.

She’d killed a man.

A fact she was full aware of
, but it was then the realization struck and her belly burned, recoiled and threatened to return the acorns to the earth.

At last her boot
hooked inside
the stirrup and Myra thrust her
foot through
, making quick work of
yanking herself up and flinging her leg over the side. The horse was calm beneath her, his warmth sinking into her trembling limbs.

“Dinna follow me,” she shouted.

The men ignored her as they tended to the dead man.

Myra wasted no time urging Coney into a gallop—this time away from the water’s edge. She burst along the moors, the woods to her left, wanting desperately to surge into the darkness, but knowing she’d have to slow her pace, and right now she needed speed. Needed to be away from those who’d threatened her life.

Miles later, she realized she still clutched the dagger in her hands, blood caked to her hands and arms. She reined Coney in and trotted over to the woods. As soon as she was covered with the shadows of the forest, she pushed the dagger back into the loop, struggling until it finally was in place.

A clicking sound had her swirling around in her saddle to see what in the world it was until she realized it was her own teeth chattering.

In fact, her entire body shuddered and trembled.

“Oh, God… I dinna think I can do this.”

On her own for less than a day and she’d had to kill a man with her bare hands.

Why couldn’t she go back to the way things were? When she was in her home, sitting before a fire, wondering how she
could entice her brother to hold a great feast, just so she could sneak in to dance.
She’d give up freedom forever, doom herself to haunt the secret passageways the rest of her life if only things went back to normal.

A swift breeze blew, whipping her unkempt hair into her face, swirling her skirts around her ankles. Myra shivered. She’d never get to go back to that carefree time. Life for her was forever changed.

She climbed from the horse, positive she was alone
. Her knees buckled and she
knelt upon the solid ground, her hands sinking into the leaves that covered the earth.
Her lips tingled, and her throat burned. Tears filled her eyes and fell in great drops to the ground. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.
Sitting back on her heels, she closed her eyes, her face toward heaven.

“Help me,” she whispered.

’Twas surprising how much a punch in the face changed a man.

Daniel was completely awed with how his men
transformed
. They listened to his direction without complaint. They went about their duties—none trying to shirk what responsibilities
were theirs
.
They even
looked
at him differently.

Perhaps the biggest change though, was the respect his men now showed him. The same deference they’d shown his father. Daniel had long ago proven himself a man when it came to fighting. Many of the dozen with him now had been in training with him as
a
boy. Many of whom he’d knocked down repeatedly.
Many he’d saved in battle.
There was no doubt that Daniel was the best of his father’s men. In that arena, he’d already gained the warriors
’
nod.

What Daniel had struggled with over the past year was gaining their respect as a leader.

Truth be told, he hadn’t done anything about it either.
Shouting and seething hadn’t done any good. It only made things worse. They respected him even less, and it was his own fault. He just hadn’t realized it until now. What an idiot he’d been. It was so simple. The key to peace among his men. He’d never asserted his power. Once he took that first step, grabbed
the reins, punched Leo in the face,
he proved he wouldn’t stand for their disrespect. No
one thought he had it in him. And Daniel didn’t blame them. He’d not proven himself. Until now. The dark, slightly swollen shadow on Leo’s chin
and
the
red, split knuckles on Daniel’s
right hand had proved it.
And also served as a reminder.

While he’d gained their respect
—in the same fashion his father had, physical force, the bunch of fighting bo
o
rs—
he was still cautious enough not to trust them completely. He’d made it clear they needed to prove themselves to him, that he was no longer going to tolerate their derision.

They’d been upon the road for several, uneventful hours
, passing pastures of sheep and small farms with thatched-roof crofts
.
Smoke swirled through their makeshift chimneys and he longed for just a moment to be inside, warming his hands by the fire. ’Twas freezing outside.
Judging from the position of the sun, only a few hours of daylight were left, near winter making the days shorter.
Daniel itched to reach the Wallace camp. He’d left Blair over a week ago, and it was about time he finally reached his destination. They had a
few more days to go if they ro
d
e
hard each day. Not only was Daniel eager to begin helping in the training of men, but he was also keen on any news of the English.

A shout sounded to his right. Somewhere in the forest?

Daniel held up his hand, halting his men in place. They drew their weapons, turned as one in a circle to face the
woods and listen
ed
. Another—a scream this time. Sounded feminine.

“A family being attacked?” Leo asked, his gaz
e
shifting from the woods to Daniel.

“Could be.” He listened a moment longer, hearing another female scream. “Let us investigate.”

In a long line, they rode at a steady pace into the trees
.
They were riding blind. No one had any idea what was going on. It could be a band of thieves, or a lone man, so it made more sense to go in slow to see what they were up against. For all they knew,
whoever screamed was being chased by a wildcat or boar.
Or maybe even fell while fetching…something.
He shook his head. That didn’t make sense.

Several birds flew in zigzags, as though they tried to escape the sounds of the woman in distress. Daniel took in the forest sounds, he
ard
the chirping of birds,
the occasional scurry of a small animal,
feeling the slight breeze upon his face.

The woods here were t
hin, only several hundred feet between
the road they’d be
en
on
, toward
the trickling burn he spied ahead. The forest was dark from the clouded sky and the thick needled firs mixed in with the oak trees.

A whirl of movement fled past his line of vision beyond the trees.

“What in hell?” he muttered. It looked to be a horse and rider, cloak flying out behind.