“Listen. Up ahead.”
At Merritt’s words, Shaw reined in his mount and strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. At first all he could hear were the sounds of a distant waterfall and the cry of a night bird. But then he became aware of the muted sound of men’s voices, low and deep, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter.
Without a word Shaw and Merritt slid from their saddles, tied their mounts and crept forward.
The villains had made camp in a small clearing. They seemed to have no fear of being discovered, since in the center was a roaring fire. The men, seated on logs or lounging in the grass, were feasting on a stag roasting on a spit. While they ate they passed a flagon of ale among themselves.
Shaw touched Merritt’s hand and pointed. Following his direction she made out a small figure huddled beneath a tree. Edan’s hands and feet were bound. Even from this distance, they could see that he was shivering. Despite the damp cold, the villains had taken his cloak. One of them wore it tossed rakishly over his shoulder.
At the sight of it Shaw’s anger surfaced. He pulled out his dirk and started to rise. Merritt yanked him back down and pointed to a tree a short distance away. Surprised, he looked up to see the shadow of a man holding a crossbow.
“It is no wonder they appear so relaxed,” he observed.
“Aye,” Merritt said in a low voice. “They have posted a guard. There will no doubt be another guarding the far side of the encampment.”
“This is the second time you have saved me from my folly,” he whispered.
“I’ll not let you forget it, Campbell.”
He squeezed her hand. “I am certain you will not, my lady.” He returned his attention to the thieves. “We must eliminate their guards before we attempt to rescue Edan.”
She nodded.
“You remain here,” he said softly. “I will crawl to the far side and locate their other guard.”
“How will I know when you have found him?”
“A dove will coo thrice. That is the signal to take out this guard, as well. When both men are eliminated, we must attack with such force that the thieves believe there is an army. Can you do that?”
“Aye.”
He paused a moment, studying her in the darkness. She was the most magnificent woman he had ever known. She had not paused or questioned, but had immediately accepted a course of action that could mean great danger.
“Take care, my lady.”
He crawled away, and within minutes she could no longer see him in the tall grass.
She lay, unmoving, her gaze fixed on her little brother. She took no notice of the chill of the night, the dampness beneath her. Nor did she consider the evils that lay ahead.
She knew only that Edan had already been made to suffer more than most lads. There would be no more sorrow in his lifetime, she vowed. If necessary, she would lay down her life for him that he might be returned, unscathed, to their father.
The soft cooing of a dove was carried on the night air. At once her attention shifted to the men seated around the fire. In their merriment, they took no notice as the dove cooed a second and then a third time.
Merritt pulled a knife from the waistband of her breeches and aimed it at the figure of the man in the tree. She was so intent upon her task she never even heard the soft rustle of movement behind her. A ragged figure sprang to his feet and clamped a big hand around her wrist with such force that her dagger dropped uselessly to the ground. Caught unawares, she managed to bring her elbow back with enough force to be rewarded with a grunt of pain before he wrapped his other arm around her throat and pressed with all his might against the delicate flesh. She pried at the arm, desperately kicking and clawing, but her strength was no match for his. With such strength, he would surely break her neck. She could feel her life ebbing as darkness seemed to descend like a heavy cloak over her eyes. Her hands fell away limply. She slumped unconscious in his arms.
Shaw led his mount and Merritt’s toward the villains’ camp. He knew he’d wasted precious time retrieving the horses, but he had to improvise some sort of distraction. Working quickly, he plucked a handful of thistles and placed them beneath the saddles.
He disposed of the guard with ease, taking him from his perch in the tree with a single toss of his dirk. As the villain pitched forward, Shaw gave the signal, then raced toward the clearing, leading the horses. He kept his eye on the leader, Lysander, who was busy tipping a flagon to his lips. This time, Shaw vowed, he must take out the leader first, and the others would be dispatched with little effort.
As he looked toward the far side of the clearing, he was surprised to see the other guard still sitting in his tree. Had the lass missed her target? It seemed unlikely. She was as skilled with a dirk as any man. Unless...
He felt a chill along his spine. Without waiting to consider the darker side of his question, he took aim with his crossbow. An arrow sang through the air. The shadowy figure of the guard toppled, landing silently in the damp moss below.
At once Shaw slung his bow over his shoulder and retrieved his sword from the scabbard. Leading the horses, he lifted his weapon high and raced the remaining distance to the edge of the clearing, intent upon attack. But when he came within sight of the encampment, he skidded to a halt and watched in shock and disbelief as a ragged villain made his way into the camp carrying a limp, unmoving Merritt. Suddenly all Shaw’s carefully woven plans lay in tatters. The woman he loved had been captured.
From a great distance Merritt could hear her little brother’s voice calling to her.
“Merritt, please, please awake. Do not give up. Please. Open your eyes. You must not die.”
She drew in deep drafts of air through lungs that were starved for it. With each breath, her throat constricted with spasms of pain. Her mind refused to obey her. Her eyes were closed, the lids too heavy to lift.
“Merritt, speak to me. Tell me you are alive.”
At her little brother’s voice, closer now than it had been a moment ago, she struggled upward, though her mind still seemed clouded with layers of damp, heavy wool.
“Ah. You are breathing,” came Edan’s voice beside her. “You are not gone from me yet. Awake, Merritt, and speak to me.”
With a tremendous effort, she broke through the confusion and surfaced. Her lids fluttered, then opened wide. Edan, though bound, had managed to scoot close enough to lie beside her. She realized her own hands were also bound, as were her feet.
“Edan.” Even that whispered word caused her pain, and she was forced to swallow several times before she could say more. “Have they harmed you?”
“Nay. But they leave little doubt of their intentions. Their leader said I will be killed.”
“Have they said why?”
He shook his head. “They said only that the Black Campbell ordered it.”
“Is he here with these men?” she asked.
“Nay. Their leader is the one who attacked our home and killed Mother. It was he who bludgeoned me, and threatened to cut off my legs.” He swallowed back the tears that threatened. Highland warriors did not cry. But his heart was heavy. Not for himself, though he feared dying, but for his beloved sister, who lay bruised and helpless beside him. He had never before seen Merritt looking so wounded, and the sight of it frightened him. “And now, he will harm you, as well.”
“Nay.” She struggled against the vines that encircled her wrists, only to have them contract and tighten until they drew blood. “I am not alone, Edan. The Campbell is with me.”
Edan felt his hopes rise, but only a little. “He is one against ten and two.”
“We are three,” she corrected. “You and I may be bound, but until we draw our last breath, we are never helpless. Feel in the dirt for sharp stones or anything else that can relieve us of these bonds.”
Edan began to take heart. Merritt was right, of course. As Sutton and Shaw had taught him, there were many things a warrior on the field of battle could do to save himself. This was his fi
rst real test since his lessons had begun. He must not fail his tutors. But as he struggled to cut through his bonds with the rough edge of a stone, his hopes were dashed once more. His heart plummeted as the leader of the villains approached and hauled Merritt roughly to her feet.
“So, woman, you have returned. You cannot stay away from me, it seems,” Lysander said with a cruel laugh. With one hand at either side of her tunic, he tore it away, and the shirt beneath, revealing a pale, creamy chemise that barely covered her heaving breasts. His eyes gleamed with undisguised lust.
“Now that I have filled my belly, there is another hunger to feed. This time I will not be denied my pleasure, woman. And ‘twill be greater,” he called to the others who had joined in his laughter, “knowing the lad will be forced to watch.”
Edan’ s eyes filled with tears that he could no longer hold back. And though he tried to look away, he found himself watching the brutality unfolding before him with horror and revulsion.
A great black wave of fury swept over Shaw. Whatever plans he had made were forgotten. The only thing he could see was Merritt in the clutches of that brute. All that mattered now was the woman he loved.
Instinctively he brought his fists down hard on the saddles and released the reins. The two horses burst into the clearing, bucking and rearing.
Startled, the thieves who had gathered around Lysander and Merritt were forced to leap out of the way of the crazed animals. Using those few precious moments, Shaw tossed his dirk with such skill it landed at Edan’s feet.
“Free yourself and hide in the woods,” he shouted.
Without even pausing to look back, he flung himself into the throng of men and hauled Lysander away from Merritt, sending the thief sprawling in the dirt with a powerful blow to his face. In an instant the other villains leapt into the fray with fists, knives and swords.
For a moment Merritt lay, shaking her head to clear her confusion. She was startled to find herself free of Lysander’s cruel hands.
Gathering her wits about her, she ran to her little brother. But as she bent to lift him in her arms he cried, “Nay. Take up a weapon and join Shaw. I can crawl to safety.”
“You are certain?”
“Aye,” he shouted. “Leave me.”
Edan watched as Merritt retrieved a sword from one of the fallen thieves. His heart swelled with pride as she bravely faced two men who towered over her. And though they were skilled fighters, she soon managed to disarm them and turn her attention to Shaw, who was surrounded by a pack of armed villains.
“Behind you,” Edan shouted, and Merritt turned in time to hold off a surprise attack by one of the thieves.
She shot her little brother a look of gratitude as she continued the skirmish.
From his position on the ground Edan glanced toward the safety of the forest. He had been raised to obey without question. And he knew the wisdom of Shaw’s order. At any moment one of the villains could capture him. That would force Shaw and Merritt to surrender, and all of the efforts to rescue him would have been in vain. He dared not place his sister and Shaw Campbell in any more peril.
Scooting across the clearing, he disappeared in the tall grass. From his position of concealment he watched the fighting and realized that more than half the villains already lay dead or wounded. But those who remained were fighting for their lives against Shaw, who seemed to be battling with all the strength and cunning of a madman.
“The leader flees,” Shaw shouted, as Lysander raced toward a thicket. “He must not be allowed to escape again.” He turned away, in an attempt to follow Lysander. Thus distracted, two of the villains were able to come up behind him. One of them swiped at his arm with the blade of his sword, causing Shaw’s weapon to fall from his hand. Unarmed, blood streaming from his wound, he turned to face his attackers.
“Now shall you die,” called the swordsman.
“Aye. As surely as I stand here.” The second villain, determined to see that Shaw did not escape his fate, drew an arrow into his bow. If the swordsman failed to kill him, his arrow would seal Shaw’s doom.
Merritt, caught in a duel with a sturdy young peasant determined to run her through, could not come to Shaw’s aid or her own life would be forfeited.
With rare courage, Shaw stood facing his attackers. Although he knew that he had little chance of fending off both men, he would not back down.
The swordsman lifted his weapon and advanced. At the last moment Shaw surprised him by bending low and flinging himself forward with all his might. The two men fell to the ground and rolled around, fighting for control of the sword, while the archer, arrow at the ready, could not fire, lest he kill the wrong man.
Merritt found herself backed up against a tree, her attacker poised to thrust his blade into her heart. With one last flash of her blade, she found his shoulder and managed to disarm him. Surprised by her skill, he backed away for a moment. That was all the time she needed for her blade to find his heart.
She turned, ready to come to Shaw’s aid. But to her horror she realized that, although he had managed to disarm his attacker, the archer stood poised to release his arrow into Shaw’s heart.
Prepared to face death like a true Highland warrior, Shaw lifted his head high and straightened his shoulders.
As the archer triumphantly drew back his bow, his victorious look faded to one of stunned surprise. Before he could release his arrow, he suddenly stiffened, then fell forward into the dirt. In his back glinted the hilt of a small, deadly dirk.
Both Shaw and Merritt looked in astonishment to the figure standing stiff and unmoving across the clearing.
“I did not mean to disobey you,” the boy said, his voice quavering, his eyes filling with tears. “But I could not flee to safety when those I love were in danger. I would have faced death, Shaw Campbell, rather than let him harm you.”
“Praise heaven, lad,” Shaw called. “For I was surely doomed.”
“Edan!” Merritt clapped a hand over her mouth in stunned surprise. “You are standing!”
As the realization dawned that he was standing without support of any kind, the boy took a tentative step toward his sister before crumpling to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Edan. Oh, God in heaven, Edan!” Merritt raced across the clearing to kneel beside her brother’s collapsed form.
“Are you hurt, lad?” Shaw asked tenderly as he knelt and cradled the boy in his arms.
“Nay. I was... overwhelmed,” Edan whispered. “Did you see?” He suddenly brightened as the realization dawned anew. “I was standing.”
“Aye.”
“Without anyone’s aid.”
Merritt and Shaw smiled at each other over his head.
“I am sorry about their leader,” he said to Shaw.
“Lysander? What are you sorry about, lad?”
“I could have stopped him with my dirk. Instead, I allowed him to escape. But I was forced to choose between stopping him and saving you. And even the hatred I feel for that villain was not as strong as the love I feel for you. Shaw Campbell.”
Shaw had to swallow the lump in his throat before he murmured, “Would that love could always be stronger than hate.” He gave the lad a gentle smile. “Do not fret about the tasks left undone. There will be another day to tend to them. This night you proved yourself to be a noble Highland warrior.”
“Am I truly?”
“Aye.” Shaw saw the way the lad struggled against his weariness. “You have earned the right to rest now, Edan. We will make our camp here, and you and your sister will sleep until the morrow.”
“And you?” Merritt asked.
“I will keep watch. And pray that Lysander attempts to return. For I would relish the chance to exact vengeance for his cruel deeds.”
With great tenderness he wrapped Edan in his cloak and laid him near the fire.
Kneeling beside her brother’s sleeping form, Merritt whispered, “Edan can stand. Praise heaven, he can stand. Do you think it i
s wrong of me to believe that he might also one day walk?”
“Nay, my lady. For now that I have seen, I, too, believe that he will walk.”
He drew a fur robe around Merritt. The sight of her torn tunic and shirt, and the bruises at her throat, had his eyes darkening with temper.
Seeing his fierce look, she murmured, “Your twin does not know you as I do. He thinks himself a warrior. But tonight I saw the bravest Highland warrior of all.”
Shaw’s voice was a fierce whisper. “When I saw Lysander’s hands upon you, I fell into such a black rage, I have little recollection of anything except the need to rescue you from those brutes.”
“Hush. It is over, thanks to your courage.”
“And yours, my lady.”
She touched a hand to his arm and felt the sticky warmth of his blood. “You are wounded, Campbell. Let me cleanse and bind it.”
Oh, the touch of her. It sent a fire raging through his loins that had him burning with need.
“Nay.” He pulled away roughly and got to his feet. “Take your rest, my lady, while I retrieve the horses, for they have been caused enough discomfort.”
She watched his lithe, pantherlike movements as he stormed away from her. Almost as though, she thought, he were an angry, stalking beast and she a trap that had been set to ensnare him.
When he’d been swallowed up by the surrounding forest, she drew the fur around her. Huddled deep in the folds, she turned to study her little brother, who slept as peacefully as if he were in his own pallet. If truth be told, he had not slept this peacefully in all the years since the attack upon their family.
She whispered a fervent prayer that all their troubles were over. Perhaps now that Lysander had lost his band of villains, he would let go of this hatred against her family.
Studying the flickering flames of the fire, she listened to the quiet, peaceful sounds of the forest. She felt no weariness, only a strange sense of hushed expectancy. As though something rare and wonderful were about to occur in her life.