Highland Sparks: Logan and Gwyneth (Clan Grant Series Book 5) (15 page)

His only challenge would be to guarantee that Gwyneth was safe. Aye, she was strong, but he had to make sure her feelings wouldn’t compromise the mission.

He dismounted and strolled to the back door of the Kirk, surprised to see that Gwyneth’s horse was gone. If she had already left without him, there would be hell to pay. As he knocked, his gaze searched the area for any signs of her. There was nothing.

The door swung open and Father Rab stood in front of him, an expression of concern on his face. “Och, this can’t be good.”

“Father Rab? Gwyneth isn’t here?”

“Nay, she left a short time ago. She told me she was going to find you, but since you stand in front of me, she must have gone after Erskine alone. The saints preserve us all, she promised she would seek your assistance first.” He shook his head. “I will pray for her all night. My sister causes me such worry.”

“Father, ease your mind. I will find her and protect her.” Logan clasped the priest’s shoulder.

“Many thanks, Logan.”

“Erskine, I imagine he is oft found at the river’s edge, but does he have a keep? And if so, where?”

“As far as I know, he has a couple of cottages he uses down near the water. He has a few men who work for him, and they often share huts. But no one knows where he lives, those are just his lackeys.”

Logan said, “Don’t worry, Father. I’ll find her.”

He bolted back out the door and jumped on Paz. Unfortunately, he now regretted the promise he had made to Gwyneth. The vision of a man swinging from a tree with his neck broken changed everything. If Erskine stood in front of him and Gwyneth was at his side, would he be able to step back and allow her the chance for vengeance?

He was no longer sure, but the lass had left without him. There was no time to waste.

Chapter Sixteen

Gwyneth left her horse well hidden in the trees when she neared the water. There were no docks yet in Glasgow, and the Firth of Clyde was well known for being too shallow for most boats near the shore. Now she had finally put together a key facet of Erskine’s operation. She had seen enough to know he loaded women into a covered cart, then moved them by packhorses down river to a usable dock. She supposed it kept his entire operation more secretive.

What’s more, from spying on him, she knew he could sometimes be found near the river, since he had so many lackeys around the firth. If she was patient, he would appear sooner or later.

And Gwyneth could be very patient. She settled into her favorite hiding spot in the bushes not far from the riverbank and waited, making sure she took note of everything around her.

She had already gone to see Hamilton and updated him on her whereabouts. He had given her the only assignment she was interested in—to kill Duff Erskine. Now was the time to complete it because the world would be a much better place without him. She felt a little guilty for lying to her brother about finding Logan Ramsay and taking him with her, but she hadn’t been able to locate Ramsay, and now she was on assignment. She could function on her own.

A few hours later and nightfall was fast approaching, but she wouldn’t let that deter her. She had practiced shooting in the dark often enough to be skilled at it. No one approached her; no one appeared to notice her. This was one of the reasons she wore dark men’s clothing. Besides covering against the brambles and dirt of the outdoors, it helped her to fade into the shadows. She used to hide her hair when she was younger, but no longer. People in Glasgow knew her, and most wouldn’t bother with her.

Except for Duff Erskine. She focused all her energies on him.

She remembered everything about him the day he killed her loved ones. His brown hair was dirty and unkempt. He was always chewing on something and he often spit, brown disgusting fluid that she swore came from his heart. But there was one thing about the man that would never leave her—his stench. He smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks, and she couldn’t rid her mind of that memory. No matter where she was, if she smelled strong body odor, it attacked her senses in more ways than one, often making her dizzy.

Over the years, Erskine had changed. His wealth bought him the best of finery, jewels on his fingers, and a different air about him. He believed he was above reproach, mostly because history had proven it to be true. Somehow, he escaped the sheriffs and magistrates of the royal burghs. He moved so fast from burgh to burgh that he was difficult to track, seemingly always progressing to a new location. But Gwyneth knew Glasgow is where he started, probably was his home. He was a flitting presence in other burghs, but not here. Glasgow was her best chance of finding him. Fragrant oils could cover up his stench, but not the rotting of his putrid soul.

Just thinking about the lousy cur caused her palms to dampen. She forced herself to focus on her surroundings. She had a limited view of the area, but she could hear. Taking a deep breath, she willed her body to calm so she could do what needing doing. A dog howled in the distance. The serenity of the night changed swiftly as the wind whipped through the trees. She lifted her nose to see if the aroma of an oncoming storm was in the air. Pausing to take in all the sounds of the town by the river, she had to accept that inclement weather was a possibility.

A shutter banged down the pathway, followed by the slam of a door. One set of heavy footsteps approached her and then passed by. A draft of wind told her who it was—Erskine. She peeked through the bushes just as his steps halted on the other side of her hiding spot. Had she been discovered?

The man took three steps back toward her and she held her breath, only to let it out as a man from the faraway cottage called his name and came running down the path toward him.

“Aye, Duff. I promise we’ll have everything completed on your return.”

Erskine stopped to speak to his henchman. “Good, see that you do,” Duff answered. “If you don’t, I have plenty of tree branches and rope to use for both of you. I have business elsewhere and I expect you to carry out my orders. If not, I have plenty to replace you.” Duff pivoted and headed in the direction of the town stables. His steps were heavy and deliberate, a man who knew what he was doing at all times. Sure of his mission, he continued without hesitation while his lackey returned to the riverbank.

Gwyneth waited to see if his comrade would join him, but the two traipsed away in opposite directions. She stood and hid behind a nearby tree, waiting until her prey stepped inside the stables. She would have him cornered, right where she wanted him. If she timed it right, he would be at the far side of the large barn when she opened the door to the stables, and her arrow would find him easily. She had always thought to take him down outside, but if it happened inside the stables, he would have nowhere to run. No one had entered or exited the building since she had been here, so she thought him alone. Not many were out this late at night.

She and her father’s murderer, her brother’s murderer, and the man who had tried to sell her as a slave would finally meet on
her
terms.

The door to the stable creaked as he opened it, and banged shut behind him.

Now was her chance.

***

Logan stood in the center of town, trying to decide where to start looking for Gwyneth. Father Rab had suggested he might find her down by the cottages at the water’s edge, so he headed there first.

He went on foot, his sword and daggers strapped to his person. The darkness of the evening crept over him just as the winds came up, threatening another Scottish autumn gale. The town was mostly devoid of people; they had apparently sensed the oncoming storm and tucked inside their cottages.

Traversing the area near the firth, he wondered what he would do if he saw the bastard before Gwyneth did. He wanted naught more than to put his sword directly into the blackguard’s heart, but he had promised Gwyneth he wouldn’t do it.

He reminded himself that even Hamilton had said to assist Gwyneth, not take the lead. But since Dougal had told him to kill Duff, he would have at least a partial justification for going against his word.

Nay, he couldn’t do it. He had pledged not to interfere unless her life was in danger. Even so, he knew Gwyneth would hate him forever if it came to that. He couldn’t let that happen. She would marry him once this was settled. She just didn’t realize it yet.

He heard voices ahead, one voice clearly giving the other instructions. The unidentified male walked toward the stables, stopped, but then continued on his way. He waited in the shadows, hoping for a clue as to the men’s identities. Eventually, another man followed the first, and gave him the information he needed. He called Duff by name.

There was only one Duff that he knew of, so it had to be Erskine. It would take all his self-control not to force the man to the ground so he could beat his face to a pulp, but he would.

Just as he moved in that direction, drops of rain started to fall around him and thunder boomed in the distance. Hellfire, he wished this was over.

Then there she was. He would know her lithe form anywhere. She glided across the grass without a sound, headed straight for the stables, her bow clutched in her hand. The rain molded every inch of her clothing to her curves. Never had he seen such beauty, but he forced his mind to focus on what was at stake.

He had been correct. Duff Erskine was inside those stables.

And Gwyneth was braced to kill.

Chapter Seventeen

Gwyneth had waited a long time for this. Finally, retribution for her father and her brother was within her grasp. After a survey of the area again, she crept to the closed door and pressed her ear to the weather-worn wood. The soft rustling of boots moved through the straw, confirming her original impression—only one man moved inside, and he was hers.

Gwyneth readied her bow and waited just outside the door, fingering the lucky stone in her pocket one last time. She fidgeted with her arrows, reviewing the plan in her mind before she took the next step. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the rusty door handle.

Before her hand ever touched it, the door flew open with a bang.

Duff Erskine grinned at her.

Gwyneth was momentarily stunned, but she quickly recovered and arranged her bow.

“What, are you going to shoot me at this range? Go ahead and try. So you got lucky and were saved by the Norse. No matter. I’ll still get my money for you someday. Truly, I could kill you, Cunningham, but you are worth much more to me alive, a beauty like you. Continue to follow me, you do not scare me. Worry not; we’ll meet again on my terms.”

His evil grin chilled her right to the bone, but he wouldn’t win, not this time. She squared her shoulders. “Nay, you won’t, Erskine. You are scum, and I intend to make you pay for killing my father and brother.”

Erskine laughed and shoved past her. He stopped just outside the stable door and stared up at the thunder clouds above, then laughed. “You couldn’t hit me on a good day, Gwyneth. With this rain, you won’t have a prayer and you know it.”

He turned his back to her and walked away, chuckling.

Gwyneth braced herself and aimed straight for his back. This was all wrong. She wanted to shoot him between the eyes or in his heart. She held for a moment, expecting him to turn around to try and goad her again. The rain ran down her face and over her hands, but she held strong.

“You couldn’t hit the stables right now, Gwyneth. You’ll never hit me,” he called out over his shoulder, his voice careless.

Fury coursed through her veins. No matter if she shot him in the back. She let her arrow fly and waited.

Naught happened.

“Och, was that meant for me?” he guffawed. “You weren’t even close. Didn’t anyone tell you that you’re a girl, lass? Lasses can’t shoot. Whoever taught you did a terrible job, and he shouldn’t have wasted his time.” He continued to strut away.

“Turn around, Erskine, so I can see your face.” She wanted to see the look in his eyes when she hit him with the killing bolt.

He turned around and stopped, staring her straight in the eyes. “You don’t have what it takes to shoot me. Here you go.” He held his arms up. “Here I am, kill me. You’re a lass, and you aren’t strong or smart enough to take me down. Give it up.”

Gwyneth nocked another arrow, drew, and released it, but she missed him by two arms. The rain pelted her face, causing her vision to blur, and she swiped at her eyes. Unfortunately, tears now blurred her sight, his words hitting her harder than any she had ever heard.

“Ha!” His arms jerked up toward the sky as he spun around and walked away from her again. “You can’t even hit a standing target. You’ll never be able to hit me when I’m moving. Let it go, Gwyneth. Go to your brother’s Kirk, get down on your knees and apologize to your father and brother for your failures.”

She drew another arrow and let it fly, but her arm shook too much for her to control her aim. She was way off target. Her knees began to buckle, and she forced herself to lock them, drawing strength from her belly. She could not fail.

“Not a chance.” His laughter echoed through the night. “Be careful that you don’t hit the wildlife, would you, girl?”

Another arrow flew past him. “Say goodbye to your brother, by the way, because we’ll be coming for you again in a sennight. This time the Norse won’t be around to save you.” He walked without breaking his pace, as if he had no fear.

Gwyneth clenched her jaw and sobbed in fury. How could she have missed him so many times, and at such close range? She didn’t doubt her abilities with the bow—after all, she had won her contest against Ramsay fair and square only a few days ago. She stared after Erskine, who was still rambling along, taunting her as he went, so she noticed when he suddenly stopped short. She wiped the tears from her eyes and stared. Why was he no longer moving?

Logan.

As her vision cleared, she realized Logan Ramsay stood at the end of the path with his arm encasing Duff Erskine, a dagger at his throat.

“Nay!” she screamed. “You promised me, Ramsay. He’s mine. Do not kill him. He is mine!” She tore down the path toward him, slipping and sliding in the mud, her arms flailing with urgency.