Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (38 page)

They rattled along. Although the motion jabbed knives of pain through every part of Roman's body, it also lulled him. Sleep had been too short and too seldom. The blow to his head wore at him, but he could not sleep, could not relax his vigil.

Finally the frenetic pace slowed to something more sedate. They turned a corner, using all four wheels for the first time, Roman was certain. For several more rods they trotted along, and then they stopped.

"Where are we?" Roman rumbled. Tara tried to see around him, but he held her back. There was no saying who might recognize her.

"We're at the gate," David said.

"Who are you and what's your business?" They could hear the guard's voice clearly from where they sat.

"Me name's Joseph, and me lord's business is none of your concern," said Liam, as cocky as any high-ranking servant.

But Tara gasped suddenly.

Roman jerked his head toward her. "What's amiss?"

"Liam's clothes. He doesn’t have the proper costume." She whispered the words.

For a moment the guard was silent, then, "Who is your lord?"

"'Is name's Lord Argle? P'raps you've 'eard of 'im."

"Nay, I haven't."

Roman could hear Liam fill his chest with air. "Well, 'e'll 'ear bout you if'n ya don't cease wastin' our time."

Tara half stood to step forward. Roman reeled her back, and drawing a breath for strength, poked his head through the window. "What is the meaning of the delay,
garcon?"
he asked. His French accent was shaky, but he had managed to assume the irritated tone of the upper crust.

There was a moment of silence. The guard moved toward the back of the coach.

"My apologies, m'lord," called Liam. "But this
neminar
says he ain't never 'eard of you. Shall we lippiate 'im?"

Neminar? Lippiate? Roman allowed himself one swift glance over his shoulder at Tara.

She shrugged, looking bewildered.

The guard stopped. "Who you calling a numi…nar?"

"You," Liam said, effectively drawing the guard away from getting a closer view of the coach's occupants.

"And you think you can ... What the hell do you think you can do to me?"

"Huh," chortled Liam from his perch behind the bays. "Only a barbarian don't know French."

"He
doesn't know French," Tara whispered, shifting toward the door once more.

Again Roman pulled her back. Hell fire! He was traveling with a bunch of lunatics. "Keep her inside," he ordered David.

It took all his self-control to open the door and step out without wincing. "What's the meaning of this?" he asked.

The guard shifted his attention from Liam to Roman. His gaze skimmed the man before him, assessing, calculating.

"I'm sorry, m' lord," he said. "But we've had some trouble here this morning. It seems Baron Dasset was robbed. We've orders to stop all coaches and—"

His words were cut short as four men sprang from the bushes near the bridge out of nowhere. They threw themselves at Roman. But he'd kept Harrington's weapon in his hand. He swiped with it now. A man screamed and fell back. The second lunged at him. Roman dodged behind the door, but even that movement nearly threw him to the ground. A sword twanged against the lacquered wood.

"Roman!" Tara screamed, trying to draw him back.

She was close, far too close to the danger.

"Drive!" he roared, battling to right himself and fend off the next attack.

There was a yell from Liam. The horses lunged against their traces. The carriage was yanked into motion. Roman tried to go with it, to keep his hold on the door, to swing inside, but someone had grabbed his shirt.

"No!" Tara screamed, and suddenly she was in the doorway.

Dear Jesu! She was going to jump after him, he realized suddenly. Kicking his assailant aside, he swung on the door toward the carriage. Hands grabbed him, pulled him up. Men yelled. Horses screamed. Roman landed on the red cushion and slammed the door behind him. From up above, he heard Liam laugh with wild triumph.

"He's insane," Roman said, still gripping the sword in one hand.

"Never do that again. Don't ever do that again!" Tara raved. "You could have been killed."

He managed not to smile. "Me apologies," he said, and kissed her. "It seems I forgot to leave all the risk ta ye."

"They're coming," David said, pulling his head inside.

"How many?"

"Four thus far, all mounted."

"How long can we outpace them?"

David shook his head. "I dunna know these horses."

"Ask the lad," Roman ordered.

Tara popped away from his side, levered her body through the window. "How long can we outrun them, Liam?" she yelled into the oncoming wind.

"Sweet Jesu!" Roman swore, grasping her gown near her buttocks. "Get in here."

"These champions will run till they drop," yelled Liam. "But we can only hold a lead for half a league, maybe less."

Roman reeled Tara in with another curse.

"Half a league," she panted. "Maybe less."

"Don't ever do that again," Roman warned.

"There's a woods ahead," David said.

"We could find cover, unhitch the team, and ride astride," Roman suggested. Poking his head out the window, he glanced behind. Their followers were hidden behind a hill.

"You can't ride," Tara said. "'Twould never be safe."

"If the steeds have the heart Liam thinks they have, we might yet win the day," Roman reasoned.

"You can't ride."

"If we can unhitch quickly enough," David said, "we might be able to outrun them."

"Outrun them? We could never outrun them. Roman is badly wounded. He cannot ride."

Roman glanced at her. "With ye beside me I could fly, lass."

"But..." Tara said.

"David, how far is it to the woods?"

"A quarter league, maybe less."

"But..." she said again. "I can't."

Roman turned to her with a scowl, then noticed her pale expression. "Canna what?"

"Cannot ride," she murmured.

"Yer scairt ta ride?" Roman asked.

"Not scared," she corrected. "Never learned."

"Praise the saints," Roman said. "I've found something she's scairt of."

"Not scared," she said again, then bounced as they hit a particularly rough spot in the road. "Untutored."

Roman spared half a grin, then sobered, "Ye could ride with me, but twould slow down the steed and we dunna have enough of a lead for that."

"Then there's little choice but for ye ta jump out," David said.

"It appears so," Roman agreed. "At the third rise, slow the team for the count of ten, then push them to the hilt and dunna look back."

"What?" Tara asked.

"We'll hide in the wood," Roman said. "Liam and David will drive on, find a likely spot, unhitch the horses, and lose the guards before returning to us."

"Hide in the woods, and let Liam take the risk?" Tara asked aghast.

"'Tis the safest thing for ye," David said, then caught his friend’ glare and corrected himself. “For
Roman,
I mean. 'Tis the safest thing for Roman. Wounded as he is, he'll not be able ta ride hard enough ta escape."

"'Tis settled then," Roman said. "Can ye tell Liam of our plans?"

Tara leaned toward the window, ready to do his bidding. Roman caught her arm, pulling her back to his side. "I was na speaking to you," he said.

It was not so difficult a task for David to crawl through the window and up beside Liam.

Roman switched seats to watch the woods approach. Within minutes they entered it. He pulled Tara from her seat, steadying her in front of him. "We'll reach the third rise soon. We'll slow at the curve. When we do, jump."

Their gazes met. ''Roman, you're hurt, you can not—"

Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly. "Mayhap ye can catch me."

"'Tis not a joke."

"I will be fine, lass. Jump far. Then rise as soon as ye man and run as if the devil be at yer heels. Can ye do that?"

She nodded once.

Time sped past, then, "Jump!" he ordered.

She did so, propelling herself from the coach. He flung himself after her, but his sense of balance was awry. His skull struck the ground. A thousand daggers stabbed him. His head thundered, threatening darkness. But he fought it off. He could not fail her. He could not.

"Roman!" she gasped, reaching for him.

"I told ye ta run!"

"Come on! Come on!" she urged, pulling him to his feet.

Agony ripped through him, but he gained his balance. The world spun. He was Highlander. He could not fail. She could not die. He managed two steps before falling to his knees. "Run!" he ordered, but she gripped his arm and leaned close.

"Die now, Scotsman, and I'll die right here with you, I swear I will."

"Damn you!" He staggered to his feet, fixed his eyes on the woods and forced himself toward it.

Hoofbeats! He heard them coming.

"Hurry. Hurry, Scotsman."

Roman gritted his teeth, managed a couple of rods, then wrapped his arm tight about Tara's body and dragged her to the ground.

The sound of hoofbeats swelled, exploded in his head, and finally disappeared into oblivion.

"Roman." Tara touched his face, fear unraveling within her. "Roman!"

He didn’t answer, but lay in pale silence.

"Roman!" She sat up, panic roiling like a brewing storm as she cradled his head in her lap. "No!" She sobbed, but then, beneath her hand, she felt a faint pulse.

"So he is dead already?"

Tara jerked her head up with a gasp.

Not three rods away, Lord Dagger sat upon his white steed. "'Tis unfortunate," he said, dismounting and drawing his sword from its sheath. "I had hoped to kill him myself. But I suppose I will have to be content with killing you."

Chapter 27

Panic roiled up within Tara, attempting to consume her. Roman would die, her mind screamed in terror. After all her struggles, he would die here, far from his homeland, far from the people he loved.

Terrible loss ripped through her heart. But years of hardship had taught her to fight to the end. Perhaps he didn't have to die. Not if Dagger believed he was already dead.

"You killed him." Letting Roman's head slip to the earth, Tara grasped the sword he had dropped and rose to her feet. "You killed him," she whispered.

Dagger shook his head as he stepped toward her. "Nay. You deprived me of that pleasure."

He was evil personified, and he was getting closer, closer to Roman. Panic threatened again. Tara pushed it down. Roman must not die. He would not.

She backed away. A fallen branch snagged her skirt. She stepped to the right, praying. True to her pleas, Dagger followed her, veering off the direct course to Roman.

"Tell me, girl," said Dagger, stalking her, "who are you?"

Dagger must die. That was her mission, her reason for being, the culmination of all her years in Firthport. Suddenly, everything seemed so perfectly clear. Everything she had endured had been for this purpose—to give her life for the man she loved. Surely God had ordained it. She would die, but Roman would live.

She stopped, raising her chin and with it, the sword. It was heavy and long, but somehow she would find the strength to use it.

"Who are you?" Dagger asked again, still advancing.

"I am the one sent to kill you," she said.

He stopped for a moment. Then he laughed. Less than a rod separated them. Tara tightened her grip on the sword and waited. "Are you the Shadow?" he asked.

Yes. She was, and that memory sent something akin to pride washing through her. She lifted the sword another inch and smiled. "Me?" She shook her head. "I am the devil come to claim his own."

He canted his head, moving closer. "Truly."

She stood her ground. God had given her the honor of saving Roman's life. She would not fail.

"You made an intriguing gypsy and a tempting lady, but I think I like you best as the devil," he said. "Still, I need to know, are you also the Shadow?"

"It matters little."

"Ah, but it matters to me." He slowed his pace and watched her closely. "For if I know I kill the Shadow when I kill you, I will enjoy my work the more, and mayhap I will take my time about it. And I think..." He stopped, studying her from less than a half a rod's distance. "I think you are the Shadow. I think 'twas you that stole the necklace from the Scotsman, the dead Scotsman," he corrected, and chuckled when she paled. "'Tis strange how life works, is it not? First you steal from him, then you attempt to avenge his death. But I fear I cannot allow that," he said and launched himself toward her.

"Nay!" Tara shrieked. She raised the sword. But Dagger was quick and strong.

Slashing sideways, he knocked her blade aside. She spun away. Her skirts tangled about her ankles and she fell.

He was coming, lunging! She must not die! Not yet. She twisted about, dragging the sword before her. Dagger swung again. His blade struck hers, throwing her to the ground with the strength of his parry. Her head hit a rock. She tried to reel back the blackness and bring her sword to bear, but she couldn’t marshal her senses, couldn’t move.

Dagger stood over her, blade raised.

She had failed her beloved.

Dagger laughed. The sword descended.

"Nay!" someone roared.

Dagger jerked about. Roman stood not three feet away. He swung a branch. The villain ducked, but the bough caught his shoulder, knocking him sideways.

Roman followed, his steps unsteady, his world reeling.

Dagger straightened, watching his opponent with narrowed eyes.

"So you're not yet dead, Scotsman. And the woman knew it all along." He chuckled, bringing his sword to bear. "Ahh, she was a clever one, trying to lead me away from you. In fact, I think she planned to give her life to save yours. As soon as I kill you, I'll finish with her. I rather hope she's still alive."

Weakness and fatigue weighed Roman's arms. Hell yawned before him.

"How did it feel to fuck a shadow, Scotsman? No need to answer. I'll know soon enough."

Rage screamed through Roman. He lunged, swinging his branch. Dagger parried. Steel met wood, slicing the branch at a sharp angle less than two feet from Roman's hands.