My Seductive Highlander (25 page)

“I…uhm…understand.” Lilia cleared her throat and sat taller in the saddle. Gray was right. Graham's life, and now the well-being of the MacKenna clan, depended on them. There was no time to tarry. “So what's the plan? Send for reinforcements or take a chance on our timing and kick some Buchanan ass by ourselves?”

“Both.” Gray nodded to the largest of the three guards. “Duncan—back t'the keep. Double the guard then send the rest to join us. Alert everyone to what ye've just witnessed. Ye ken what must be done.”

The brawny man thumped a clenched fist to his chest while turning his horse back in the direction from which they'd just come. “Aye, m'chieftain. It will be so.”

Gray looked to Colum and the remaining men. “Now let us be on our way t'show the Buchanans the error of their thinkin'.”

Dammit t'hell. Four bastards after all.
Graham kept his gaze lowered, feigning sleep, as the four remaining Buchanans shuffled about the makeshift camp, making ready to carry on with the journey. And sure enough, one of the bastards was not only the ugliest but the biggest of them all: Scrunge. Aptly named because he stunk worse than an overcrowded castle's cesspit.

But the other remaining Buchanans triggered a bit of hope for a successful escape. The short, squat toadlike leader could easily be overcome.
I'll just knock him flat of his back. The round bastard canna regain footing without a sturdy handhold.

And then the other two. Older. Slight of form but more than likely quite a bit cannier than the leader and Scrunge. Those two ne'er stopped glancing about the hillside and if they'd checked their weapons once they'd checked them a thousand times o'er.

Graham slowly rose to his feet. Sizing the four Buchanans up, 'twas plain what course he should take. He looked to Angus then pointedly shifted his gaze to Scrunge.

Angus lowered his chin in subtle acknowledgment, tucked his injured arm tighter to his torso, and flexed the fingers of his good hand.

Angling sideways to a taller portion of the crumbling wall behind him, Graham double-wrapped the shackle chain around his fists and pulled the metal links taut.

Scrunge shuffled out of range, wadding up an extra plaid and knotting the corners before securing it behind one of the saddles.

Come over here, ye stinkin' bastard.
Graham propped his arse against the stones behind him and braced his feet.

Slowly but surely, Angus inched closer to one of the horses tied to a nearby tree. Each time one of the Buchanans glanced his way, he quickly assumed a stoop-shouldered stance and cradled his broken arm.

Graham spotted Angus's target: an axe hanging in the loop of the saddle.
Well done, man. May the gods guide yer aim.

Scrunge finally lumbered closer and Graham lunged. He kicked the back of Scrunge's right leg, knocking the giant to one knee. Throwing the chain over Scrunge's head, Graham straddled the man's broad back, twisted the length of metal around the guard's throat, and yanked backward.

Scrunge gasped and sputtered, fighting wilder than an untamed stallion to knock Graham free. The sound of his own blood pumping rushed and roared in Graham's ears.
Just a bit longer. Die, ye stubborn bastard.
Graham strained to hold fast, twisting the chain ever tighter to cut off Scrunge's air.

Alerted by the furious scuffle, the other men sprang into action.

A wet thunk sounded and the leader of the marauders stopped in his tracks then teetered forward, the axe buried deep in the back of his skull. He hit the ground and didn't move.

The slighter of the remaining two men beat Angus to the other horse bearing a weapon. He unsheathed a sword and tossed it to his partner. “Cut the hands off that goat-swivin' cur tha's chokin' Scrunge!” Then he snatched up a deadly pike propped against a boulder on his side of the camp. He turned toward Angus, hefting the spear in one hand. “I'll skewer ye like the vermin ye are, MacKenna rat.”

Angus took cover behind a gnarled tree broad enough to shield him. “Come after me like a man,” he taunted, with a glance around the trunk. “Only a coward wields a spear against a one-armed man.”

Doin' his damnedest to watch both deadly Buchanans, Graham pulled the chain higher, hooking it behind Scrunge's heavy jaws and yanking it tighter. He arched backward; his raw back scraped the wall, triggering a searing burn across his shoulders. The pain would just have t'be damned. If he didna shield himself with the wall to his back and Scrunge to his front, he'd ne'er get out of this alive.

Scrunge finally went limp. Graham nearly lost his footing when the mountain of flesh sagged forward. He struggled to keep Scrunge up in place between himself and the advancing Buchanan with the sword.

“Aye, yer done for now. Ye've lost yer shield.” The henchman grinned as he slowly advanced. “I'll keep ye alive. I grant ye that. But the chieftain didna say ye had to have all yer parts.” He gripped the haft of the sword with both hands, hefting the long heavy blade high over his head. “I sharpened me sword to a fine edge last night. I wager I can lop off both yer arms along with Scrunge's head with one good swing. What say ye? Will ye take that wager?”

Whizzing sounds ripped through the trees, followed by a series of solid
thunk-thunk-thunk
s.

Shock registered on the face of the Buchanan with the raised sword. Slowly, the weapon teetered out of his grasp and hit the ground in front of him with a clatter. The man sagged forward, knees hitting the ground first, then his body flopped across the sword, two arrows protruding from his back.

The Buchanan with the spear was dead as well: another pair of arrows from seemingly nowhere embedded deep in his chest.

Graham untangled himself from Scrunge and stumbled to one side, staring at the dead men in amazement. He wilted back against the wall, the realization of being free making his knees weak.
Safe. Finally safe. Now I can find m'Lilia.

Angus exploded with a victorious whoop as he hopped out from behind the tree. Then all triumph left his face as he stared down at the dead Buchanan in front of him. The man's lifeless eyes were still wide open and his fist still clutched the spear.

Angus's scowl darkened with vengeance. He knelt slowly and wrenched the weapon out of the dead man's hand. Then he stood, stretched tall, and jammed the spear deep into the Buchanan's chest just below the breastbone. “Tha's for breakin' me arm, ye bastard.” Then he spat on the man and kicked dirt across him.

A rhythmic thundering rumbled beyond the sparse tree line hedging in one side of the camp. The ground trembled as the thudding grew closer. Horses. Several of them.

Pray let it be the MacKennas.
Graham straightened, wrapping the chain back around his fists and pulling it tight again. He had t'be ready lest it be more Buchanans.

“Graham!”

God a'mighty, 'tis her.

“Lilia!” He nearly choked on her name, so relieved he was to hear the sweet music of her voice.

Lilia's mount was the first to pound into camp. She pulled up hard, leapt from the saddle, and vaulted onto Graham's chest.

Arms pinned by the chains of his shackles between them, Graham couldn't hold her but he could damn sure kiss her. The taste of her sent his senses reeling. Now he could die a happy man. He'd held his dear one once again—he was complete with the other half of his soul.

Graham drank deep of her sweet mouth like a man dying of thirst. He finally pulled back the barest bit and grazed his lips across her forehead.

“I ne'er thought I could love anyone so,” he whispered. “By the gods both new and old, I swear I love ye more than life itself.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I canna exist without ye, sweetling. I need ye more than ye'll e'er know.”

“I know more than you think because I love you just the same.” Lilia cupped his face between her hands, her lower lip quivering as she looked deep into his eyes. “I would die without you,” she whispered, tears leaving a glistening trail down her cheeks.

Then her eyes widened and a horrified look registered on her face. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God.” Lilia repeated the words over and over in a frantic whisper. She stepped back, her gaze scouring his body from head to toe.

“What the hell did they do to you?” Her tears flowed faster and her jaw tightened. Graham kent that look well. His dearest love was enraged.

Lilia ran her hands over the cuts and bruises on his face—not touching them but skimming just above them as though trying to brush them away. She did the same to the wounds on his chest, then down across the shackles, then back to his face again.

She slowly circled him, one hand touching his shoulder, turning him away as she moved behind him.

Graham stood taller, bracing himself. She'd be upset. Nay—no' upset. She'd be more enraged than a berserker filled with bloodlust. He had to make her understand that all that mattered now was that they were back together. Wounds healed. Separated hearts did not. “It's no' as bad as it seems, love. I'll be mended in no time.”

Still standing behind him, Lilia hissed out something under her breath, her words so soft he couldna make them out. But he knew his sweetling. He had a fair idea of what she'd said even though most women he knew would ne'er use such foul language.

Graham turned to pull her back around in front of him, but Lilia's look of cold, calculating rage stayed his hand. “Lilia,” he said softly, reaching out to her. “Leave go of yer rage, lass. 'Tis over. The men are dead. They've paid in full for what they've done.”

Lilia didn't take his hand, just clenched her fists and stepped around him. She directed her words at Colum and Gray as they worked in unison to free Graham from the irons around his wrists and ankles. “We should've killed the son of bitches a lot slower.”

Karma agreed with a deep growling rumble, leaned against Graham's leg, then made a softer whining sound with a slow wag of his thick tail.

“Aye, lad. She's a fierce one, is she not?” Graham rubbed the dog's broad head, grateful that the massive beast was on his side.

Colum and Gray looked at each other, then turned in unison to Graham. The three men seemed to communicate without saying a word. Colum pulled the strap of a swollen leather flask from across his chest. He uncorked the skin and held it out. “
Uisge beatha.
Water of life, man. Ye look as though ye could use it.”

“Aye t'that.” Graham gladly accepted the bag and took a long deep drink. Fine MacKenna whisky. A warm streak of renewed vigor spread down his gullet. Life was good once again.

“Angus?” Graham held out the flask.

“Ye dinna hafta ask me twice.” Angus winked, grabbed the bag, and upended it, squeezing a steady golden stream into his opened mouth.

“Buchanans a-comin'!” The sandy-haired MacKenna guard that had stood watch on higher ground whilst they rescued Graham and Angus thundered into the center of the camp. “Best take cover in the ruins. There be seven o' them. Mayhap more.”

Protective rage burned through Graham's veins hotter than the whisky. He took hold of Lilia's arm and pulled her toward the fallen-down structure of drystone walls that had once been an impressive broch. “I want ye t'stay down and keep hidden within the walls, ye ken?”

Lilia twisted her arm out of his grasp. “Bullshit!” She jogged over to her horse and retrieved her weapons. “I know how to use these. Remember?” She held her sword in one hand and a bow and quiver of arrows in the other. She motioned back at Kismet, already arched with hackles up, tail fully puffed, and ears flattened against her head. “Come on, Kismet.” She turned to the dog. “Karma, you stay with Graham.”

“This is no' one of yer wee Highland games, woman!” Graham hurried to the Buchanan skewered with the pike and yanked it free of the man's body. He motioned Angus toward their captor's discarded axe and sword, then spun and faced Gray. “Why the hell did ye bring her here? Ye shouldha come for us alone.”

“Ye've got a lot t'learn about Sinclair women, MacTavish.” Colum trotted around the clearing, rounding the horses up. He led them to shelter behind the crumbling stone structure.

Gray jerked a thumb toward Lilia with one hand while pointing at Graham with the other. “Ye'll find there's no controllin' them once their minds are set. God knows I've tried and now I've got a daughter who's just the same.”

“Get behind the broch!” Graham jabbed the spear toward the wall of stone, struggling not to roar aloud when Lilia didn't move.
Lore, she'll be the death of me
. “We dinna have time for this, Lilia. Please do as I say—just this once.”

Lilia rolled her eyes, looped the quiver full of arrows and bow over one shoulder, and hurried past the broch. Kismet leapt up the hillside in front of her, scampering around the low-growing ground cover and stones. Lilia nimbly trotted partially up the slight incline then paused. “I'm going for higher ground. Better vantage point for arrows. You stay safe. I didn't come here to watch you die.”

“Come, man. We'll shield her from below.” Angus grabbed him by the arm and pulled. “The Buchanan and his son are among the lot. I spied the ugly bastards m'self. Ye've no time t'fetch her back down now.”

If we live through this, I'll turn her o'er me knee again!
Graham hunkered down in the center of the toppled broch with Angus, Gray, Colum, and the two MacKenna guards. Karma stood at alert behind them, a low warning growl clicking in his throat. The remains of the circular structure would protect them—for a bit. If the MacKenna lad was right, they were evenly numbered against the Buchanans, but weaker due to injuries and one surly, hardheaded woman who wouldna see sense.

May the gods be with us.
Graham shifted the spear to his left hand and took a sword in his right.
Protect her,
he silently prayed.
I beg ye—above all else, protect her.