Chapter Thirty-Three

The rustle of rain hitting the brown leaves on the forest floor made the woods seem to come alive with movement and noise.

Kirk’s gaze swept the trees restlessly, snagging on every fluttering leaf still desperately clinging to the branches overhead and every flitting wing as the birds darted away at their approach.

Almost as soon as he and Logan had ridden away from the Bruce’s camp, the rain had started. They had not stopped since.

What should have been a solid three-day ride had been accomplished in two long, arduous days. But since they’d lost a day delivering Lillian to Lochmaben, Kirk had pushed them mercilessly for fear that at any moment, one of Roland’s men would sink a dagger into his back.

He scanned their surroundings, his eyes bleary from exhaustion and anxiety.

“Easy, MacLeod,” Logan murmured beside him.

Kirk snapped his gaze to Logan and found the man staring at him, his brows lowered.

Kirk’s hands tightened around his reins. He cursed himself for giving Logan cause to worry—and question his ability. He needed to be sharp, focused. If they had any chance of survival, he could not lose himself in his swirling thoughts—thoughts of Lillian.

Her creamy skin illuminated by the dawn’s light.

Her dark, fathomless eyes brimming with tears.

The love she gave freely to him, even as he broke her heart in leaving to see his mission done once and for all.

He gritted his teeth against the ache in his chest. He’d once thought himself without a heart. Now he was painfully aware of every beat—for it beat only for Lillian.

“Did we already pass the Compound?” he asked, shifting in the saddle.

“Aye, though ye didnae notice, for we gave it a wide berth. Besides, ye were too busy chasing every squirrel and leaf with yer eyes.”

Kirk shot a glower at Logan, only to be met with a rare, small smile. He knew what the man was up to. He was trying to lighten the mood on a mission that neither one of them was likely to survive.

Logan grew sober and lifted his chin off to the south. “The Compound is several miles that way, but we neednae draw any closer.”

They’d discussed this strategy on their ride southward. Logan believed that every assignment, every client, and every coin that passed hands in the Order went through Roland Gervais. He insisted that if they could break through Roland’s deep retinue of guards and get to the man himself, the whole Order would collapse without the two of them needing to take on every bounty hunter at the Compound.

“We arenae far now,” Logan said, his gaze suddenly sharpening on the forest.

The surrounding woods looked the same as those they’d been riding through all afternoon, but Kirk trusted Logan’s sense of direction. He’d explained to Kirk that after so many years in the Order, and so many missions completed, Roland’s guards had eventually stopped covering his head with a sack. Either Roland trusted Logan enough to leave his eyes uncovered, or he believed that his threats to Logan’s younger sister were enough to keep Logan in line.

As blue twilight replaced the gray day, Logan held up a hand and reined in his horse. Kirk halted next to him, adrenaline spiking in his gut. He still didn’t see aught other than the rapidly darkening woods all around them, yet the damp air suddenly felt thick with tension.

“How many daggers do ye have left?” Logan whispered, his gaze now scanning the forest as sharply as Kirk’s had a moment before.

Kirk hadn’t bothered retrieving the daggers he’d buried in the men who’d paid for Lillian, for all he could think of at the time was getting her away from the crumbling abbey and to safety.

“Five,” he breathed, “including the ones in my saddlebag.”

Logan’s brows lowered with concern, but he nodded. “Get them ready.”

As Kirk dug out the two extra blades from his bag and secured them along with the remaining three in their sheaths on his forearms, Logan pulled several additional daggers from his own pack. He tucked them into his boots and belt until he nigh bristled with blades.

“Only kill shots this time, aye?” Logan whispered.

“Aye.”

“Ye were always better at those anyway.”

Though Logan shot him another crooked smile, his attempt at humor did not cut through the knot of tension that now twisted in Kirk’s stomach. He tried to return Logan’s grin, but feared it came out more of a grimace.

Logan’s features grew serious once more. Aye, the time for jesting was at an end. Kirk steeled his spine for what lay ahead.

“The guards will be fanned out all around Roland’s headquarters,” Logan said. “They scan the surrounding woods in rings expanding from the cottage. They are designed so that the guards cross past each other every quarter of an hour or so.”

The precision and strategy of such a system fit Roland’s exacting nature, but what made Kirk’s brows lift in surprise was the detail with which Logan was familiar with the protections surrounding Roland’s headquarters.

“Ye learned all that from yer visits to Roland’s cottage?” he asked.

Logan snorted. “From the moment Roland told me he had my sister, I have been plotting this attack. I’ve been watching and studying these past five years. Alone, I kenned I would never succeed. I didnae ever hope to meet another member of the Order who would be willing to attempt this mad mission.”

Kirk nodded. Aye, he was just crazy enough to take on the Order with naught but one other mercenary at his side. “How many will there be?”

“Mayhap a dozen patrolling the woods,” Logan replied. “A few more right outside the cottage, and a handful inside as well, I would guess.”

Damn . Every thrown dagger would have to count, and he’d have to get close enough to retrieve several of them as well.

Swallowing, Kirk nodded again. He knew the odds would be against them, but they still had to try. It meant Logan and his sister’s freedom. It meant Lillian’s safety. And it meant Kirk’s life—his soul.

“I’ll go around to the west. Ye come in from the east,” Logan whispered. “Move in a zig-zag so that ye are sure to encounter the guards on each ring. Then make yer way to the cottage. Whoever reaches Roland first gets to take his life.” Logan’s white teeth flashed in the descending darkness in a half-smile, half-snarl.

“Aye,” Kirk said through a tight throat .

They quickly clasped forearms, then Logan trotted off to the west, moving like a gray wolf through the rainy, night-dark forest.

Kirk quickly lashed the reins of both their horses to a nearby branch, giving each animal a soothing pat between the eyes before stalking forward.

The patter of rain on the dead leaves muffled his footsteps as he slinked through the trees. Heart hammering in his ears, he flicked his wrist to bring one of his five daggers into his palm. Every few steps, he froze, holding his breath, and listened for a rustle not caused by the rain.

After ten slow, agonizing minutes, he heard it. Footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves. Kirk ducked behind a thick oak trunk, then tilted his head around just enough to scan the woods where the sound had originated.

A hulking, shadowed form moved in a slow arc perpendicular to the path Kirk had been cutting. This must be the outermost ring of protection around Roland’s headquarters.

Kirk forced himself to count slowly in his mind as the guard drew nearer. He couldn’t act rashly now, though the dagger in his hand itched to be thrown. If he missed, or if the guard had time to call a warning, their efforts would be ruined before they had begun.

When the guard was only ten paces away, Kirk sucked in a breath and darted from his cover behind the tree. In the automatic motion that had been drilled into him in the Compound, he lifted the dagger above his shoulder, then snapped his arm forward, flicking his wrist last of all.

The dagger sailed true from his fingers. Less than half a heartbeat later, the blade was buried hilt-deep in the man’s throat.

The guard made a muted gurgling noise, then collapsed to his knees, at last pitching forward onto the leaf-strewn ground.

Kirk darted forward, crouching before the guard. His eyes skittered wildly across the forest as he turned the guard over, but no swarm of men descended on him. He yanked the blade free, and the guard heaved a death-shudder before going completely still.

One down. At least a half dozen more to go, assuming Logan could take care of his portion of the guards.

Just as Logan had instructed, Kirk cut diagonally across the arc the first guard had been making. When he heard the telltale sounds of another man approaching, he once again hid in the shadows behind a thick tree trunk, counting and holding his breath to force himself to wait.

When the footsteps were close enough, he stepped from his cover, the same dagger cocked in his hand.

But two guards stood before him, frozen in a moment of shock at Kirk’s appearance.

Kirk loosed the first dagger at the man on the left, hitting the man’s throat with deadly accuracy. But in the heartbeat it took to drop another dagger from the sheaths on his forearms, the second guard had jolted into action. He drew the sword strapped to his back and ran at Kirk with a bellow.

Kirk flung the dagger, but the man jerked out of the way at the last moment. The dagger spun uselessly into the darkened woods behind him.

As the man closed on him, Kirk brought forth a third dagger from his sleeve. The guard raised his sword in preparation to cleave Kirk’s skull in two. With no time to aim, Kirk dropped to one knee and hurled the dagger, praying that it would at least slow the man down before he could split Kirk’s head open.

The dagger sank into the guard’s middle and he folded with a grunt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

Kirk dropped a fourth dagger into his palm. As the guard began to straighten, he took aim. The dagger flew like a fired arrow right into the guard’s eye.

The guard roared again, falling backward into the leaves. He thrashed erratically as if in a fit of convulsions, then went still.

Kirk surged to his feet, but instead of bolting to the two fallen guards to retrieve his daggers, he sprinted into the dark woods. The second guard had shouted not once but twice. If any of the others patrolling the woods had heard, they would no doubt be closing on this spot. That meant Kirk didn’t have a moment to spare, even though he was down to just one dagger .

One cursed dagger.

He could have taken one of the guards’ swords, but Roland’s words came back to him. A sword was a knight’s tool, a weapon for someone with the leisure of time to draw it and proximity to his opponent.

Kirk had neither such luxury at the moment.

He staggered behind another tree, trying to slow his pounding heart and listen for sounds of men approaching.

His mind suddenly flashed back to the night he’d attacked the safe house where Lillian had been stowed. It had been a surprise attack, which he’d amplified by picking the men off one by one. He’d been in control, for he had the element of surprise and darkness as his aids.

He’d been so focused on the steep odds against him and Logan that he’d forgotten that Roland and his guards weren’t expecting this attack. Night shrouded them. Though he did not know these woods, he still had the element of surprise in his favor.

He needed to go on the offensive rather than imagining himself at a disadvantage. Aye, the numbers—and odds—were against him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take control of this strike, even with one dagger.

Drawing in a ragged breath for fortification, Kirk honed his ears once more for the sounds of approach.

Leaves swished off to his left. He dared a glance and saw a guard, sword drawn, hustling toward where his two comrades had fallen.

On silent feet, Kirk stalked behind him, careful to remain out of his peripheral vision. The guard reached the two fallen bodies and knelt behind them. Kirk froze, waiting. The guard rose and strode the way Kirk had come, his head swinging this way and that.

Now was the time to strike. Kirk sprinted forward. Just as the man began to turn toward him, Kirk grabbed his jaw in one hand and drew the dagger across his throat in a clean swipe.

The guard crumpled to the ground, his life’s blood flowing freely. Kirk let him fall, then cut back in the direction he guessed Roland’s cottage lay.

He stalked through the night-dark woods, coming upon three more guards in similar fashion. Each time, he stole up behind them, cutting their throats before they could make a sound.

Though death always took its toll on a man’s soul, Kirk could not muster any guilt at his actions, for these men’s deaths meant that other innocents might live. They had sold their souls to Roland Gervais and the Order of the Shadow. There was no moral gray area casting its shadow across Kirk’s conscience.

Ahead, the dark outline of a building appeared.

It had to be Roland’s modest cottage.

It was a strange place for the leader of a powerful bounty hunter organization to be headquartered. Then again, Roland seemed to be employing the same strategy he used for the Order’s network of safe houses. A garish castle, though more defensible, could be easily found, whereas this small, isolated hut would be nigh impossible to locate unless you knew what you were looking for.

Like a snake, Roland preferred to coil unseen, tucked back in the shadows well away from others. Now Kirk had to strike before Roland could.

He stalked on silent feet, cutting closer to the cottage while sweeping his gaze through the trees. The woods stood quiet and motionless except for the whisper of soft rain.

Hadn’t Logan said there would be more guards closer to the cottage? The hilt of Kirk’s last remaining dagger dug into his palm as he clutched it tighter.

As he drew closer, Kirk noticed several motionless lumps on the ground surrounding the hut. Logan had already been here. Kirk exhaled, some of the tension in his body draining away.

Soft light spilled around the edges of the hut’s closed door. Kirk crept nearer, giving the woods one last look before reaching for the handle.

The door swung open easily. Bright, warm light flooded out around Kirk. He took one step inside and froze.

Four guards’ bodies littered the floor, motionless in death.

Roland Gervais stood before the enormous hearth, a fire roaring behind him.

And he held Logan in front of him, a knife positioned at his throat.