Chapter Nine

Outside the tavern in Acharacle, all three of the soldiers rushed toward Neacal, spurring him into his warrior mindset.

He shoved Anna behind him and drew his sword. "Halt!"

The men slid to a stop, their eyes narrowed on his blade.

"Hand her over, you blackguard!" the one with short brown hair demanded.

His hackles rose and heated fury poured into his veins. "I'm Chief of the MacDonalds of Moidart and she is under my protection."

The lanky henchman with stringy long hair gave a nasty laugh. "His lairdship will not find this amusing. So, you've become a whore, have you, m'lady?"

M'lady? Neacal darted a quick glance back at Anna. Her face was ashen. Was she a lady in truth? Although he'd had his suspicions… why had she not told him? And who was the laird they were speaking of? Obviously a relative of hers.

At five paces, the men murmured amongst themselves but he could not make out their words. Their dialect was different; they must hail from a distant part of Scotland.

"What is going on, Anna?" Neacal growled low. "Are these your clansmen?"

Her wide-eyed gaze darted to him and back to the three soldiers.

"Come, Lady MacCromar. 'Tis time to go home to your husband," one of the strangers called.

Husband? What the blazing hell? She was married? Neacal glared back at her. Why had she pretended to be a widow? Why had she let him kiss her… and more? He muttered a curse.

She sent him a guilty look, tears sparkling in her eyes. Her face was pale and her shallow breaths came quickly. She shook her head.

Were the men lying?

Regardless, he was not turning her over to the heathens. Clearly, she was terrified of them. Mayhap her husband was an abusive tyrant.

"Get behind the horse," he murmured to her.

She shook her head again, tears in her eyes. "I won't let them kill you. I'll go with them."

"Nay," he grated. "Do as I say and move to the other side of the horse. Stay out of the way." He pushed her underneath the horse's head to the other side, then stepped forward, lest his horse get injured during the coming skirmish.

The three men drew their swords. "Come, m'lady. Do not force us to kill the poor, disfigured young chief you have manipulated into helping you hide like an outlaw." The lanky knave sent Neacal a sinister grin as he crept closer. "It appears you already lost one battle."

Neacal gave a malicious smile in return. Aye, let them underestimate him. 'Twould give him the upper hand.

"Stop where you are," Neacal commanded, bringing his sword into the outside guard position.

Dunn growled and hunched as if to launch himself at one of the men.

"Back, Dunn! Stay!"

"You're outnumbered, lad," the pudgy man with graying hair sneered.

"Are you thinking that matters?" Neacal asked.

All three men charged him, swords ready to strike. One stabbed toward Neacal's chest. Flicking his blade upward, Neacal knocked the weapon away and, at the same time, deeply nicked his attacker's chin. The man reeled back, howling.

The other two bastards thrust their weapons at him. He slashed in a half circle, deflecting their blades upward. Then, in a quick reverse, cut both men across their abdomens. Blood saturated their sliced clothing and they staggered backward, cursing.

The first man who'd attacked, his chin now dripping blood, leapt forward, ramming his sword toward Neacal's gut. He dodged aside and kicked the broad side of his opponent's blade.

The man tried to regroup and ready himself for another strike, but he was too slow. Neacal sliced his throat. The man fell to the ground, screaming, blood gushing from his wounds. Both his comrades charged Neacal.

"Run!" Neacal yelled to Anna. He didn't want her accidentally hurt during the skirmish.

Neacal focused on his enemies again, battle fury consuming him. His survival instincts and years of training took over. He was unaware of what he did until 'twas over and all three bleeding men lay on the ground, writhing in agony or else still in death.

Neacal glanced down at his clothing to find it spattered with blood. The dark anger still consumed him as he scanned the area, looking for additional enemies. Were more of them behind the buildings?

Where had the lass gone? "Anna?" he called out.

Before he could find her, two more men emerged from behind the tavern, one with bright red hair and one with dark hair and beard. Once they saw their cohorts lying on the ground, they drew their swords and eased forward cautiously, their glares directed at Neacal.

Aye, he could kill them, too, if he wished. But how many more were there? What if a small army lurked behind the tavern? Did he wish to kill a dozen men this day? He and Anna couldn't stay here. He had to get her away.

"Damnation! Anna, come!" When she emerged from the side of the building, he tossed her up into the saddle and leapt on behind her. "Dunn!"

"That's her! Stop him!" one of the men shouted.

"Hell," Neacal muttered. He urged the horse into a gallop, racing east, toward the hills and the nearest cover. When he glanced back, the two men rode horses, giving chase.

"I'll have to kill those bastards, too," he growled. "Take the reins, Anna. If I jump off, you keep riding as fast as you can toward that mountain up ahead."

"Nay, stay with me! I don't want you to get killed." She turned. Her anguished eyes pleaded with him.

"Did those other three kill me? Nay, I'll be fine. Do as I said. Ride toward the mountain and hide behind the bushes if you must." He glanced back to find that Dunn had leapt onto the ginger-haired man and dragged him off his mount. He fell among the rocks and squawked like a great bird.

The other rider, with dark hair and a short beard, did not slow. When he drew close enough, Neacal struck out at him. Their swords clanged. Needing to take the fighting away from Anna, he shoved himself upward and leapt onto the other man's horse. Looping his arm around the man's neck, Neacal dragged him to the ground. They hit with a shocking jolt. Ignoring the pain, Neacal sprang to his feet, the tip of his blade at the prone man's throat.

The black-eyed weasel did naught but lay still, his hands in the air beside his head. His sword lay several feet away.

"Who are you?" Neacal asked.

"MacBraden. One of Chief MacCromar's soldiers."

"How many more men with you, besides him?" With his head, Neacal gestured to the man Dunn had attacked.

"Three dozen are on their way. We're the scouts who rode ahead of the others. Lady MacCromar is the laird's wife. He will never give up until he has her back."

Neacal felt as if someone had thrust a blade into his stomach, for he'd already started thinking of Anna as his own future wife. Now, that couldn't happen. Devastation poured in upon him like a great rock slide. "The bastard mistreated her, did he not?" Neacal asked, keeping his blade at the man's throat.

MacBraden shook his head.

"Cease your lies, man! Why else would she run away from him?"

"Matters not. She's still legally wed to him. He has every right to discipline her, and even beat her if he so chooses."

Neacal ground his teeth, trying to rein in the fierce anger that threatened to devour his control. What the devil had the knave done to her? "Any man who abuses a woman is no man in truth, but a coward," he shouted. "Is he among the three dozen?"

The man smiled.

Dog barks and yells echoed. Moving back a safe distance, Neacal glanced around to find the redheaded bastard swinging his sword at Dunn, back and forth. The dog dodged out of the way each time.

"Back, Dunn!" Neacal commanded. The dog loped up the hill away from the man.

MacBraden arose and yanked the dirk from his scabbard, while his comrade raced away from Dunn and toward Neacal.

He didn't want to kill more men, but would if he had to. Anything to protect Anna. His heart ached with the knowledge she wasn't his and couldn't be. 'Twas why she'd refused him without explanation. Why hadn't he guessed? Regardless of whom she was married to, he would not let her be abused further.

Neacal eyed the two men poised to charge him at any moment, fury and murder in their eyes. "Neither of you want to die this day, do you, like the other three at the tavern?" he asked them. "You saw your brethren back there. They attacked me at once and none survived. There are only two of you. What chance do you have?"

They hesitated, the gleam of dread and hatred in their eyes.

"We have nay fear of a barbaric and heathen MacDonald!" the redhead shouted.

"You want to see barbaric? I'll be glad to show you." He sent them a malicious grin.

They both rushed him at once. He dodged aside, first striking one in the arm and the other in the abdomen. Dunn barked behind the men, drawing their attention and giving Neacal the opening he needed. By the time the redhead saw him coming, 'twas too late for him to raise his sword to block the blow. Neacal ran him through and, after he toppled to the ground yelling and thrashing, he focused on the dark-haired man.

MacBraden put up a good fight but in the end he was no match. Neacal practiced with a sword for several hours per day and had great endurance. After a few minutes of swordplay, MacBraden tired and faltered, stumbling over a rock. Neacal's next blow struck him in the chest and he sprawled upon the ground.

Neacal watched both men, but clearly they were not rising again.

"Dunn, come!" Neacal yelled.

MacBraden had said three dozen more were coming.

Neacal was ready to fight every last one of them until he faced Anna's husband. If he was the rotten and abusive brute Neacal imagined him to be, he would rid the world of the bastard.

Neacal glanced around. "Anna!" He headed toward where he thought she'd gone. Dunn trotted along in front of him. "Find her and the horse, lad."

Moments later, the dog barked from behind the tall bushes up ahead. Neacal rushed forward to find Anna still in the saddle, her face wan.

"What happened?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Nay. They're all dead. But the last one said three dozen more soldiers are coming." He leapt on behind her.

"Saints," she hissed. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"Do not fash yourself over it. 'Tis time for us to head back to Bearach Castle." He turned the horse around, heading west, and urged it into a trot. Because a rugged mountain lay in their way, they had to retrace their steps to rejoin the trail leading north to Bearach. "Can you now tell me why you left the castle?" he asked.

After a long moment, she nodded and turned to him. "I'd met the Hamilton chief before. I knew if he saw me, he would send a missive to the beast who claims to be my husband."

"Claims to be?"

Was it possible she wasn't actually married?

Before he could find out what she'd meant, Dunn drew to an abrupt halt in front of them and growled. The hair on the dog's back stood on end. A faint sound reached Neacal's ears… a multitude of hoof beats. In the far distance, he saw a garrison on horseback. That had to be the three dozen, all of them on the trail they needed to take to reach Bearach.

"Damnation, that's the rest of the garrison. Come, Dunn!" Neacal turned the horse about and raced toward the mountain again. 'Twas the one where he'd lived for a time, and he knew almost every stone on it.

Though Anna sat in front of him, he had no time or attention for a discussion. He wrapped one arm around her to make sure she didn't lose her seat during this jarring ride. Sparing a glance back every few minutes, he was thankful he didn't see their pursuers again.

Once they were several miles away and nearing the large mountain, he slowed the horse to a walk, then dismounted and let him drink at a stream. When he remembered that Anna had not yet broken her fast, he said, "You must be starving. I'm sorry I have no food."

"Nay, I have an apple left. But I'm not hungry." She avoided his gaze.

"You said he claims to be your husband. What does that mean?"

Anna pressed a fist to her stomach. When her eyes finally met his, they were filled with anguish. "The truth is Ranald Blackburn murdered my husband, his cousin—John MacCromar—and then forced me to marry him by threatening to kill my sister." Anna's voice caught and tears sparkled in her eyes. "To prove he meant what he said, Blackburn cut Kristina's face, leaving a terrible scar. Then, he ordered one of his men to hold a knife to her throat during the ceremony. Afterward, Blackburn shoved her down, causing her to hit her head and go blind. She still cannot see. You wished to ken the truth. There it is."

Neacal was near speechless, imagining what the two women had suffered through. "The bastard," he rasped. Outrage surged through him, tensing his muscles. He wanted to hunt the beast down now. Was he with the garrison following them or had he simply sent his men? He hoped he was leading them. Neacal had an arrow destined for the whoreson.

"He paid the priest who performed the ceremony a generous sum for his silence. Besides, 'tis his distant cousin."

"The marriage is not legal," Neacal growled.

"Depends on who you ask." She wiped the angry tears from her eyes. "The officials in our town would not go against him. I had no way to fight him, no funds and no one on my side, so I escaped and disappeared."

"Where is your sister?"

"I secreted her away to live with my aunt. I pray she is still in hiding there, and safe. I wanted to bring her with me but she wasn't able to travel."

"How long have you been on the run?" Neacal asked.

"Almost two years."

"I vow I'll protect you from the swine. You said his name is Blackburn?"

"Aye, he's the bastard cousin of my first husband. His name is Ranald Blackburn, but when he took over as chief, he told everyone to call him Blackburn MacCromar. His father was my husband's uncle, also a MacCromar."

"I see." Neacal wanted to ask more about her first husband, but now was not the time. He had to take her to a hidden and protected area further up the mountain.

***

Anna perched in the saddle as Neacal led the horse toward a small thatched stone cottage nestled in a high grassy meadow between two mountains. They had traveled this way for more than two hours, up the steep and rugged mountain and along a treacherous trail.

Although she was aware of their surroundings, most of her attention focused on Neacal. His long dark hair lay upon his broad shoulders. He turned his head, listening for those who might be following. His pale blue eyes were hawk-sharp and alert. Cunning. The jagged scar down the side of his angular face was like a warrior mask.

Heavens! She did not deserve his protection. He was far too good for her. Too selfless. How could she ever repay him? Even after knowing she had a so-called husband, Neacal didn't give up on her. He'd refused to turn her over to the MacCromar henchmen.

Neacal was a treasure and 'twould be her fondest wish to say aye to his proposal of marriage. If it could be so, she would cherish Neacal all the days of her life.

"This is a shieling the crofters use in summer while their cattle and sheep are grazing high on these mountains. The rest of the year 'tis empty. I stayed here for a while last fall and winter," he said. "'Tis warmer here than on the island, and the red stag and rabbits are plentiful."

No doubt he also liked the isolation of this location. She turned and gazed back at the view between the mountains all the way to the sea in the distance. Although dark gray clouds rolled in from the west, obscuring the setting sun, it was a lovely view. "'Tis beautiful up here."

"Aye." He lifted her down from the horse, focusing his arrow-sharp gaze upon her. "I want you to tell me everything."

She cocked her head and lifted a brow. "If you will tell me everything." There was plenty she didn't know about him, and she was keen to learn every detail.

"We'll see." He released her and headed toward the entrance to the shieling. The door was shorter than he was, forcing him to bend in order to enter. She followed him inside and found he could stand to his full height within because of the pointed thatched roof.

The bare stone walls were thick and tightly dry-stacked. The beige thatch had been replaced recently.

A fire pit with a large, black hanging pot occupied the center of the slate floor.

"I helped the shepherds bring the slate up here and put it in place. They bragged 'twas a manor house after that." His lips quirked as he glanced up at the ceiling. "They re-thatched it in May."

"A very cozy and well-kept shieling," she said softly, wishing impulsively this could be her new home… with Neacal, of course. She'd spent most of her life in castles, but living in a wee cottage such as this wouldn't be so bad, as long as they had everything they needed.

"They thought I might stay here again this fall and winter," he said.

"Were you planning to?"

"'Haps. If my brother hadn't been killed."

"And now—blast it all—you have to be chief."

His gaze flew to her and she smiled. Amusement crept into his eyes, but his lips had hardly moved. His intense gaze lingered upon her for long seconds, caressing her soul. She could scarce breathe, hoping he would kiss her.

Abruptly he turned away. "I'll go back down the mountain and cover our tracks. Hopefully divert them, if they should have a tracker. Clouds are drifting in. 'Twill most likely rain this eve. I'll hide amongst the rocks of the crag above the trail and pick them off one by one if they take the trail through the pass as we did."

Alarm raced through Anna. "In truth? That will be dangerous."

He shrugged. "But easy. They're unfamiliar with this area. I've been all over these mountains many times."

"But you're only one man against dozens."

"That matters not. I'm also supposed to be dead now, or an invalid. I'll leave Dunn with you. He's a skilled guard dog. I've taught him well to alert me to any prowlers. He's also a good fighter."

As he started out the door, she grabbed his hand. Instantly, he paused.

"Please, promise me you'll be careful." She could not even look him in the eye when she said it. Where would she be without him? Captured and on her way back to Blackburn. Beaten, battered and raped. She could not survive now without Neacal.

With his hand, he tilted her face, forcing her to look at him. And she did, with pleasure. But when she gazed into his fierce blue eyes, she felt as if tethering hooks shot into her heart and dragged it out toward him. Saints, how she was falling for this man.

"Don't worry over me, sweet Anna." He kissed her forehead, turned and left the cottage.

Oh good Lord. Tears sprang to her eyes and she discovered her knees were weak. She propped against the wall and watched him stride toward where the dog sat near the horse. He gave Dunn a command and pointed at the cottage. The dog ran toward her, joining her inside. She stroked his bristly fur.

Neacal took his bow and arrows from the saddle, then led the horse into the byre, several yards distant. As he bypassed the shieling door, he paused. "I'll try to find some sort of game for a stew. Bar the door. I'll be back soon."

Anna's throat was so tight, she couldn't utter a word. She simply nodded and watched him walk away.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Dear God, protect him.

Dunn whined and moved about restlessly. She closed the door and barred it, as Neacal had instructed. She prayed he would return soon, but what on earth would she do if he didn't?

***

On foot, Neacal followed the rocky trail down the side of the mountain. It was wide enough for a horse to walk comfortably, but one false move and a person or animal would tumble several hundred feet to their death in the stream below.

He searched for stray tracks they'd left before, but found few. The grass and heather grew thick in the dirt. When he found tracks that he, his horse or Dunn had made, he smoothed them out with a slick stone. He also had to be sure to hide any stray broken stems. He saw a few deer tracks, and hopefully any disturbed dirt or foliage would be attributed to them.

At the base of the mountain, Neacal startled two young red stags. He was not surprised to see them for 'twas time for the autumn rut in the glens. The deer bolted, charging east across the moor.

As he was scanning the ground for the tracks he wished to erase, the sound of hoof beats reached his ears. Was it a herd of deer or the garrison? Taking out his sword, he slipped behind a thick stand of prickly gorse bushes and crouched.

The thundering grew louder and he quickly realized 'twas indeed several horses.

"Whoa!" The front rider held up his arm, drew to a halt and dropped to the ground. He scanned the muddy area. Neacal had not had time to blot out all of his party's tracks. He prayed the men couldn't tell which direction they'd gone.

Peeking through the branches, he counted fifteen men. Where had the other half of the garrison gone? They must have split up to search. Regardless, he was greatly outnumbered. His heart thumped loudly in his ears for he could be discovered at any moment.