Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

S tellan hated leaving Mariota behind, but she was well shielded by the men surrounding her. He'd heard her call out that the shooter was likely Alber. He thought so, too. He didn't think hitting Valkyrie— or near to her —was a coincidence, or an accident. Alber hated that hawk as much or even more than he hated Mariota.

With Gregor and Erik at his side, Stellan slowed as they approached where he judged the arrows had originated. As he expected, the shooter was gone.

"As soon as his first shot missed, he saw us coming after him," Stellan muttered. "He took a chance with the second one."

"Aye. The coward would run as far and as fast as he could," Erik said, agreeing.

"Unless he wants us to think that," Stellan told them, then signaled for them to go right and left while he continued forward. It was a risk. He knew enough about Alber to think he'd hang around to see what more trouble he could cause before he moved on. Or had he followed the group with Mariota at its center?

That gave Stellan pause. Was the shooter still here? Was it truly Alber or someone else?

Mariota might have been the target, and might still be in danger if the shooter trailed her, or rode parallel to her, hoping for a clear shot.

He had to trust the men around her. And her instincts. They'd reach Dunrobin soon at a gallop. The best he could do from here was to confirm the shooter, discern his movements, and if possible, capture him.

Erik whistled from the left, so Stellan turned in his direction.

"Here's where he waited for us," Erik told him once he arrived and pointed out the open view of the path they'd ridden on. Gregor showed up a few minutes later, as Stellan and Erik were studying the ground and the trees where Erik found signs of disturbance, and a broken arrow. The fletching matched the one Stellan had pulled from Mariota's pommel.

"Did he climb?" Stellan studied the branches above them, and those of the nearby trees. A man could move from tree to tree in this part of the forest, the branches were so thick and interwoven.

"If he did, he jumped down here," Gregor said and pointed to deeper heel marks in the forest loam beneath the tree. "He's heavy enough to have made those."

"Assuming 'tis Alber."

"Where would he go from here?"

"'Tis what fashes me," Stellan said, still studying the surrounding trees. "He might think Mariota would charge at whomever shot Valkyrie, so he'd move far enough away, but no' so far as to be unable to see her coming. But he realized too late that our men were holding her back and keeping her safe. Seeing that, he would expect the whole group to go with her, so he'd move in the direction of his horse, and ride away. Free to keep threatening her."

"Which way, do ye think?" Gregor, too, was studying the branches above them.

"See any broken twigs? Torn or crushed lichen or moss? Anything?" Stellan moved quietly forward. His men flanked him at angles. "There," Gregor said, pointing up. He marched forward, then studied the ground beyond where he stopped. "The horse was here, but the branches start too high to jump safely from here. That's why he went back where we saw the boot prints. Aye, he's gone. The horse tracks go that way."

Stellan nodded. Toward Dunrobin. "Ye two follow his tracks. Find him. Capture him if ye can. But kill him if he gives ye nay choice. I'll no have ye harmed. Or Mariota having to bear any more of this."

"Where will ye be?"

"I need to follow Mariota and her guards. She is on her way to Dunrobin, and so is Alber, by one path or another. I have to find her before he does. Ye find him."

The need to catch up to Mariota and make sure she was safe burned in Stellan and drove him to run his mount faster and farther than he should have. It was showing lather by the time he reached a fast-flowing burn to rest and water his horse. He chafed at the delay, but pushing his horse until it dropped would not get him to Mariota— or get him home —any faster. Likely he'd miss her altogether, something he could not tolerate. She was in danger, and he was not with her, not able to protect her. That was not something he would tolerate for a moment longer than he had to.

He walked his mount to cool it, then let it drink before walking it a few minutes more. Satisfied that it was ready to continue, he mounted.

The first arrow caught him in the upper arm, the second in his shoulder. Shocked to have been unaware of someone nearby more than by the pain of his injuries, Stellan wheeled his mount to face the shooter.

Alber walked out of the tree line upstream. "Ye're no' much of a threat now, are ye? Ye've stood between me and that lass too many times, but nay more."

Fury tightened Stellan's gut. Apparently Alber had missed earlier shots on purpose, to panic Mariota and her hawk. He could shoot well enough to injure Stellan without killing him. He gritted his teeth, reached up with his good hand and snapped off the arrow shafts. "I can fight ye with one hand."

From the feral glint in Alber's eyes, that was exactly what the man wanted. To fight, and to kill. To pay Stellan back for protecting the woman he wanted to harm. "Ye didna have the courage to fight me without trying to weaken me. 'Twas yer first mistake."

If Stellan survived this battle, someone would dig out the arrow heads for him and patch him up. If he didn't survive, Anders would be pissed that he had to become laird. And Mariota— Stellan couldn't think of her now or he'd break down. He couldn't leave her. She loved him, not Anders.

Alber charged.

Stellan stayed mounted, guiding his horse with his knees and shifting weight to meet Alber's attack. He swung his sword, scoring a wound on Alber's shoulder similar to the ones inflicted on him.

"Now we're even," Stellan taunted. "Are ye sure ye want to continue this?" He was grateful that his growing battle lust was dulling the pain in his left arm and shoulder. He could fight. But the harder his heart beat, the faster he would bleed.

"Ye're no' going to last long," Alber said and sneered. "Ye must be feeling weak by now. I can take ye." He swung for Stellan's head.

Stellan blocked his strike, his sword and good arm vibrating with the power of it. "Dinna be so sure. I have much to live for." And much to love for. Mariota.

Alber laughed and swung again, but missed. "Mariota MacKay? Ye think ye're going to be the first? Ye are only the latest in a long line. Did ye ken that?"

"But never ye," Stellan taunted. "Have yer bollocks recovered yet?"

"She'll find out when I finish with ye."

With a growl, Stellan knocked him from his horse.

Alber bled more freely after his fall, his shoulder wound gaping, crusted with dirt. If he lived, it was sure to fester.

Arrowheads blocked Stellan's wounds from bleeding heavily, though he could feel some blood seeping around them and dripping down his arm— enough, he supposed, for Alber to assume he was in worse shape than he actually was. But the more he used that arm, the more the arrowheads would cut the muscle they lodged in. He let it remain by his side.

Alber stood as Stellan swung off his horse and slapped its rump to get it moving out of the way of what was to come. The duel continued on the ground, Stellan circling and thrusting, looking for weaknesses in his opponent, just as Alber did, and both trying to wound the good arm the other fought with.

Stellan couldn't help trying his link to Anders. Would it still work? Was he close enough? Would Anders hear him and know that he was thinking about him? They might have grown past the ability they shared as young lads. Their connection had not always been reliable even then. Now? Still, he had to try. He was in a fight for his life. Alone. Wounded. Take care of Mariota if I dinna make it back , he fought to project as he blocked another of Alber's thrusts. Dinna let this man near her. If I fail, kill him .

The fight seemed to go on forever. Stellan was panting, but Alber was both panting and pale from the multitude of cuts Stellan had inflicted on his bad arm, his torso and one leg. None were deep enough to finish him, worse luck, but they bled, so until they both exhausted every reserve or failed to block an attack, the fight would continue.

Stellan had taken a few cuts, the most severe a slice along his ribs under his good arm. He fought not to let it slow him down. Even with only one arm, he was faster and more precise in his thrusts than Alber. Still, blood loss was becoming a factor, shaking Stellan's confidence and making him start to fear he wouldn't win.

Alber might have had good reason to brag about Red Harlaw, despite what Mariota believed. The man wouldn't give up. Stellan could see in Alber's eyes that despite his wounds and exhaustion, he was enjoying this. Was his adversary toying with him? The thought threatened to steal the strength from Stellan's legs. Or was Stellan's own exhaustion making him see things that weren't there?

Like Anders, who Sutherland noticed as a mirror-image stutter of movement in the corner of his eye.

Alber lurched forward and stumbled over a half-buried rock as he swung at shoulder height.

That rock saved Stellan from his distraction. He blocked Alber's swing with a dangerous chop that forced both swords down till the point of Alber's penetrated the ground. Stellan lifted his and ran Alber through.

Alber's shocked cry ended on a gurgle.

Stellan jerked his blade up.

Alber slid backward off Stellan's blade and fell to the ground.

Stellan kept his gaze on him long enough to be certain he would not get up again. He wasn't certain anything else he saw was real. With a disbelieving glance at Anders and some Sutherland men approaching him, Stellan collapsed.