Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

C ol’s relief at finding her alive was rapidly becoming displaced by alarm at the state she was in. She was soaked and shivering violently, wracked by sobs that tore his heart in two. He reached into his pocket for the flask of whisky he carried, removed the cap, and offered it to her. “Here, lass, take a sip of this, it’ll warm ye.”

She took the flask and drank. Coughing, she lowered the flask and gasped then drank again. Slightly shocked, he took the flask back and rubbed her back as she collapsed against his chest with a sort of moan. He took a quick swig himself for he was cold as well, though not soaked through as she was, his plaid kept dry by his oiled cloak. Then reaching round her, he recapped the flask and slipped it back into his pocket.

Rearranging her in his lap, he took the mare’s reins and turned both horses back towards Teviothead. He had no very clear idea of how long he had been trailing her, but he thought it was at least three hours, maybe longer. The darkness had closed in early because of the appalling weather, forcing him to a slower pace than he wanted. His main priority now was to get her somewhere warm and dry. He thought he had spied a building just off the road a little way back when the moon had come out—perhaps a barn?

Watching the side of the road for a sight of the barn, he didn’t see the group of riders up ahead until they were almost upon him. Five men on horseback, one leading another horse with a long object slung over its back. The moon chose that moment to emerge fully from the clouds and illuminate the scene in bright silver light. Six men on horseback—how many of them were roaming this road tonight? A cold prickle ran down his spine and his arm instinctively tightened round Aihan, making her raise her head and look ahead.

She stiffened in his embrace and murmured, “It’s them.”

Col reached back behind the saddle for the holster containing one of his pistols as the man at the front of the pack said, “It’s her!”

The men fanned out across the road, blocking it, and Col slowed his horse.

“What did ye do to Fraser? Foreign bitch!” shouted one of the men, waving his hand at the riderless horse. Col realised that the object was a body slung over the horse’s back.

Col kept his pistol down by his leg out of sight and edged his horse closer.

“What do ye want?” he asked. “I’ve nae money to speak of.”

“Give us the foreign witch! She killed our captain, Fraser McDonald.”

Aihan jerked in Col’s arm, and he tightened his hold on her reflexively.

“I cannae do that, lads, she’s spoken for.”

“Never fret, we’re prepared to share, ye can have yer turn!” said one of the men. This was greeted by laughs and general agreement from the men.

His heart beating with rising fury, Col raised the pistol. “I told ye, she’s spoken for!” he said, levelling the gun at the man in the lead. “Let us past or I’ll blow yer head off!”

“I don’t think so,” replied the other man, producing a pistol of his own. “In case ye can’t count, there are five of us and one of ye! Now hand over the wench!”

Col took careful aim and shot the bastard straight between the eyes. The recoil caused him to loosen his hold on Aihan at the same time, and she slipped from the saddle to the ground. The man he had shot tumbled from his saddle to the road, and Col ducked low to his horse’s back as four shots rang out, aimed in his direction. The other riders struggled to contain their mounts, alarmed by the shots and the smell of blood and gunpowder.

Aihan hauled herself onto the mare’s saddle and kicked her into motion. Col shoved his first pistol inside his plaid and reached for his second pistol as he straightened and urged his horse after Aihan’s. The two of them charged at the other men, who were in disarray, and passed them at speed, thundering down the road. Behind them, the sounds of chaos continued. Col expected pursuit, but a glance backward told him the men were more concerned with checking on their companion who lay dead on the road than with giving chase.

All the same, they kept up a rapid pace to carry them into the darkness and out of sight of the milling men. His heart thudding hard, he glanced left and right, more desperate to get off the road than ever. Aihan’s mount was already flagging, the mare clearly spent. If the men decided belatedly to give chase, they would never outrun them. And with multiple pistols to his one, once they reloaded, the inevitable outcome would not be good.

Col spied the barn he had noticed earlier and called softly to Aihan. “This way!” He edged his horse off the road and into the scrub towards the black outline of the rectangular building. The door stood ajar, banging in the wind. Inside it was dark and smelled of musty hay.

He dismounted and went to Aihan, who was drooping in the saddle. Her mare, blown, stood shaking with her head down.

Col reached up and lifted her down into his arms. He carried her inside the barn and, in the light from the moon, found a pile of hay in one corner. He set her on her feet and was alarmed when she just crumpled to the ground, landing on her bottom. She sat there, blinking and dazed, but at least she couldn’t fall any further. It seemed the last of her strength had been used in that desperate flight. He pushed the hay together into a kind of mattress, removed his cloak, and arranged it oiled-side-down over the hay.

He turned back to her and removed her soaked garments swiftly, then scooped up her shivering form, laid her down on the mattress, and spread his plaid over her. He then brought the horses inside the barn and pulled the door closed. A sliver of moonlight came through a small window high up in the pitched roof, which gave him enough light to see by. He found the horses’ nosebags in each of their packs and hung them round their necks. They would need water, but he would have to attend to that when there was daylight.

Turning back to Aihan, he saw she had curled into a shaking ball beneath the plaid. He stripped off his own clothes rapidly, then fetched the water skin and dropped it with the loaded pistol by the makeshift bed. He crawled under the plaid with her and took her in his arms, rubbing his hands over her icy skin to prompt the circulation of her blood and warm her. Her feet were small ice-blocks on his legs.

The munching and shifting of the horses filled the barn with a comforting sound, and the sough of the wind outside made him glad of the shelter this barn offered. He was weary himself, having been in the saddle since first light. But so had she, and her ordeal had been far worse than his, he thought. He wanted to know what had happened, but she needed sleep first, so he kept his questions to himself, just murmuring words of comfort as she snuggled into him with a sigh. The main thing was, she was safe in his arms, and he had caught her before she reached his brother. He would explain everything in the morning.

He lay for a time listening for any approach of the men, but there was nothing.