Amanda Scott (36 page)

They had all followed MacDrumin into the clearing, and some peered watchfully into the dense woodland that bordered three sides of the clearing while others kept their eyes on Campbell.

Rothwell realized that except for the noises made by the men around him, the woods were unnaturally silent. Before, he had assumed the silence was due to their passage along the narrow track, but by now the usual forest sounds ought to have begun again. As the thought crossed his mind, a shot rang out, and as he dove for cover behind the nearest boulder, he saw the men around him throw their plaids aside, revealing that they were armed with more than simple clubs and targes.

After that single shot, which had seemed to come from behind them, more shots rang out from a willow thicket to the west. As Rothwell discharged his own pistol, men broke from the thicket and ran toward Campbell.

MacDrumin had foreseen such a move and with the help of two of his own men, pushed Campbell to the ground and stood over him, broadsword in his hand.

Motioning to James to follow, Rothwell dropped his pistol, hefted his leather targe, and drew his sword, making his way closer to the fiery chieftain as more shots rang out and battle erupted all around them. As he slipped past a pair of swordsmen slashing wildly at each other with the two-handed swords they carried, he saw one of MacDrumin’s men raise a pistol and fire. The man instantly threw the spent pistol at the head of another ambusher who leapt at him, drew his dirk from his belt with his free hand, and dispatched the attacker forthwith. Grimacing, Rothwell hurried on, reaching MacDrumin as two men jumped him.

Campbell leapt to his feet, catching a broadsword flung by one of his rescuers. “Now, MacDrumin,” he cried when he saw the chief fighting two men at once, “ye’ll soon be baking in Hell!”

“Not likely,” Rothwell snapped, and Campbell turned in fury to meet his attack, grinning when he saw Rothwell’s smallsword.

Blade met blade in a flurry of ringing, metallic cracks, and Rothwell quickly realized that Campbell’s style, like that of most Highlanders, was fierce, savage, and murderously intense. But despite the difference in weapons, Rothwell soon saw that his own skill was superior, and had the fight remained a fair one, he might quickly have disarmed his opponent and ended it without serious injury to either of them.

The first warning of impending disaster was a dawning smirk on his opponent’s face and a flickering glance to a point beyond Rothwell’s left shoulder. Either would have been enough, without the feminine cry from the woods. Rothwell leapt agilely aside, using his targe to deflect a murderous sword slash from behind with but a hair’s breadth to spare.

He scarcely heard the cry, for although his attention remained riveted on Campbell, he was already shifting position to defend against the second man, and with two of them to face, both wild and unpredictable in their methods, both using the heavier swords, and both willing to forget all rules of fair swordplay, he now had no choice but to dispatch one as quickly as possible in order to concentrate on the other, and Campbell was clearly the more highly skilled of the two.

No man could continue serious swordplay for longer than ten or fifteen minutes without pause before crying quits, and Rothwell knew he was tiring rapidly. The effort such fighting took, particularly in the heat of battle, was too great. He knew Campbell had to be tired, for his sword looked heavier and the man was not as light on his feet. Furthermore, he had had time to mark Campbell’s habits and knew the man parried thrusts with the fort of his blade, returned edge blows from the wrist, and his favorite blows were delivered with the outside of his sword. Making up his mind in the split second as he turned to engage his second quarry, he parried Campbell’s next blow and returned with a thrust to his face. When Campbell’s blade flashed up to parry with the fort, Rothwell’s blade slipped under with a thrust in prime to the man’s belly, and Campbell was down.

The second man was quickly disarmed, and the battle was soon over, for the would-be rescuers, seeing Campbell fall, scattered and ran. MacDrumin and his men rounded up a number of them, and as Rothwell and James moved to help them, a familiar voice cried from the woods, “James, come quickly, Maggie’s been hurt!”

Rothwell, hearing the urgency in Kate’s voice, felt the blood freeze in his veins. Whipping around on his heel, he ran after James, knowing then that it had been Maggie who screamed the warning when the second man had tried to take him unaware.

When they found them, Kate had an arm around Maggie, and there was blood high on Maggie’s left sleeve. She was pale and gritted her teeth against the pain. James knelt quickly at her side, using his sword blade to cut her blood-soaked jacket and habit shirt to bare the wound.

“How bad?” Rothwell demanded tersely.

“A shot grazed her,” James replied. “It’s a moderate cut and a bad abrasion, but if we can avoid infection, it won’t prove serious. I’ll make her an anodyne bread poultice when we return, to soothe the pain. That frequently prevents infection, too.”

“It’s a wonder they both weren’t killed,” Rothwell snapped, adding furiously to Maggie, “What the devil are you doing here? I told you to stay in Glen Drumin.”

“So you did,” Kate said, still holding Maggie protectively, “and had we done as you ordered, you’d all be dead by now.”

“Nonsense,” Rothwell said.

“It is not nonsense,” Maggie said, wincing as James tended her wound. “Had Kate’s shot not sent all you to cover, Fergus’s men would have killed a good many of you with their first attack. You should be grateful, Rothwell.”

“Grateful?” He wanted to snatch her up and shake her until her bones rattled, and it took every ounce of the control he had developed over the years to keep from doing just that. He did not look at Kate, nor could he watch James, who, having probed the wound for bits of metal, now called for his kit and went to wet cloths in the stream. Rothwell kept his attention on Maggie, demanding, “Just what did you think you would accomplish by disobeying me? Had the battle not gone as it did, you would have found yourselves at the mercy of Campbell’s men. You might have been killed. Did you think of that? By God, if you ever deserved thrashing, Maggie, you deserve it now, and if you ever dare do such a thing again, that’s just what I
will
do!”

His gaze locked with hers. Silence had fallen all around them, but he was beyond caring what others thought. He could not remember ever in his life being so angry with anyone. Knowing she had been wounded had frightened him witless, but oddly, it was learning that the wound was not serious that had released his pent-up emotions, and in a way he had never expected, enraging him so that he wanted to teach her a lesson, to punish her for the foolish disobedience that had put her life at such a risk.

She did not look away. He thought savagely that it was almost as if she dared him to touch her, and he had all he could do to keep his hands clenched at his sides. When James brushed past him, kneeling to clean her wound, he was grateful for the excuse to look away.

But she gasped at the first touch of James’s cold wet cloth, and Rothwell looked quickly back. At the sight of tears springing to her eyes, he moved at once, meaning to take Kate’s place, but Maggie said between gritted teeth, “Go away, Rothwell. You’re an ungrateful wretch, and still no real husband to me, so I won’t listen to anything you say!”

“If you can’t say anything worth hearing, hold your tongue,” he snapped, losing his temper at once. “You’re naught but a foolish, hot-headed wench who’s never been taught to obey, and it is more than time someone took you in hand. You might as easily have endangered us as helped us, or caused one of us to injure you in mistake for one of the enemy. Your actions were foolhardy and stupid, and you deserve—” He would have gone on, for his tongue had assumed a life of its own, but when she cried out in pain, he said abruptly, “Move aside, James. You’re hurting her!”

If James was surprised to be given such an order, he did not show it. Instead, he handed the cold wet cloth to Rothwell and said quietly, “Be certain no powder remains in the wound, no matter how much you may have to hurt her, then bind it with the cloth strips from my kit.”

“How is the lass?” MacDrumin demanded, coming up to them and looking down at his daughter’s injury with a shake of his head. “You’ll be needing a bit of whisky there, I’m thinking.”

James nodded, but Rothwell, kneeling to take his place, said over his shoulder, “What the devil for?”

“Keeps infection off,” MacDrumin said. “Cures well nigh anything I’ve ever heard tell of, even cholera and typhus. I’ve used the end of my own flask on Fergus, but since no one else was hurt badly, mayhap one of the lads will still have a bit left.” He shouted, and a moment later, someone handed a leather flask to Rothwell. Following orders from MacDrumin, he poured the contents liberally over Maggie’s wound, wincing when she shrieked with pain but saying grimly, “Serves you right.” Then before she could reply in kind, he looked up at MacDrumin and said, “You gave yours to Campbell, you say. How is he?”

“Dead,” MacDrumin said cheerfully. “Administered the last rites myself. No wine or bread, of course, but we always carry whisky and oatcakes, and they do just as well.” He looked around at the villains being guarded by his men and added, “I’d like to hang the lot, but I expect you’d object.”

“I would,” Rothwell said. “We’ll take them to the nearest assize town to stand their trials.”

“That’ll be Inverness,” MacDrumin said. “I’ll see to it. How’s the lass now?”

“She’ll do,” Rothwell said, tying the last knot to fix the bandage in place. “Can you stand?” he asked her.

“I think so.”

“I’ll help her,” Kate said, getting up.

“No, you won’t,” James said, taking her by an arm. “I want a word with you, my girl.”

“Well, I don’t want to speak to you,” Kate said. “You men behave as if you were the only ones on God’s earth with brains. I suppose you mean to tell me I ought to have stayed in bed and not come to do what I could to help lay these scoundrels by the heels, and after they murdered my own kin.”

“What I have to say to you,” James said quietly, “will be said privately. I have no wish to make all these men party to our conversation. Will you come?”

“Oh, aye, I suppose,” Kate said, grimacing.

As they moved off toward the horses, Rothwell helped Maggie to her feet. “Can you stand alone?”

“Of course I can.”

He saw her sway and, without further discussion, scooped her into his arms, forcing himself to turn a deaf ear to her cry of pain. There was no way to get her home without hurting her, and she would bear it better, he knew, if he pretended to have no sympathy for her. Over his shoulder he said to MacDrumin, “I’m taking her back to the house to put her to bed.”

“Oh, aye, lad, do what you like with her,” MacDrumin said. “Take the few of our wounded along with you, and the rest can help me see this lot safe to Inverness.”

Rothwell started to follow James and Kate, then stopped when he thought of something else. “Remember,” he said to MacDrumin, “if anyone gives you trouble over those damned weapons of yours, remind them you serve me, and tell them I armed you all myself to protect my property against the criminal Campbell and his ilk.”

MacDrumin’s eyes twinkled. “As to
serving
you, that’s as may be, but you’ve a keen, intelligent mind, and no mistake.”

Rothwell watched them go, then looked down at Maggie, lying quietly in his arms. “Did you and Kate bring horses?” he asked.

“Aye,” she muttered.

He felt a stirring of annoyance, but he had spent his temper and wondered if she was deliberately trying to arouse it again. If she was, she would no doubt succeed. He had never known a wench who could so easily draw his ire.

James was lifting Kate to his saddle, and Rothwell said evenly, “Did she tell you they have mounts?”

“She did,” James said. “They left them at the foot of the hill yonder, through the woods. Seems they took a shortcut she knew and nearly stumbled headlong into that nest of vipers.”

The hair on the back of Rothwell’s neck fairly stood on end, and he said in measured tones to the woman in his arms, “Consider yourself warned, my dear, that if you ever, as long as you live, do anything like this again, I will make you wish you had never been born.”

“As long as I live,” she murmured. “Don’t be a fool, Rothwell. With luck, we will scarcely lay eyes on each other again after you succeed in annulling our marriage.”

His teeth grated together. She was baiting him, truly, but he would not allow her to infuriate him again. Silently, he carried her to his horse, and when they found hers and Kate’s, and Maggie said stubbornly that she could ride alone, he did not argue with her. The ride back to Glen Drumin was a silent one, for not even James spoke again until they had ridden into the yard, when Kate announced that she had things to do.

“Now that it’s safe again, I must ride over to the place and see that all is well there,” she said in an offhand way.

“I’ll go with you,” James said.

“You’ve a poultice to make, and you should look after Ian.”

“Then you will stay here. I have more to say to you.”

“Very well.”

Maggie stared at Kate, dumbfounded. Never in her life had she seen her submit to any man, let alone to one who so casually countermanded her decisions. But Kate did not even look irritated. Slipping down from her horse, she handed the reins to a lackey, and went into the house with James.

Rothwell dismounted, gave orders to the lackey to see to the horses, then turned to help Maggie. She would have liked to ignore him, but his unusual display of temper had unnerved her, and she was not by any means certain he would not attempt to carry out the worst of his threats if she pushed him too hard. So when he reached up to lift her down from her saddle, she did not object, but when he did not let her go, continuing to hold her where she stood, she looked up to find him regarding her with a quizzical expression.

“I suppose you have more to say, too,” she said wearily.

“I do,” he agreed, “but I think, just now, you ought to go up to your bedchamber and rest.”