Becca St.John (9 page)

She looked back at Deian, then down to the women. He knew she was torn, but blood came first.

“You can’t leave him to go alone, lass. You’ll fret about him, so you’ll be no help to me.”

She argued. “Lads his age spend days out with the sheep. They watch the cattle. They take messages from one cottage to another. He can see Eriboll, he’ll be able to reach it.”

All true, lads his age worked with the family. No cosseting as if he were a wee babe, as she’d done on this ride, but Padraig needed her gone. “And if anything happens to him?”

“It won’t.” The lie clouded her eyes, for she did fear the worst. Padraig played with that.

“He’s a child and you’re his mother and you can’t save all the lasses, Seonaid. You can’t, but if you get to Eriboll before their ship goes past, you may save the future. Let me take care of today.”

“You can’t do this alone, Padraig, and you know it. We’ve already depleted their count, killing the men we have. Let us make it worse.”

“I may not have to. They may set sail and then it will be up to you. And if they do make camp, there’s barely a sliver of new moon and it rises late. I’ll go in under the cover of darkness, get the guard, get their captives out, and be on my way to Eriboll before daylight.”

“You can’t do it alone.”

He took her chin in his hand, held her still, and gave her a swift kiss. “Now look at your son and tell me you could risk something happenin’ to him.” He turned her to see Deian brushing down Peregrine.

He saw her swallow, fight tears. Whatever she did, she’d lose something, but she’d not risk her son, no matter how much she tried to believe he would be safe without her.

“We’ll ride like the wind.”

“Aye.”

“And Padraig.”

“What.”

“You can’t save all the lasses either. If it comes to them or you, chose you. For me.”

Her words hit his heart. “Och, lassie…” His smile fought hard, but he held it back to a teasing lift of lips, as he tilted his head, “…are you telling me you love me?”

She snorted. “Don’t be daft.” But then she smiled as wide as he did before she swept down and gave him a kiss just like the one he’d given her. Sweet, so sweet.

“Go now,” he urged. “Do as you promised. Ride like the banshees are on your tail. I’ll be seeing you by morning.”

vvvvvv

He’d be seeing her sooner than morning. If he was still alive.

Seonaid strained at the ropes wrapped around her wrists, and prayed Deian got away. He’d been riding ahead of her but lower, along the coast. She’d taken the higher land. She wanted the vantage to better see where Deian got and, if she were lucky, to catch the occasional glimpse of Padraig.

“You go first,” she’d instructed her son, “and not to worry if you don’t see me. Just keep headin’ for Eriboll. If you get there before me, with no sign of me, you tell them there’s trouble with a boat at the south end of the loch. You tell them not to let it through, that it’s about the missin’ lasses. Can you do that?”

“Aye.”

He was her lad, no doubting that. He relished the challenge, the importance of it, and rode faster than she could follow with the folds of the highway.

She’d prepared him in case she decided to head back to help Padraig, but then she fretted Deian’s horse would step in a rabbit hole, or hit a bog and send him flying, breaking his neck, even though she knew he wasn’t too young, not by the standards of her clan, to be a messenger. He was spreading the word, a task often given to lads swift on their feet and he had the advantage of a mount.

And he was good with horses.

Still she fretted, go ahead or back.

The decision was no longer hers to make.

It all happened too fast. Trying to get an eye on Deian, so far ahead of her, she hurried down a slope, just below an outcropping of stone. That’s when the evil son of a pissant got her. He jumped off that outcropping and straight onto the back of Peregrine.

Trapped, his arms on either side of her, he yanked the reins from her, pulled Peregrine to a stop. Seonaid cracked her head back, hoping to nut him, and hit the bridge of his nose with her noggin. He laughed, riling her beyond control. She fought like a banshee, scrambled to get the leather straps back in her own hold, but he punched her, sending her sprawling to the ground, stealing the air from her lungs.

She scrambled to her feet but not fast enough. He landed on top of her, pushing her hard onto her belly, straddling her. She bucked and fought, though she knew she’d never win. She’d never won in such a fight against Lochlan either, but he never got away without his share of bruising and neither would this man.

Feigning weakness, giving in, she sensed his easing the fight. In one swift heaving move, she toppled him to his back, grabbed for her knife, just as his arm slammed into hers, sending the blade rolling across the ground.

She scratched and pummeled and kicked, but to no avail. He had her on her belly again, her hands fastened behind her, tied tight, and all the while she prayed that Deian wouldn’t try to find her. That he would ride like the devil and get to Eriboll before the boat took off, past the last outcropping of humanity to reach the sea. The never ending sea.

CHAPTER 9  ~  CAUGHT

Having kept to the high land, Padraig could see what the slavers were doing below. The women and the priest were safe enough for now. They’d been put on the rocky beach, where the boat’s crew could see them easily, as they loaded up the vessel.

They had provisions, which meant they either had an ally, or they’d been robbing cottages. He guessed that was how they came to have the horses over on Loch Hope. Lochlan and his men would have built the corral. The horses he and Seonaid confiscated were thin enough to convince him of that. There’d been no one to get feed to the poor beasties.

He looked back, toward the path to Eriboll. He saw Deian, riding hard, hoped the boy would know to rest his mount a tad here and there. Then again, the boy instinctively knew more about horses than Padraig ever learned, and would know when to slow his ride.

There was no sign of Seonaid, which worried him; but he knew she’d taken the higher trail, which dipped and rose. She would surface again, soon enough.

Just above the far bank, two men headed toward the shore, bags over their shoulders. Goods absconded, possibly, or a traitor going to join them. He didn’t know for a surety, but the men didn’t have plaids.

How many other directions were they coming from? Padraig signaled Tarvos to lower himself, on his haunches, curling-up like a dog, ready to see any signals, to go to action, but no longer a silhouette on the horizon.

So men came from the southwest and the west. They must have sent out scouts—for lasses, for provisions, and to rid themselves of witnesses. It would not do to have anyone know of their landing, their stealing.

Again, he looked for Seonaid, saw nothing. He could just make out Deian, gaining on the town. He shifted, ensuring the area behind remained free of surprises, and saw a man cresting the hill to his left, directly south of the beach. So far, he’d seen scouts from the west, south, and southwest. North was the water.

He was directly east.

Seonaid and Deian were to the east.

Where was that man?

Again, he studied the area below.

The captives were in the open; no way could he get to them without revealing himself. Not until the light disappeared. The moon would help hide him, but would also make it difficult for him to see.

Tarvos and the extra mounts they’d confiscated on Loch Hope were his one advantage, but not enough to rush in for three captives. He’d start making his way closer, keeping his eye out for the man from the east.

Where the devil was Seonaid?

vvvvvv

In the gloom of dusk, Deian charged to Eriboll’s gate, only to be stopped by guardsmen as they made to close off the town for the night.

“I need to see The Reah! Let me see the chief! There’s danger!”

“A wee lad wants to fire a warning?” One guard laughed.

“It’s about the missin’ lasses.”

“No!” The other guard mocked, pretending to be shocked. “You mean the ones The MacKay saved by destroying the renegades?”

“Others! They’re stealing people. I need to see the Chief!” Deian shouted, even as they laughed.
Let them laugh, stupid oafs
.

He kicked Snip’s belly and shot past the guards.

“Hey, boy, you can’t be doin’ that!” they shouted.

They should have taken me seriously
, Deian thought.
A guard should always be prepared, and they weren’t.

He rode on, maneuvering past closing shops and crowds of people on foot. Incited by shouts and cries and the pounding of footsteps behind him, he urged Snip forward, using the fancy steps he’d taught him, to keep from hurting the people in his way. So many people.

And then it happened.

He was stopped, but not by the guard. The three men who stood in his way were warriors. He could tell by the way they stood, the way they looked like they might eat him for breakfast.

Even Snip sensed the danger and reared, but Deian hung tight.

“Get his reins,” one shouted, and men surrounded him and Snip. A man in chain mail grabbed the reins. Another grabbed Deian, yanked him from the saddle, even as he fought and wriggled to be let go.

“Calm yourself, lad. You can’t go charging through the village like that.”

“I have to see The Reah, your chief!”

“You want to see the chief?” A huge man approached, scarred from battle, his nose so crooked Deian wondered how he could breathe. “Aye, well, we don’t eat lads for dinner anymore, so if you tell us who you are, and give us good enough reason, you will see The Reah.”

“I’m a MacKay!” he shouted, too desperate to think of tales and false names, or to notice the stillness sweep over the crowd.

“All by yourself?” the big man grumbled.

“No!” Deian cried. “They’ve captured two lasses and a priest. You need to form a…a…shite! I can’t remember what it’s called.”

“Shite?” The big man laughed. “Such a word from a wee mite.”

“It’s true!” Frustration fueled tears. “It’s about the lasses gone missin’. They’ve a boat, that way.” He pointed. “My ma was behind me, she will tell ya’.”

“Your ma?”

“Aye.”

“Who else is with you?”

“Padraig is with us. Padraig MacKay.”

“Padraig? The Laird’s man? Great big fellow with a nose almost as crooked as mine?”

“Aye,” Deian nodded. “Our Padraig. He’s going to try to save the lasses alone. My ma thinks he needs help, unless they go by boat, then you need to stop them before they reach the sea.”

“Shite! The boy’s not making this up,” the big man shouted. “Prepare boats to launch and you—” he gestured to another warrior, “—get men together to ride. We don’t know if they will sail or not.”

“I need to tell your chieftain. I promised my ma I’d do that.”

“I am The Reah, lad. You’ve told him. Now go into the keep, get some food, and find a place to sleep for the night. You’ve earned it”

“I want to find my ma, she was riding behind me.”
But she might not be there now and if not, where was she?

“We’ll see to her.”

“No, she doesna’ like strange men.”

“She has no worries with us.”

They wouldn’t let him go, he could see that. He knew the word ‘no’ in all its guises.

“I have to take care of Snip, my horse,” Deian argued.

“The stable lad will do that.”

“No.” Deian stomped his feet. “No one takes care of my mount but me.”

The Reah snorted, obviously having better things to do than argue with a lad. “Give him his reins,” he ordered. “But mind, you stay out of the way as we prepare to ride.”

“You won’t even know I’m there,” Deian promised, lagging behind as he followed the hurried strides of warriors. Certain no one took any notice of him, he shot down one road after another until he found a gate, wide open, prepared for riders.

He’d done what he was told to do. Now he had to find his mama first, before the others, to be certain she was safe.

vvvvvv

“Well, what have we here?” Seonaid’s captor whispered, as he pulled back on Peregrine’s reins.

The sun neared the western horizon, but not soon enough. They could see Padraig, crouched and moving toward the southern end of the loch.

It wouldn’t take long for them to reach him. The whole of the ride, Seonaid fought for a way to escape, even as she considered the possibilities of capture. She could help the lasses by allowing herself to be caught. Risky, but perhaps not too risky, to be there when Padraig arrived.

Only now, her captor saw Padraig.

Shouting would alert the men on the beach. Her only other option was to create enough of a scuffle to catch Padraig’s attention.

Hands tied behind her back, tether anchored around her captor’s waist; anything she did would be painful, possibly life-threatening, and wouldn’t offer escape.

But escape was no longer her goal.

With a swift kick to Peregrine’s belly and a keen bird call, her mount reared. Seonaid allowed herself to slide off his back, pulling her captive along with her. They landed with a hard
umph
, his weight full on hers. She kicked them to their sides, pulled her knees to her chest and pushed, casting him off as far as the tether allowed. Again, she whistled, two sharp beats. Peregrine reared again, pivoted, pawing at the air.

“No!” the man shouted, trying to pull Seonaid closer before Peregrine landed, his hooves aimed at the man’s chest. Dragged along the ground as Peregrine continued his attack, she twisted and turned to be sure her mount didn’t land on her. Dust got in her eyes, burrs dug into her skin. She tried to whistle again, to stop the horse’s attack as one hoof landed a handsbreadth from her head.

“Whoa, whoa,” Seonaid barked. Peregrine shook his head, as if clearing the violence from it. “That’s a boy, that’s a lad.” She breathed as much as praised, took a moment to catch what little air remained in her lungs. Tried, unsuccessfully to work her hips through her bound arms, to get her hands in front of her.