DevilsHeart (27 page)

“God’s blood, you idiots! She could not have gotten far!”

Leah pressed her lips together, barely daring to breathe.
The loch was long, too long for her to reach the shore opposite the keep before
the pounding of horses’ hooves and men shouting broke through the night air.
She’d picked her way along the edge of the woods for quite some time before
finding cover once the search party had drawn near. But now they were far too
close.

And, unfortunately, the cloud cover was dissipating,
revealing a nearly full moon. Though she would have welcomed it earlier, it now
proved too dangerous.

“Who let her escape? Who?”

Andrew’s voice drew close and she froze, her eyes darting
back and forth in an attempt to find him through a hole in the pile of branches
and dead leaves in which she was hiding.

“Damn it, I will have all your hearts threaded on my sword
for this!”

This oath came from farther away and she exhaled in relief.
Every muscle in her body ached from the tension and her feet had become tender
due to walking over uneven, rocky terrain. Her lids fluttered closed, her body
urging her toward sleep now she was no longer moving. She’d been still for too
long. Soon she would need to continue her journey, hopefully using the
moonlight to her advantage to increase her pace while somehow keeping hidden.

She strained her ears to determine how far away the
MacTavishes had wandered. Her lids wavered again and she forced them back open
with a gasp. She had to move. Now.

She pushed the branches and leaves away, cringing as they
rustled. Standing, she peered through the dense woods around her. No movement.
No odd shadows. Just the distant shouts of men and snorting of horses.

She picked her way back through the woods to the edge where
the trees met the rocky shore of the loch. She peered down the loch in the
direction of the MacTavish keep. Men on horses milled about, one of whom was
shouting and waving a hand in the air.

Her heart sank. They were still too close.

Just as she was about to shrink back into the woods, a
pounding echo floated over the loch from the opposite end. She turned.
Moonlight bounced off the water, highlighting the edge and caressing the valley
just beyond. She was close, very close to the border. And, if Jacob was right,
close to Rathe and his men…

Wait. Movement? A dark mass of something grew in the valley,
oozing toward the loch. She held her breath. Intermittent lights flashed at
her, almost as if the moonlight was bouncing off metal. And then the dark mass
broke up into many, individual blackened figures moving in unison.

Tears of relief stung her eyes. Rathe. He had come for her.

“There she is!” a voice shouted from some distance behind
her.

A burst of renewed energy shot through her limbs and she
dashed from the cover of the trees. She let go of the blanket, allowing it to
fall behind her, her numbed feet and legs somehow propelling her faster along
the shore toward the mass of men spilling out of the valley.

Shouts and the pounding hooves of horses sliced through the
darkness. Her heart thudded in terror, tears streaming down her cold cheeks.
Her lungs screamed from the exertion.

No. It wasn’t going to end like this. Not after everything
she’d been through. Not after finding Rathe.

Her throat was still aching and swollen from when Andrew had
choked her, but she fought past the pain and sucked in a breath. “Rathe!”

“What the hell are they doing?” Calum asked, leaning forward
in his saddle to peer along the shore of the loch.

A disquieting agitation shook Rathe’s chest. Something was
amiss. At first it appeared as though the MacTavish had suspected they’d move
before daybreak and instead had chosen to meet them here, perhaps hoping to
trap them in the valley. But the MacTavishes seemed to be milling about,
breaking off into the woods and coming back to the loch almost as if they were
searching for something.

And then a figure in white flew from the woods, running
directly at Rathe and his men.

“What the devil?” Calum remarked, sucking in a breath.

Leah.

Rathe’s heart stilled. God’s blood, his little doe had
managed to escape. A surge of power and determination swirled through him,
coalescing into a battle roar ripping through his lips as he turned his face up
to the sky.

He would have vengeance this night.

He spurred his horse into a gallop, his men throwing war
whoops up behind him as they and Calum’s men followed suit. But as they rode,
the MacTavishes drew closer to her. Too close. He wasn’t going to make it.

He needed to buy Leah some time. Somehow take out the lead
man who almost had her in his grasp. “Bow!” he threw over his shoulder.

Calum repeated the order. Rathe extended one hand behind him
and a bow and arrow were placed in it. It had been years since he’d handled
this weapon in the heat of battle, but he’d always been a good shot.

He loaded the arrow and positioned the bow as he arose in
the stirrups, using his knees to steady himself.

“Archers forward and hold!” Calum shouted just behind him.

The dark figure bearing down on Leah shouted and leaned
forward, reaching out to grab her. Rathe blocked out the shouts of men, the
thundering of horse hooves, concentrating only on the deep, steadying breaths
arising from his own chest. He pulled the string back and took aim. Sending up
a silent prayer, he released it and it snapped forward with a reverberating
thwack traveling through his arms.

The arrow sliced through the air and disappeared into the
darkness.

Thump.
A tortured cry.

Leah stumbled, her sides threatening to split in pain. She
wobbled forward but managed to right herself again as a lone rider just ahead
broke from the pack and galloped toward her. Every muscle screamed at her, cold
air stabbing her in the ears. She had to hold on. Just a little longer.

And then he caught her under her arms. Her neck snapped back
and then forward as her feet were lifted from the ground. The horse slowed and
warm arms wrapped around her, drawing her upward.

She made a frantic grab for the man’s shoulders and slammed
into his chest, burying her face in his neck. The familiarity of his scent, his
arms, his breathing broke through her desperate fear.

Dear God, it was Rathe.

He pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to a stop.
Men swarmed around them on all sides, bows and swords drawn and at the ready.

“Let me look at you, lass,” Rathe crooned into her ear.

She had so little strength left but his warmth seeped into
her, driving life back into her numbed limbs. She pulled back until his face
was in full view. Her breathing slowed, her heart returning to a quieter,
steadier rhythm.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way she
adored. He was here. Actually here. He’d saved her. She placed one hand on his
cheek, staring at him in wonder.

“Ooch,” he uttered, his brow furrowing as he covered her
hand with his. “Your hand is like ice, lass.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, attempting to remove her hand.

He held her still. “No. Do not apologize. You have nothing
for which to do so. It is I—”

“I said leave him be!” someone shouted up ahead.

Rathe looked up from her and her eyes followed his. A tall,
broad-shouldered man with a thick crop of dark-brown hair was advancing toward
Andrew. At least a dozen men flanked him with their swords drawn as they stared
down Andrew’s men who’d come to a sudden halt several yards behind their laird.

The brown-haired man glanced toward Rathe. “I assume you
wish to do the honors?”

Rathe nudged his horse forward. The mass of men parted,
allowing them through.

Andrew stumbled to his feet. He grabbed the arrow protruding
from his shoulder, his face twisting into a pained grimace as he withdrew it
from his flesh. Turning his glare to Leah, he tossed it to the ground.

She gasped, a wave of nausea hitting her.

Andrew’s face turned almost purple in the moonlight as he
screamed at his men to attack. But a mass of MacAirths emerged from the woods,
pushing the MacTavishes farther toward the loch where they stilled.

Rathe eased her to the ground and then dismounted. He
grabbed her hand and walked forward with her toward Andrew. “You have the
MacAirths to your side. The Sinclairs and MacBains before you. Plus the
mormaer’s army will soon be at your back,” Rathe sneered as they approached,
stopping about twenty feet in front of him. “I would rather not massacre your
entire contingent of warriors when it is only you I want. But I do not mind
giving the order to see it done either.”

Leah panicked, searching the crowd of men for any sign of
Jacob. She couldn’t let Rathe give that order. There were too many innocents,
too many good people who would die or be affected. This clan rivalry had been
going on long before Rathe and Andrew, she could hardly blame the MacTavishes
for their loyalty to an albeit insane leader.

She squeezed Rathe’s hand and he looked down. She shook her
head, whispering, “Please, Rathe, don’t. One of his men helped me to escape.
I—”

His expression darkened and he grabbed her chin, turning her
head to the side. “What the devil?” He released her hand and his thumb slid
over her throat. “Who did this?”

His touch was so soothing on her chilled skin. “Did what?”

“Your neck is bruised and swollen.”

Her eyes snapped toward Andrew and Rathe’s hands dropped
from her in an instant. He stepped back from her, his sword ringing through the
tense air as he withdrew it from his scabbard.

“Archers, ready!” he shouted. “If even one of them moves,
kill them all!”

Her voice caught on the swelling in her throat as she tried
to speak. With an almost simultaneous whoosh through the air, bows were lifted
and aimed, swords drawn behind her and to the side.

A hand touched her elbow and she whirled around. The
brown-haired man was at her side.

“Come, Lady Sinclair,” he urged, tugging her backward.

With a vehement shake of her head, she yanked her arm away.
“No, I have to stop this! He can’t kill them all!” She ran toward Rathe.

“Get her out of here, MacBain!” Rathe shouted.

The man grabbed her from behind again, stopping her advance.

Andrew swayed, his eyes glassy as he struggled to draw his
sword. A dark stain oozed down the front of his tunic. Veins protruded from his
forehead as he snarled, “I ordered you to attack!”

No one moved.

Rathe snorted in derision. “Seems as if even your warriors
will no longer support your lunacy.”

“Bastard!” Andrew swayed forward and fell to his knees.

With a swift kick to Andrew’s hand, Rathe sent the man’s
sword flying to the side. “Up, coward!” he barked, throwing one foot into his
chest.

Andrew wheeled backward, spitting blood down his chin. He
sucked in a breath, pushing himself back up. “Come here, Leah,” he coughed, his
voice suddenly turning gentle. “Are you going to let this madman do this to me?
After I saved you?”

Leah remained silent.

An instant later, Andrew’s voice turned savage. “Fucking
whore! Fucking ungrateful little bitch! We had plans!” He coughed again and
spat on the ground.

“Bring her to me, MacBain,” Rathe ordered, his tone an
eerie, chilling calm.

Panic threatened to shake her legs out from under her as
MacBain walked her to Rathe’s side. Rathe didn’t believe him, did he? She bit
her lower lip, fidgeting with her chemise as rocks jutted into the worn soles
of her shoes. She was so exhausted, so weary of the near-constant vigilance
needed for the past two days. Sleep is what she needed. In her own bed with
Rathe’s arms wrapped securely around her. Why couldn’t this all be over?

She stopped beside Rathe, casting a leery eye toward the
MacTavish soldiers not thirty feet behind Andrew. Many of their brows were
furrowed, indecision and fear written all over their faces. But others simply
stared at their laird, their jaws grimly set and eyes devoid of anything but
acceptance at whatever fate was about to befall their laird or them.

“Plans, wife? What plans were these?” Rathe asked, his eyes
never faltering from his prey as he thrust the tip of his sword against
Andrew’s chest.

She swallowed, her throat parched and achy. “I do not know.
I wasn’t involved in any plans.”

Andrew’s eyes grew dark. “Fucking whore,” he muttered,
enunciating each word as he glared at her.

He gasped and swayed back as Rathe dug the sword’s tip into
his chest.

“He had plans with Marjorie, your previous wife,” she said
in a rush, determined for the truth to be revealed. “None with me. He tried,
back at the mormaer’s castle though. Wanted me to send word to him to rescue
me.”

“Did you?”

Rathe’s sharp words bit into her heart. Tears stung her
eyes. “No.”

“Tell me everything, right now, Leah,” Rathe commanded.
“Tell me what he did. Tell them all so they may hear the truth.”

Her chest tightened in apprehension. Did he believe her? His
sneering tone gave her pause. Was it meant for her or for Andrew?

“He threatened to destroy the elderly, the women and
children who had taken shelter within the castle walls. As well as my
children.”

Rathe’s eyes met hers, revealing a warmth for a split second
before the mask of a vengeful, calculating warrior snapped back into place. She
almost gasped at the sight, shuddering in terror at the return of the
bloodthirsty figure from the netherworld.

But then her heart grabbed the warmth he had flashed at her.
It was meant for
her
. Meant to reassure her. He believed her. She almost
smiled in relief.

“Our children,” she corrected in a soft voice.