Highland Moonlight (42 page)

swing her up before him.

Mary wanted to weep in protest as Gavin kicked his mount forward.

The jostling wracked her body with pain.

They topped the rise and below them spread the camp of a large force

of men.

“Greetings, Collin MacLachlan.” John Campbell’s voice carried easily

across the distance. His imposing figure and red beard stood out amongst

the rest of the men. “Have you mayhap become confused and journeyed in

the wrong direction? ‘Twould seem you have lost something along the way.”

He motioned to a band of men sitting on the ground close by.

Joy and relief danced in Mary’s heart. “‘Tis John, Alexander’s father,”

Mary breathed to Gavin.

****

horse dancing around the puddle of blood and matter left behind in the

road. His concern for Mary became a driving force wreathing within the

depths of his being. His heart was filled with fresh anguish.

“She’s alive, Alexander, but she will not survive for long if we do not

catch them,” Anne said, the agony of her own worry easily read on her face.

He kicked his horse forward without further delay. They crested a rise

in the trail and just below them were the band they followed and beyond

them his father’s men.

“We both have something the other wants, John Campbell,” Bearach

shouted across the field. “You have my men, but I have your grandchild.”

“And for what will you bargain with me, Bearach?” Alexander shouted

from behind them, his men spreading out to surround the company of men

from behind. His desperate gaze found Mary seated before Gavin on his

horse. The hair about her face, dark with sweat, clung to her cheeks and

brow. Deep hollows surrounded her eyes and her features were etched

with pain. One tiny hand appeared from beneath the tartan she had

wrapped about her and her arms shifted the weight of the child to a more

secure position.

Collin dismounted and ran forward to grab her by the arm and jerk her

down from the back of the horse. Mary twisted and fell onto her back,

holding the bundle against her with protective determination. The babe

began to squall in protest to such treatment.

Gavin jumped down from his mount, his shout of protest a snarl of

rage. Collin drew his sword and posed the blade above Mary in a

threatening posture, staying his son’s defense of his sister. “I will have

Anne and Bearach’s men, and safe passage from this glen or I will kill them

both,” Collin’s voice carried easily.

The lust to kill surged strongly through Alexander. “Bring any more

harm to my wife and child, MacLachlan, and you and your men will die a

thousand times this day,” Alexander threatened as he drew his sword. One

movement of his hand had his men doing the same. The sound of

weapons being drawn on all quarters rang out clear and deadly.

“Give me Anne and the men and we will leave in peace,” Collin

insisted.

“Nay, you will not take Mary or Anne. Be grateful to leave with your life

alone.”

Bearach dismounted and strode forward as though to offer council. A

movement within the ranks of MacLachlan clansmen had Alexander and his

men tensing in readiness.

“‘Tis Tira,” Gabriel said from behind him.

A feral high-pitched growl split the air as Tira launched herself at the

barrel shaped man, her arm raised. She plunged a dagger once, twice,

then thrice into his back in a frenzied lust of rage. The man shook her off

and staggered backward trying to ward her off with a raised arm. She

slashed at him again imbedding the blade to the hilt in his chest. He jerked

away, the knife protruding from him as he wove forward several feet. Like a

great oak that had just received the final cutting blow, he stiffened and fell

sideways. He lay on the ground motionless, his shirt blooming red with

blood.

Tira turned and ran toward the Campbell forces.

As though in slow motion Alexander watched as Collin’s gaze moved

from the fallen man back to him. In the older man’s face, Alexander read

defeat, but also something else. For a moment, his sword seemed to

swing away, then suddenly the MacLachlan Laird roared a war cry and

raised his sword then brought it down with all his might.

Mary turned to shield the baby with her body. Alexander’s shouted cry

of denial was drowned by the sound of metal against metal as Gavin’s

blade halted the descent of his father’s sword. The hiss of an arrow split the

air and a look almost of relief crossed Collin’s face before he crumbled to

the ground, the shaft of the crossbow bolt protruding through his torso to his

back.

Alexander’s gaze swung to his right as Anne lowered the crossbow

from her shoulder. Tears streamed unheeded down her face. “He killed my

husband, I could not allow him kill my sister, too.”

Alexander leaped from his mount. His heart pounding, he ran down

the bank. He wove his way through the MacLachlan clansmen and horses

unchallenged as they began to throw down their swords.

His steps flagged as he reached Mary’s crumpled form still curled

defensively on her side. “Mary.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears

as he kneeled beside her and cast his sword aside.

She turned, her features pale and etched by suffering, had never

looked as beautiful to him. Alexander gathered her close, his chest and

throat constricted by emotion.

“I knew you would come,” Mary murmured, her voice shaky with tears.

“Always,” he managed unsteadily.

A squealing high-pitched sound of protest came from the bundle

between them and he drew back. Mary shifted to uncover the child, allowing

him the first glimpse of his son. His hand shook as he smoothed the

burnished fuzz covering the tiny round head. He could not speak for the

fullness in his chest. He had come so close to losing everything dear to

him. His gaze rose to her face. “‘Twas Bearach who was to come to you that

night. He was in the passageway outside your chamber when I secured the

door. I could not allow him to take you from me.”

“Shh.” Mary pressed her fingers over his lips. “‘Tis of no concern

anymore.”

“I would see my grandchild before the two of you smother him betwixt

you,” John demanded as he stood above them.

Mary laughed, the sound laced with uninhibited joy. She slipped the

tartan shawl from over her head and arranged the child within its folds. John

knelt to scoop up the bundle with expert care. A smile flashed white against

the reddish bristles of his beard as he cradled his grandson.

“A shelter has been built, and water has been readied for you, Mary. I

will take the babe.” His tawny gaze swung to Gavin who still stood close.

“Come, lad. You have waged a war with only one blow, and won. You look

as though you could use a drink.” He turned and walked down the hill with

Gavin in tow.

Alexander frowned at his father’s back not entirely pleased with being

separated from his child so quickly. He turned to see Mary smiling at him.

He scooped her up from the ground.

Mary sought his lips for a long sweet moment, then looked into her

husband’s face.

“I have found home in you, Mary,” he murmured, his tawny gaze alight

with love.

She looked out over the congress of Campbell clansmen, both

Alexander’s and his father’s. Their families stood together, waiting for them

below. Her heart felt free and light and so full she could not contain her joy.

“We are home, Alexander. We are home.” She rested her forehead against

his cheek. “I love you, Alexander Campbell,” she said softly.

He turned his head and his lips brushed her brow. “And I love you,

leannan.
”

A word about the author…

By day, Teresa Reasor works as an Art Teacher of six hundred and fifty

elementary students, and by night as a part time college professor. But

every other moment---she lives in worlds bound only by her imagination,

with characters she knows as well as her own family. Now that two of her

three children have left the nest, she resides in a small town in Kentucky

with her husband of thirty-one years, her daughter, and a menagerie of

animals.

Visit Teresa at www.teresareasor.com