Highland Escape (2 page)

She stepped from the trees, bow at the ready. Taking careful aim, her first arrow penetrated the back of the man who’d thrown the girl to the ground. Standing menacingly above her a moment ago, he now lay motionless beside her. The fallen young woman released another scream, transporting Anna back to the battle for her home. The ghostly sound of Edrick’s battle cry ringing in her ears, she drew her bow again. The next arrow pierced the neck of the man holding the second girl, the weight of his lifeless body snapping the slender shaft as he hit the ground.

The men’s attention turned from their hapless captives, seeking their attacker. Anna’s third arrow hit the largest brute squarely in the chest, dropping him to his knees. With a shout, the three remaining men charged. Her fourth arrow also found a home, sending another to his death. The last two men were nearly upon her.

Discarding her bow, Anna drew two curved short swords from the sheath on her back. An emotionless detachment descended on her, numbing her to fear. The first man to reach her swung a broadsword she easily avoided by stepping sideways. Striking his sword arm with the first blade, her second blade slid across his throat with little effort.

Only one savage remained. He slowed, glancing at his five fallen companions. He stared at her, his evil smile promising pain and death.

Anna’s eyes narrowed.
Arrogant swine!

His sword strike arced in a slow and predictable manner. Anna deflected the strike with one sword, then spun, stepping past her opponent.

Her other blade bit deeply into the back of his leg, sending him to his knees. Continuing to twirl with the momentum of her previous attack, she struck with each sword again, and he pitched forward into the bloodstained grass.

Scanning the area for more enemies, she spotted two groups of men on horseback racing toward them across the field. She turned to the two women. “Hide in the woods, now!”

Eyes wide with shock, they obeyed without question. Pleased they trusted her, Anna retreated until the forest stood directly behind her, trees and undergrowth forming a protective wall against an organized attack from the mounted men. Head raised, she faced the oncoming threat.

Spying their kinsmen on the ground, the rogues in the first group wheeled their horses to meet the riders behind them. They were cut down without mercy, the sound of steel on steel ringing in the air. Two warriors in the second group waded among the downed riders, dispatching them with brutal effectiveness. Seeing the fierceness of the men now thundering toward her, Anna wished for her bow to even the odds. Fear prickled along her spine, but she refused to pay heed. Her escape into Scotland appeared to be at an end.

A few yards from her, the lead rider held up his arm, calling the group to a halt.

“Da!” The young woman with the torn dress ran to meet the men, the other girl following her.

The leader dismounted, embracing the first girl fiercely. Men gathered around, now too close for Anna’s comfort. Alone and exposed, her swords held at guard, she faced two men pointing crossbows at her, ready to fire at their leader’s word.

“Hold,” the leader commanded. He pulled his daughter behind him and looked to Anna. “Who are ye, lass?”

One bowman stepped closer, his weapon ready. Anna shifted her stance, putting both the leader and bowman in her vision.

“A traveler, my laird,” she replied in Gaelic, her instincts screaming for her to run.

He frowned. “What is yer name?”

“Anna,” she replied in a flat, emotionless voice. The grip on her swords belied her calm demeanor.

“English?” His voice lowered to a growl.

“No, my laird, Scots.” She took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure.

Eyeing her, he rocked back on his heels. “What clan?”

“I am sorry if I trespass, my laird. I will leave at once.” Anna swept her gaze over the group, searching for any threatening movement.

She slowly backed toward her horse. Without warning, the man still aiming at her fired his crossbow. Anna stepped slightly aside, deflecting the missile with her swords. Dropping one sword, she drew a knife from her leather bracer. Flat with no hilt, its design made for flight, it fit her palm perfectly. She spun, launching the knife at the man. The blade penetrated his shoulder deeply, sending his crossbow crashing to the ground.

“I said hold!” the leader roared, making eye contact with each of the men behind him.

Anna regained her sword, continuing to back toward Orion.

“The next man to defy the laird dies by my sword!” a deep baritone growled as it echoed across the glen, causing all to cease moving, including Anna.

A younger version of the leader drew his steed a few feet closer. “This is Kenneth MacGregor, laird of clan MacGregor.”

Bowing slightly, Anna replied in disbelief, “Am I to be your prisoner, Laird MacGregor?”

The younger man, clearly the son of the laird, dismounted. The two men exchanged a brief conversation, quietly enough she couldn’t hear a word.

Anna took in MacGregor the Younger. He appeared to be a few inches taller than she, arms and shoulders thick with muscle. His uncovered legs appeared as big around as her waist. Sable hair, tied at the back of his neck, reached his shoulders, curling at the ends. His eyes, the lightest blue she could recall, bored through her when he shifted his stare from his father to her.

She swallowed uneasily.

He and his father wore the blood of their enemies liberally on skin and clothing. Knowing the young woman was his sister explained the ferocity with which he fought to reclaim her. It did not explain, however, why Anna was being detained.

“Aye. Ye will come with us.”

The laird mounted his horse, picked up his daughter and placed her on the front of his saddle. He then rode back across the field. Another man did the same with the other girl.

The younger man faced her. “I am Sir Duncan MacGregor, the laird’s son. Ye will hand over yer weapons and ride with us. It can be done willingly, or ye can fight. The choice is yers.”

With a hard look, Anna unbuckled her sword sheath and removed the two daggers from her belt. She then tugged each dagger from her boots, handing them with a growl to the men who approached.

“Will I be allowed to ride, sir?” she asked with as much venom as she dared.

Duncan motioned for her horse. “Aye, the laird put ye in my charge. Ye will ride.”

Taking Orion’s reins, he indicated she mount. As they headed toward the battle site, she noticed a man speaking with Laird MacGregor, arms flailing, clearly angry.

“He is my brother, laird. ’Tis my right to demand a challenge!”

The laird glanced at Anna then back at the fuming man in front of him, reluctantly nodding his head. “Set camp. See to the wounded first.”

So, the brother to the man I knifed demands the right to avenge his injury.
Anna’s blood boiled. Never mind that he’d disobeyed his laird’s orders.
He cannot believe ’twas done by a woman
, she mocked. His rage suddenly made her weary. It was not the first time a man wished to kill her. She shrugged.
He will join the ranks of others who have tried. The only question is, dead or wounded?

“’Tis what I get for being of assistance.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken loud enough to be heard, but MacGregor the Younger gave a twitch of a smile at her complaint.

Men set up tents, built fires and gathered the wounded.

“Sir, I am trained as a healer, if I may offer aid,” she said as Duncan tied her horse to a nearby tree.

He eyed her suspiciously. “Why would ye assist my men if ye believe yerself our prisoner?”

A good question. Why indeed?
“Am I correct in assuming these men were injured rescuing two young women kidnapped by a raiding party?”

He gave a short nod in response.

“Then helping men who were injured putting a stop to such a barbaric practice is reason enough.” The opportunity to tend to the wounded drowned out her anger—for now.

Cocking his head slightly, he crooked one corner of his mouth at her response. “A fair answer. We have a tent and some supplies. Do ye require aught else?”

Dismounting, Anna pulled her bag from Orion’s back. “Boiling water and whisky if you can spare it.”

“Fetch water from the burn and set it to boiling,” Duncan ordered one of the men tending the fire. He stared hard at her as if trying to assess the truthfulness of her answer. Anna stood fixed as his gaze penetrated her. After a few unnerving moments of forceful scrutiny, he strode toward the tent.

Opening the flap, Duncan motioned for her to enter. As soon as she did, the stench of impending death struck her. Supplies sat on the ground between two pallets with injured men already on them; they appeared to be the worst of the injured. One man suffered a deep belly wound, the source of the acrid smell. The other bore a long slash down one leg.

Anna spoke quietly to Duncan. “Sir, this man is not likely to survive. I will make a poultice to staunch his wound and give him poppy tea for the pain.”

Duncan nodded as a man brought in a pot of steaming water and whispered to him while Anna went about her work.

Finishing with the stomach injury, she turned to the leg wound. Using waxed silk thread and a rounded needle, she closed the extensive gash. She then applied a medicated salve to ward off infection and bound it. One after another, men were brought to her, each staring at her in surprise when they arrived for treatment.

While she worked, she repeatedly caught sight of Duncan MacGregor from the corner of her eye. He watched her, his countenance brooding, angry. Though not an overly tall man, he possessed an imposing presence. He carried himself as a seasoned warrior, the scars visible on his arms also giving testament to his experience. He was a man used to having orders obeyed. When his men made eye contact, a nod gained their compliance. The MacGregors appeared highly trained and well disciplined. The slight number of their injured, compared to the number of their enemies now lying dead on the field, proved this fact.

“May I ask why I am being detained, sir?” Anna asked without turning away from the injured man she tended.

When Duncan did not respond, she glanced in his direction. He hadn’t moved. Still standing, legs apart, arms folded across his chest, he wore a grim, inscrutable mask. The heat of anger rose within and her hands clenched around her tools. Held for no perceivable reason, she now endured being ignored as if of no consequence.
I should let them treat their own damned wounded.
With an effort, she resisted the temptation to pack her bags and cease her hard work.

The healer in her wouldn’t allow her to let these men suffer. Since MacGregor permitted her to see to his men, she knew they had no healer among them. The wounded played no part in their laird’s decision to hold his daughter’s rescuer against her will. As much as she wanted to retaliate for his treatment, her honor wouldn’t allow it. Her father always said a true man or woman of honor behaved such, whether it was expected or not, whether observed or not. Honor did not, however, prevent her from goading her captor.

She waited to speak again until finished with the last man brought to her. “Is that all the wounded, sir?” She bit back the snarl she wanted to use to punctuate her question.

Duncan nodded once.

“Thank you for allowing me to treat your men. I applaud your efforts in stopping
barbarians
such as those from taking young women against their will.” The sarcasm in her voice apparently fell on deaf ears. Again, she inspired no visible response. The urge to challenge him with physical confrontation swelled, then faded. Even if she could get past him, a large group of men outside the tent would not hesitate to stop her.

Surrounded by seasoned warriors, she saw no chance to escape. She would have to bide her time. After watching her dispatch their enemies, Anna knew they would not see her as a helpless female and would thus be on guard.

Now finished treating the wounded, she wanted to wash the blood and filth away and quench her thirst. After a quiet morning, this day seemed to grow more and more disastrous. Tomorrow promised to be more of the same. If she survived the night.

Chapter 2

The camp noises faded from Duncan’s thoughts. He and his men had killed the main body of the MacNairn party that had captured his beloved sister and her handmaiden. He’d only needed to find and kill the rest of the raiding party and retrieve the girls. He stared at their prisoner skeptically.

When he first spotted the raiding party across the glen with the women, rage filled every corner of his being. As he and his men charged toward the band, a stranger stepped from the trees and dropped three of the enemy by bow before the raiders could react. Another fell before the mysterious ally had drawn swords. Instead of a long sword, claymore, or axe, he’d wielded two falchions, his movements fluid as he avoided the first attack. Striking the sword arm of the attacker, he then delivered the killing blow. The last MacNairn fared no better. Parrying the attack, the mysterious stranger quickly cut the bastard down.

Reining in his horse several paces away, Duncan had immediately noticed the stranger wasn’t a man, but a woman. Impossible! Had he not seen the whole thing played out before him, he never would have believed it. However, ’twas true. This strange woman stopped six Highland warriors with a deadly effectiveness he’d never witnessed before.