Without conscious thought Finnan raised his sword and chirruped to Rohre. The horse, head high and nostrils flared, answered, and Finnan vaulted onto his back. They moved together into the fray.
He took the second man, who blocked his way, in the back between the shoulder blades, and cursed as the fellow fell. Rohre, now as enflamed as Finnan, shouldered the man’s mount aside. Moving together, they were in time to see Danny’s attacker stab the lad viciously.
“No!” Finnan bellowed the word, all his heart in it. He watched Danny’s eyes go wide, saw the lad slump over the neck of his mount as his attacker withdrew the blade.
“Face me!” he roared. “I am no unarmed lad. Face me like a man!”
The man jostled his horse and turned it in the limited space. His gaze flicked toward his fallen comrades and then locked on Finnan.
“I know what you are,” he sneered. “Everyone knows. A traitor, a turncoat, a murderer.”
Finnan’s blood burned so hot he barely heard the words. All he saw was Danny doubled over in agony.
He urged Rohre forward, and the horse, picking up on his emotions, charged. Finnan’s sword met his opponent’s in the air with a wild clang. He felt his mind slip into fighting form—no distractions, few emotions, just total concentration.
For Danny, he thought when he marked the man’s shoulder.And for my Da, when he slit the fellow’s sword arm, causing him to drop the weapon.For myself, he thought when his blade kissed the side of the man’s neck with swift competence.
He felt a flash of satisfaction then, for he remained untouched. Unlike Danny.
Swiftly, he dismounted. Rohre stood blowing air and trembling with reaction. Danny had tumbled from his mount during Finnan’s last encounter and lay in a heap on the ground.
“Guard,” Finnan told Rohre. He did not know if the two brothers Avrie lurked somewhere nearby, watching to see the outcome of their ambush.
He thrust the sword upright in the ground, ready to his hand, and knelt down beside Danny, laid hold of the lad, and turned him over.
Blood, a veritable river of it. The cloth Danny kept pinned over his stump had been shredded, but the wound in his chest caused Finnan’s lips to tighten, for it was from there the bright blood spewed.
Yet the lad’s eyes were wide open, stretched by shock.
“Master Finnan—”
“Hold on, lad. I will get you to safety.”
Where, though? If he turned back for Dun Mhor there might well be another troop of men waiting for him. And he would have to pass by Avrie House.
But Rowan Cottage lay directly ahead. And the Widow MacWherter owed him, whether she knew it not.
Chapter Nine
Jeannie lifted her head as her ear caught the echo of a sound. She could not be sure just what she had heard—it seemed quite distant—but noises tended to funnel up the glen from afar.
Shouting? The clash of weapons? Absurd. Since Culloden, Highland men were not even legally allowed to own weapons.
She stood among the rows of plants and attempted to brush the mud from her knees before calling to Aggie. “Did you hear something?”
Aggie appeared from around back of the cottage where she had been spreading tea towels over the prickle bushes to dry. She shook her head.
Jeannie narrowed her eyes and peered down the glen. The sun, well on its way to set, showed her only a glare of brightness. After a moment, she bent her back and returned to work.
Not until many minutes later did Aggie return and cry, “Mistress, someone’s coming!”
Jeannie abandoned her task and straightened again. Sure enough, two horses approached, led by a man on foot. The first horse, a big animal, had a coat that shone red-brown in the dying sun, as did the head of the man.
Jeannie swore softly, speaking a word no decent woman should employ, and started forward decisively. Oh, no—they were not having all that again.
She met Finnan MacAllister as he breached the rise that led to the cottage door. “You can just turn about and go, Laird MacAllister. I have no time this day for your tales and blandishments.”
He kept coming. She saw his expression then, stark and grim, and the blood spattered on the hand that gripped the reins.
