Karma crunched down and twisted with a hard jerk. The man hissed out a gurgling wheeze; his legs jerked and kicked. Then he went still. Karma shook the limp Buchanan clansman one last time then stepped away. The great dog sneezed and raked a paw down his muzzle. With one last glance down at the man, Karma sneezed again, then calmly trotted over to the nearby creek. He splashed in and drank deep, blowing and sloshing water in and out of his mouth as though rinsing out the taste of the filthy Buchanan.
“Well . . . ” Lilia chewed the corner of her bottom lip, then looked over at Gray. “I guess that settles that. Now what do we do with him?” Enemy or not, they couldn’t leave the man’s body exposed to whatever might wish to pick his bones clean.
“When our business is finished, word will be sent to his clan.” Gray scowled down at the man, obviously pissed at the inconvenience. His cold, matter-of-fact gaze lifted and settled on her. “I will allow them safe passage to retrieve their kinsman and take him home. Nothing more. We’ve no time to tarry.”
Lilia suppressed a shudder. This was the first time in all her visits back to the past that she’d keenly felt the rawness of the era. She forced her gaze away from the dead man and looked to the MacKenna warriors, their mounts fidgeting in place, waiting for orders from their chieftain.
“I . . . uhm . . . understand.” Lilia cleared her throat and sat taller in the saddle. Gray was right. Graham’s life, and now the well-being of the MacKenna clan, depended on them. There was no time to tarry. “The plan then? Send for reinforcements or take a chance on our timing and kick some Buchanan ass by ourselves?”
“Both.” Gray nodded to the largest of the three guards. “Duncan—back to the keep. Double the guard then send the rest to join us. Alert everyone to what ye’ve just witnessed. Ye ken what must be done.”
The brawny man thumped a clenched fist to his chest while turning his horse back in the direction from which they’d just come. “Aye, my chieftain. It will be so.”
Gray looked at Colum and the remaining men. “Now let us be on our way to show the Buchanans the error of their thinking.”
CHAPTER27
Dammit to hell. Four bastards after all.Graham kept his gaze lowered, feigning sleep, as the four remaining Buchanans shuffled around the makeshift camp, making ready to carry on with the journey. And sure enough, one of the bastards was not only the ugliest but the biggest of them all: Scrunge. Aptly named because he stunk worse than an overcrowded castle’s cesspit.
But the other remaining Buchanans triggered a bit of hope for a successful escape. The short squat toad-like leader could easily be overcome.Graham would knock him flat of his back. The round bastard couldn’t regain his footing without a sturdy handhold.
And then the other two. Older. Slight of form but more than likely quite a bit cannier than the leader and Scrunge. Those two never stopped glancing around the hillside and if they’d checked their weapons once they’d checked them a thousand times over.
Graham slowly rose to his feet. Sizing the four Buchanans up, it was plain what course he should take. He looked to Angus then pointedly shifted his gaze to Scrunge.
Angus lowered his chin in subtle acknowledgment, tucked his injured arm tighter to his torso, and flexed the fingers of his good hand.
Angling sideways to a taller portion of the crumbling wall behind him, Graham double-wrapped the shackle chain around his fists and pulled the metal links taut.
Scrunge shuffled out of range, wadding up an extra plaid and knotting the corners before securing it behind one of the saddles.
Come over here, ye stinking bastard,Graham silently willed.He propped his arse against the stones behind him and braced his feet.
Slowly but surely, Angus inched closer to one of the horses tied to a nearby tree. Each time one of the Buchanans glanced his way, he quickly assumed a stoop-shouldered stance and cradled his broken arm.
Graham spotted Angus’s target: an axe hanging in the loop of the saddle. Well done. May the gods guide his aim.
Scrunge finally lumbered closer and Graham lunged. He kicked the back of Scrunge’s right leg, knocking the giant to one knee. Throwing the chain over the man’s head, Graham straddled the man’s broad back, twisted the length of metal around the guard’s throat and yanked backward.
Scrunge gasped and sputtered, fighting wilder than an untamed stallion to knock Graham free. The sound of his own blood pumping rushed and roared in Graham’s ears. Just a bit longer. Die, stubborn bastard.Graham strained to hold fast, twisting the chain ever tighter to cut off Scrunge’s air.
Alerted by the furious scuffle, the other men sprang into action.
A wet thunk sounded and the leader of the marauders stopped in his tracks then teetered forward, the axe buried deep in the back of his skull. He hit the ground and didn’t move.
The slighter of the remaining two men beat Angus to the other horse bearing a weapon. He unsheathed a sword and tossed it to his partner. “Cut the hands off that goat-swiving cur that’s choking Scrunge!” Then he snatched up a deadly pike propped against a boulder on his side of the camp. He turned toward Angus, hefting the spear in one hand. “I’ll skewer ye like the vermin ye are, MacKenna rat.”
Angus took cover behind a gnarled tree broad enough to shield him. “Come after me like a man,” he taunted with a glance around the trunk. “Only a coward wields a spear against a one-armed man.”
Doing his damnedest to watch both deadly Buchanans, Graham pulled the chain higher, hooking it behind Scrunge’s heavy jaws and yanking it tighter. He arched backward; his raw back scraped the wall, triggering a searing burn across his shoulders. The pain would just have to be damned. If he didn’t shield himself with the wall to his back and Scrunge to his front, he’d never get out of this alive.
Scrunge finally went limp. Graham nearly lost his footing when the mountain of flesh sagged forward. He struggled to keep Scrunge up in place between himself and the advancing Buchanan with the sword.
“Aye, ye are done for now. Ye’ve lost yer shield.” The henchman grinned as he slowly advanced. “I’ll keep ye alive. I grant ye that. But the chieftain didna say ye had to have all yer parts.” He gripped the haft of the sword with both hands, hefting the long heavy blade high over his head. “I sharpened me sword to a fine edge last night. I wager I can lop off both yer arms along with Scrunge’s head with one good swing. What say ye? Will ye take that wager?”
Whizzing sounds ripped through the trees followed by a series of solidthunk-thunk-thunks.
A shocked look registered on the face of the Buchanan with the raised sword. Slowly, the weapon teetered out of his grasp and hit the ground in front of him with a clatter. The man sagged forward, knees hitting the ground first, then his body flopped across the sword, two arrows protruding from his back.
