“Aye, if the Black Parlan doesnae arrive to take ye in one stroke.”
Geordie heartily wished that he had deserted Rory Fergueson years ago. The man was too mad to heed sense or to be controlled now. Rory would lead them both to the slaughter, but it was far too late for Geordie to turn away now and he knew it. He may not have struck the death blow to the women, and some men, that Rory had murdered but he had aided the man so that his own hands were as bloodstained as Rory’s. The men now hunting them knew that and would not allow him to escape. His fate was irretrievably tied to Rory’s. Geordie simply wished the man was not so set on making that fate a swift, bloody death.
“Let that whoreson come. Aye, let him come. He shallnae find me to cut down. Nay, if the Black Parlan comes here, he will find only corpses, only grief and blood. God willnae deny me my rightful vengeance upon that whoreson and the bride that scorned me.” Rory unsheathed his sword and left his hiding place, his gaze fixed upon the couple in the clearing.
Thinking to himself that God had long ago denied Rory, Geordie reluctantly followed the man. He really had no wish to kill Aimil for he dreaded the thought of how firmly that would set the Black Parlan upon their trail. The man would never relinquish the hunt. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to stop Rory nor stop himself. He was no longer sure that he knew how.
Aimil stretched and then smiled at Artair. He was trying very hard to be patient with her. His eagerness to quit the place and hie back to Dubhglenn was evident in every line of his body. She decided it was probably past time for her to consider his point of view and position with more sympathy. He had given her her brief taste of freedom and so it was only fair that she return to him his peace of mind.
She smiled, acknowledging that she was not acting selflessly. She was very weary of sitting on Elfking. It was no longer comfortable for her body was too awkwardly shaped. So too was she still unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Pleasant as the place was, she could no longer feel safe in it.
“All right, Artair, I am done with freedom. We may return now.” She smiled when he breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“Are ye sure? We could linger another moment or twa if ye wish.”
“Nay, there is naught here for me now.”
“Ah, but there is where ye are wrong, my pretty slut. Death is here for ye now. Aye, death is here.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Aimil sat as if frozen and stared at the ragged, dirty man before her. Despite the loss of his finery, she had no trouble recognizing Rory. His was a face that would never leave her nightmares. He was the cause of the fear that had never left her since the day he had taken her from Parlan and revealed the monster that lay beneath his beauty. His words seemed neither fanciful nor mad to her. In her eyes, he was death in all its horror and pain.
“Get behind me, Aimil,” hissed Artair as he drew his sword and prepared himself to face the rather poor odds of two against one.
Shaking free of her fear, she moved to obey Artair. They could flee, she thought. They had horses. Then she realized that Geordie lurked to the rear of them. Artair stood his ground for fear that Geordie would block the horses, startle them and probably unseat her. If she were not so large with child, they would have no fear of such things. Her condition stole their chance of bolting for freedom. Even as she thought that they ought to try it anyway, Geordie moved with a speed that was astounding and, with only a few moves, had knocked Artair from his horse, wounding him and forcing the younger man to fight for his life.
“So quickly does your gallant knight fall.” Rory lunged to grab for Elfking’s reins.
Cursing, Aimil kicked at him, but her foot barely grazed his face. She then found herself clinging for dear life to Elfking. The horse, sensing the danger to her, reared and struck out at Rory. The man dodged the first strike, but the second caught him on the side of the face. As he screamed and tried to scramble out of reach of Elfking’s deadly hooves, the horse struck him again, Aimil felt sickened by the sound of hooves striking flesh.
Each time Elfking came down before rearing again, Aimil felt the jarring throughout her body. She knew that Elfking was accomplishing what Artair had feared from many another source. Her labor had begun. She made no attempt to halt the horse’s attack, however. It was undoubtedly keeping her, her child, and Artair alive.
She finally dared a glance Artair’s way. Geordie was deserting the battle to race to Rory’s side. Artair sank to his knees, clutching his side which bled far too freely for Aimil’s liking. She had to get him away before Geordie could renew his attack. The wound might not be fatal but the weakening from the loss of blood made Artair easy prey. Since his horse had fled, she had to stop Elfking’s attack at the safest moment to allow Artair to mount. She could only pray that Artair would be strong enough.
“Look at my face! Look what that Devil’s spawn did to my face!”
Despite a voice that warned her not to, Aimil looked. As she glanced Rory’s way, he removed his hand from his face to show Geordie the results of Elfking’s attack. Even though she wondered how a stomach gripped by contractions could do so, hers heaved, sickened by the sight of Rory’s ruined face. Elfking had not struck Rory squarely. The horse’s hooves had dragged along the side of Rory’s face, taking the skin with them. Nothing could restore Rory’s face to its former beauty. If the wound healed without infection, the scar would be large and ragged. Despite her loathing of the man, Aimil found no joy in the sight.
Since Geordie was busy trying to calm Rory and to tend to the wound as well as avoid Elfking, Aimil decided the time was right to flee. “Artair, can ye mount?” She kept her gaze fixed upon the enemy as she fought to quiet Elfking.
“Aye, I think so though, God’s tears, I feel close to death.” Artair struggled to his feet.
“Ye will be far closer than ye wish to be if ye dinnae mount and quickly. Their attention will again turn our way verra soon.”
Keeping a watch on Geordie and Rory, she felt Artair falter twice in trying to pull himself up behind her. Although Elfking was steady, the horse was still agitated and could flare up at any moment. Nevertheless, she knew she had to chance it when Artair faltered a third time. Releasing one arm from its firm grip around Elfking, she grasped Artair by the arm when he made his next attempt to mount. To her relief Elfking did not rear, and the extra pull she exerted upon Artair was enough to get him up behind her. She then cautiously retrieved the reins she had dropped when Elfking had begun to rear and she had held tightly to his neck.
“Here is the chance to kill that filth yet I must tuck tail and run.”
“Ye could do none of us any good dead, Artair. Hold tightly. I cannae catch ye or lift ye if ye fall.”
As soon as she felt him grip her tightly, she spurred Elfking into a gallop. The frustrated cries and curses of Geordie and Rory were like music to her ears. It meant she had gotten away from them. Now all she had to concern herself with was getting to Dubhglenn before she had the child or Artair fell off Elfking. She mused a little wryly that that would undoubtedly prove enough concern to last her for a lifetime. Then some of Rory’s screaming rage reached her ears, and she thought of nothing save escaping the madman, of reaching the safety of Dubhglenn.
“Ye have lost the chance,” Geordie finally screamed at the raging Rory. “Let us leave here before ye lose your life, too.”
It was another moment before Rory gained enough control to speak in a normal voice. “Are ye telling me to give up?”
“I am asking ye to flee now, before she has a chance to tell anyone where ye are. ’Tisnae the same at all.” Geordie sensed that Rory’s madness had reached the point where even his life was at risk. “Ye willnae have another chance if ye linger here for there is sure to be someone along soon and they willnae let ye live.”
