Rough hands took him from behind and hauled him over to a tree. Jasper kicked at his captors, but he had no defence when a punch to the stomach knocked the wind out of him. He tried to avoid the noose as he took some last, frantic gasps of air into his lungs, but he was overcome.
The man who faced him wore a mask over most of his face like the others. He had small eyes, like hard, grey pebbles, and a broad face.
‘Who in God’s name are you?’ spat Jasper.
‘I’m nothing to do with God. More the Devil’s own, spawned out of his arse, and you will meet him soon enough.’
‘Are you Alec Carstair’s man?’
The man gave a scornful laugh. ‘That worm. Do you think he has the balls or the brains to get his teeth into you? He cowers like a lass while we do the dirty work.’
‘Why are you doing this? What quarrel do you have with me?’
‘I have no particular quarrel with you, but my master does. Aye, and he has ordered me to send you to your maker. Caolan Bannerman is a clever one, is he not?’
A seething hatred gripped Jasper. He had been betrayed, and the Bannermans had the upper hand, as always. He would die this day, and no one would know by whose hand. Rowenna would be left defenceless. Would she fall prey to Strachan, for he must be in on this? His message had been a worm dangled as bait for him to snap at. Bannerman and Strachan were probably together now, laughing at him. An awful thought hit him.
‘Is Bannerman here?’ he said.
The man smirked. ‘He’s behind you, in the trees. Bannerman doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. He just told us to finish it, and now we shall.’
‘Wait. Stop. I can pay twice what he is paying you.’
‘Your coin makes no difference. Say your words and prepare for hell, Glendenning.’
So this was it – a slow, humiliating death in a bleak and lonely wood. How could his life have come to this?
The horse jerked forward, hauling him off the ground. The rope squeezed with appalling force, leaving him struggling for air, kicking his feet into nothing in a frantic effort to free himself. The rope bit into his neck muscles, tilting his head upwards. He could just suck in a tiny breath of air, but it was agonising.
‘Shall we pull on his legs to hasten his end?’ he heard someone say, as if from far away.
‘No, Bannerman wants him to suffer. Let him dangle. I want to see his eyes bulge and his bladder open at the end.’
The sky whirled around him, grey and merciless. Blood pounded in Jasper’s head as he slowly slipped away.
***
To Rowenna, it seemed she had been searching forever. Jasper could not be this far ahead? The rain made the woods even more impenetrable, and she had long since passed the point where their party had turned back. She began to regret her folly, for Jasper might have left the path and be moving through the woods out of sight.
A murder of crows suddenly took flight, cawing and circling up into the grey sky. Moments later, Jasper’s horse appeared, trotting down the path towards her, riderless. It ran right past her, and Rowenna froze and listened. He might be close, lying injured, calling for help.
There was nothing save a rushing sound from her right, but she could only see dense trees and dark shadows. She strained her ears, and the wind changed direction, bringing with it a faint shout. It was a man’s voice deep within the trees.
Rowenna slipped off her horse, picked up her skirts and ran through the woods towards the voice. She burst into a clearing and stopped dead. Her heart leapt to her throat. All the breath left her body, and she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop from crying out his name. Jasper was kicking on the end of a rope. He was dying in front of her. Men were looking on, laughing as he struggled.
‘When he is done, raise him higher and let him hang until he is blackened and his eyes are taken by the crows,’ said one man. ‘He can stay as a warning to those who cross the master.’
They would not take his beautiful eyes. Rowenna took hold of her crossbow and tried to load an arrow, but her hands shook,and her fingers were numb, so she fumbled it, and the bow fell into the mud. No, no, no. He didn’t have much time. Rowenna tried again and got an arrow in. She aimed, but she was too far away for a clear shot.
Getting closer would take time, and Jasper was dying. She would have to take the shot. Rowenna raised the bow on shaking hands, bracing herself on the bough of a tree. Three men stood with their backs to her. She chose the middle target, fixed on a point where his heart was, and let loose.
The arrow made a dull thud as it entered the man’s back. He arched his body and fell forward. Rowenna could scarcely believe she had hit him. Shouts of alarm echoed about the clearing as she loaded another arrow. The men scattered, moving targets, and they were looking in her direction now. She reloaded, her fingers steady this time, and fired, but she missed her mark.
‘There, in the trees,’ one man shouted, running towards her at full pelt. She loaded another arrow with shaking fingers and let loose just as he fell on her, sword drawn back to slice.
The crossbow slipped from her fingers, and they hit the ground as one. The man gushed blood from his throat, jerking in his death throes. He was heavy, but Rowenna managed to wriggle out from under him. She had no idea where the third man was but had no time for caution. She snatched up the dead man’s sword and ran into the clearing. The rope was taut where the horse pulled on it, and the tree bough creaked under Jasper’s struggles. With one big swing, Rowenna severed the rope, the horse took flight, and Jasper crashed to the ground.
He did not move or make a sound. Rowenna loosened the rope around his neck, but his eyes bulged up to the sky, and he was so still.
