Adam was ecstatic to be going back to Inverinch. The Highlands were now his home, mainly because Emilia was there and he needed her as much as he needed the air that he breathed.
He was away a little more than a week but it had felt like a month. The closer he got to Inverinch the more his excitement grew. He rode the last two miles at a furious gallop, and by the time he saw the loch on his right side and Inverinch straight ahead, Trojan was exhausted.
Then his eye was caught by a column of dark gray smoke rising into the sky, blown sideways by the breeze, which he supposed was someone burning rubbish. He put it out of his mind and rode on at a more moderate speed.
The day was bright but hazy, but the wind was chilling him to the bone, and now he began to worry about Emilia. Would she have forgiven him or would he have to nurse a broken heart the rest of his life as he watched her be married and have children with another man?
However, as he breasted the hill, all thoughts of Emilia left his mind. The smoke was not coming from a farmer burning leaves or dead wood, but from a blazing building whose huge conflagration was visible from miles away.
It took Adam only moments to pinpoint its location, since the McKays’ croft faced directly onto Loch Inverinch, and was the only one in the area that did, but at the same time he noticed that there were more fires in Inverinch itself. For a moment he was undecided about the direction he should go in, then he made his decision. With a feeling of utter dread, Adam spurred Trojan into a gallop again and headed towards the village.
Inverinch was under attack from a gang of bandits, and when Adam rode into the main street it was like a scene straight from hell. At least five houses were burning and the townspeople were frantically running around looking for relatives or friends who had been separated from them in the panic of the first onslaught of armed riders.
Most were trying to gain the sanctuary of the church, where no one could harm anyone without being damned for all eternity. However, even though most of the village people had reached it, the rest were hindered by the plunging, rearing horses of the enemy. Although these horses were a motley collection of inferior beasts and not bred for war, the smell of blood did not faze them in the slightest, and they were fearsome and terrifying.
Some of the valiant few who had tried to defend the main street with their makeshift weapons had been cut down in moments by the marauding riders. Two of their corpses were being trampled into the mud by the horses’ hooves, but fortunately the others had managed to escape with the assistance of other villagers.
Adam rode into the carnage. He quickly assessed the situation and realized that he had to keep the route to the church clear. He placed himself and Trojan across the narrow width of the main street leading to the church so that it was difficult for the horses to get past him, then he hacked and swiped with his broadsword, having the advantage of only having to defend himself from one side. No rider managed to get around him.
Adam knew that as one man he could not hope to defeat an army, particularly this kind, who were not fighting fairly, but as long as he stood his ground the villagers could gain access to the church and safety. Even Trojan joined in the fight, lashing out with his sharp hooves at any other horse that came near him. Adam had trained him well.
However, Adam was near exhaustion and he knew that it would not be long before it overwhelmed him. All he could do was hold on as long as he could, and hope that the army of thugs would soon leave the village.
Then all of a sudden everything stopped. The man who had been dueling with him frantically backed away, and Adam let his aching arm drop to his side. He was glad of the respite till he saw the reason for it. The outlaws had backed away from the center of the street and had made a kind of corridor for a masked horseman to ride up between them. His face was wrapped in a linen cloth and only his eyes showed, a cold steely gray that seemed to look right through Adam. He was the only one of them wearing protective armor and he looked terrifying with his chain mail vest, sword, and huge gray steed, and Adam felt a stirring of terror inside as he regarded the man.
The knight came within two yards of Adam, then stopped and studied him for a while. Adam had no doubt that he was an emissary of McElwee, but he could not tear the mask off to identify him or he would be murdered on the spot.
“Well, M’Laird!” the man asked. “How goes it?” His voice was a husky whisper, as if he had a sore throat.
“What do you want? Take what you want but do not kill the people!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
The man shook his head and tutted. “I want nothing,” he said sadly. “But watch your back. Sassenachs are not liked here.”
Adam stared at him with hatred burning in his eyes. That was a display of power by McElwee. Adam attacked the man with no second thought. One of the outlaws, who was behind him expecting Adam to do exactly that, raised his sword to give Adam a killing blow, but at that moment the bandit chief cried out and stopped him. He needed Adam alive. The sword missed his head, but the flat of it whacked him between the shoulder blades at an angle, bruising and cutting him all the way down his spine, and knocking him sideways.
Adam cried out in pain, then toppled from Trojan’s saddle, landing head first in the mud. For a moment he lay stunned, then blackness closed on him and he knew no more.
The bandits left without even being challenged.
17
When Adam opened his eyes he saw Emilia.
“Am I dreaming?” he murmured, trying to smile. His voice was hoarse and feeble, and he had an almighty headache that was thumping at his temples, but although it was excruciating, the sight of his beloved was enough to make it bearable.
Emilia smiled, but it was a sad smile, and she shook her head as she brushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. He winced; even the lightest touch was sending darts of pure agony through his head.
“No, you are not dreaming,” she said soothingly. “You are here in my house, safe and sound.” Tears began to leak down her cheeks.
“What happened?” he asked. There was the shadow of a memory there, but he could pin nothing down except a vague feeling of dread and unease. He was dreading the memory that was about to surface, because he knew that it was horrific.
When Emilia told him, it was even worse than he had imagined. He began to remember snippets of things as she spoke. Then her words filled in the rest of the picture.
“It was an ordinary day,” she began. “Everyone was going about their normal business and nobody was afraid. Then about twenty horsemen galloped into the village, seemingly out of nowhere, whooping and roaring, waving their swords about as if they were nothing more than the sticks that children play with. The little band of men whom we had begun to train for our defense had no chance.
“The horsemen cut them down and they...they...” She paused for a moment, unable to go on. Then she squared her shoulders, wiped her eyes, and began to speak again. “The riders made the horses rear up and plunge back down again, and they trampled on the bodies. Many men died. They set fire to the houses and ransacked the market stalls, but most of the villagers got into the church, thanks to the bravery of one man—you.”
“I remember it all now.” Adam’s voice was hoarse and filled with horror. “I spoke to the bandit chief and although he was masked I would recognize his eyes and his voice anywhere. He was not McElwee, but I have no doubt that he was under his command. These were no ordinary bandits. They took nothing. Or did they?”
