He couldn’t help the burning rage in his chest at the realization that his council had more often than not blatantly lied to his face, telling him everything was fine when they knewfull well people were falling ill with something that took away their appetite and made their thirst impossible to slake, while not allowing any of the fluids they took to remain in their bellies.
He felt the anger spike again, some of it fairly aimed at himself, and was quick to tamp it back down. To control himself as a laird should. There was no benefit to raging at the sky, even if it might make him feel much better in the moment.
Instead, he squeezed his heels against his mare to increase her languid pace to more of a canter, both to relieve some of his frustration and to increase his headway to the nearby inn he’d planned to spend the night in before the sun had fully set.
The voice ahead was so faint he almost missed it. Shifting his weight, he eased his mare’s pace back to her calm lope and listened more closely.
“I have nothing for ye.” The voice was steady and distinctly feminine.
He supposed it came from around the rock outcropping up ahead, and he knew there was a village just a little further down the path he was riding. He’d intended it to be his third stop on this trip, which so far hadn’t yielded much in the way of explanation for what was happening right beneath his nose.
“Wait, please! That’s only medicine for me sister. Bitter. It willnae do ye a lick of good.” That voice was familiar.
He leaned forward and urged his mare onward at a more clipped pace that wouldn’t drown out the sound of that frightened voice the way the canter had. He wanted to hear if the lass said anything more.
He didn’t need much more, however, for his suspicion to solidify into certainty as soon as he and his mount turned the corner around the outcropping of rocks that had blocked his view further along the tamped dirt.
The lass was standing in the road, backed against more of those rocks. She had her hands up to show her harmlessness, and to each side of her, a trio of men far too large to be standing over a single lass loomed. One of them was holding a bottle of a familiar pale gold liquid up to the sky. “I wouldnae say that.”
Her wide green eyes, the eyes that had been haunting his dreams, were flickering from one man to the other, but kept returning to that bottle more often than not. She didn’t respond, though Aiden could see her throat working as her jaw clenched, and he half wondered what she’d do if she had a blade at her waist instead of an apron.
Another of the men in dark cloaks with filthy tunics leered at her. “I’d say ye have at least one other thing we might partake of if ye carry nothin’ of more value than thismedicine. What say ye, lassie? We could be obliged to let ye on yer way… or we couldnae, if I’m being clear.” He snapped his teeth in her face wolfishly, and she visibly flinched away from him.
The threat was crystal clear.
Aiden saw red.
6
“If any of ye witless bastards put yer filthy hands on her, ye’ll find yerself without them.”
Hannah felt the voice that spoke to her left in her chest. A good octave lower and angrier than the three men who had managed to surge onto the road ahead of and behind her and block an escape before it had even been attempted.
She and the three men turned their heads in unison, and she felt her mouth drop open in astonishment as she realized who was swinging down from a stocky gray mare with one hand already on the hilt of a broadsword. In the gathering darkness, the mount beside him looked more ghostly than flesh.
She felt a chill race down her spine as the man who’d been speaking inches from her face laughed and revealed several missing teeth. That chill had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the man who had just dismounted a marethat cut a terrifying figure all on its own. She was fairly sure her pony would have come to about the beast’s shoulder.
“Who’s going to be relievin’ us of ‘em? Ye?” The one who spoke and was closest to her turned his gaze back to her, and she squeaked as he caught her cloak and pulled her a step toward him. His grip was harsh, and her head snapped back on her neck at the unexpected force. He had a firm hold on her until very suddenly… he did not.
A moment later, he was stumbling back with an astonished look on his face, and a gasp tore from her throat when she saw him turn toward the Laird as dark red painted the dusty road in the fading light. His remaining hand went for the dirk at his belt, and a shout of warning died in her throat as the Laird’s sword plunged into the bandit’s chest with stunning finality.
It had been a scant few heartbeats from the moment the bandit had reached for her to when he hit the packed earth, courtesy of the Laird simply pushing him backward and off the large blade in his hand.
The other two moved quickly, and Hannah reacted nearly as fast. She surged from where she’d reflexively withdrawn to the rough rocks that nature had stacked a bit too high behind her back and snatched the bottle of whiskey from the hand of the rightmost bandit, hugging it to her chest tightly.
Even though she felt her heart thundering in her chest at the daring choice, that bottle could mean the difference between having her sister and being alone.
Last week had seen a tremendous improvement in Violet’s health, and she no longer appeared as if she were looking heavenward. There was little Hannah wouldn’t risk to make sure that improvement continued and could be shared amongst the others in her village.
The bandit she’d relieved of the bottle didn’t seem to notice as he scrabbled at his waist for his own dirk and charged toward the Laird, who moved with a speed that didn’t seem possible for a man of his size. Red flashed inside the basket hilt of his broadsword and at the throats of the two bandits who had tried to flank him on either side.
It all started and ended so quickly that she could only stand stock-still with her whiskey bottle in hand, mouth agape, staring at the three fallen bodies and the black-haired man who stood among them, catching his breath.
Eventually, he looked up at her. He had speckles of crimson across his face. Her gaze was drawn to the way they shone in what light was left as he leaned down to wipe his sword on the cloak of one of the fallen men.
For a moment, she was almost afraid he would come after her with that blade next, as if he intended to leave no witnesses.
“Lass?” he spoke gently, and her irrational fear fled as quickly as it had crossed her mind.
