“What the hell?” Tormund raised his bow, but Stellan put a hand on his arm.
“Wait till he’s well on our side. Wait.” Stellan’s gaze swept the area between their hilltop and the stag, looking for the stone marker he knew was in the glen. He spotted it as the stag crossed into Sutherland and began to run uphill. “Give him another…wait…now!”
Tormund loosed his arrow and struck the stag in the throat.
It went down, stumbling, onto its foreleg knees, and rested there, wheezing, as blood began to soak its shoulder.
Stellan nocked an arrow and loosed it, finishing the beast. “I didna want to see him suffer,” he said, waving at the others to bring the horses up.
Tormund nodded and they started down the hill. An arrow whizzed by and buried itself in the ground behind them. They ducked and scrambled for the cover of a fallen tree trunk.
“Sodding Sutherland thieves!” The angry call came from MacKay land. Another arrow followed it.
“Stay back,” Stellan warned his men, then peered over the trunk and faced toward the buck. “We’ve stolen nothing,” he called out.
“The buck was on MacKay land. ’Tis ours!”
“We’ve chased that buck over half of Sutherland. It crossed into MacKay and back out again before we killed it. Ye have nay claim.”
The rumble of deep male voices came to them, none clear, until one rose above the others to object, “That blasted bird spooked it and it ran. We’d have it but for the hawk.”
“Ye did no’ ken the buck was even there until the hawk screamed a warning,” another said.
The voices dropped, but continued wrangling. Stellan sat back against the tree trunk and looked aside to where Tormund was doing the same. They traded a look and shrugged.
“Think we can retrieve it?” Tormund’s grin gave away the sarcasm in his question.
“Go right ahead,” Stellan told him. “It ye want yer arse shot full of arrows while ye try to pull it up here.”
“Guess we’ll have to wait until they give up and leave.”
“Aye. If they do. MacKays are no’ kenned for being reasonable.”
The arguing continued in the MacKay camp with occasional forays to yell insults at the Sutherlands. With dark encroaching, the MacKays lit a campfire visible through the trees on their side.
Tormund groaned when the glow of the fire became visible. “Damn MacKays. ’Tis our buck.”
“They’ll be watching it from under the cover of those trees. Let’s make a show of withdrawing.”
Tormund grinned and nodded. “Anders is going to be sorry he missed this.”
Stellan stayed down but moved uphill as he ordered his men back over the hilltop. He didn’t bother to lower his voice, wanting the MacKays to hear him.
On the other side of the hilltop, out of earshot of the rival clansmen, he told his men, “Let them drink themselvespished, then we’ll haul the buck over the hill and be gone before the sun comes up. Tormund and Finlay, ye’ll take first watch. Wake me when they get quiet.”
Two hours later, Stellan and four men picked up the buck and brought it back over the hill—a Sutherland victory his da would appreciate. The only life lost was the buck’s.
Findinga way to escape MacKay was taking Mariota longer than she’d hoped it would. She couldn’t free Valkyrie, claim a horse, and get all three out of the keep, herself included, without garnering too much notice. Her father had laid down the law with the guards. Under no circumstances was she to leave the keep. Not alone and not with anyone else, especially Seamus, who had been permanently relegated to the nighttime watch. She was sorry for him, but her da could have done worse.
Alber had been under the care of the healer. Despite all the blood Mariota had seen and her da’s claim that he’d been found near death, his injuries were not as serious as she’d imagined. In Valkyrie’s favor, he’d never look the same again, not that Mariota thought he’d been an attractive man to start with. Her hawk’s claw marks would scar his neck. The chunks the raptor had torn out of his face would heal, but would leave unsightly pits. Bruises, though those would fade, further detracted from his appearance. So she’d been told. She hadn’t been foolish enough to get anywhere near his chamber.
He was under no such compunction. Mariota found him waiting outside her chamber door after the evening meal the day after he was brought back to the keep.
“Alber! What are ye doing here?” She shouted at him, hoping someone would hear and come to her aid.
“I’ve come to finish the business between us. Yer bird did this to me,” he said and lifted a hand to his face, open wounds seeping still.
Hadn’t the healer bandaged them? Or had he torn off the coverings to try to frighten her with his grotesque appearance.
