The other men dismounted. Six tall Highlanders, all armed to the teeth with swords, bows, and dirks. Still more weapons hung from the saddles of their garrons.
John found two swords pointed at his heart.
“Is he one of the outlaws?” someone asked Callum, or possibly Gillian.
But Callum grinned. He set Gillian down, dismounted, and crossed to slap John hard on the shoulder. “Nay, this is English John. He got Gillian away from the fighting. He’s a good man.”
“EnglishJohn?” one of the strangers repeated and looked at the others with a frown.
“Callum, what of the others?” Gillian asked, tugging his sleeve. John hated the way she clung to her kinsman, the way Callum held her around her waist, the protective gesture easy and familiar.
“No one’s dead, Gilly. Lachlan has bad slash on his arm. Tam’s shoulder was knocked out of joint when he fell off his horse. Keir took a dirk to the thigh. Ewan is the worst off—he took a sword blow to the chest, but it hit a rib, fortunately for him. He’ll be fine. They’re at Kinfell Castle with the MacKenzies, in good hands. They all wanted to ride out with me, come to find ye. We were worried about ye—afraid that . . .” He frowned. “Are ye hurt bad?”
She shook her head and blushed, which made the bruise on her cheek look blacker still. John looked around. The other men were staring at Gillian now—MacKenzies, no doubt—besotted. Her gown was indeed low cut in the bright light of morning. Had he laced it properly? John swore silently and shoved the dirk into his belt. “Callum, it’s cold. Give her your plaid,” he said sharply.
Instantly, seven men were holding out plaids to her. Gillian’s blush deepened as she let Callum drop his MacLeod plaid over her shoulders as she gave the others a shy smile.
“I’m Davy MacKenzie, Mistress MacLeod, laird of the MacKenzies of Kinfell. Your men arrived at my keep last eve,” one of the strangers said, stepping so close to Gillian that she had to look up to meet his eyes. To John’s surprise, the big Highlander dropped to one knee before her and tugged his bonnet off his head. “We owe ye a great debt.”
She stared at the man, baffled, silent, and shy once again.
“We found the outlaw’s camp,” Callum told her. “We were a mite concerned when we found the gown you’d been wearing trampled on the ground, and your—your other garments scattered about. They swore they didn’t harm ye, that ye got away.” He scanned her face, took her elbow as if she might swoon. “Is it true?”
Gillian stiffened her spine. She was as red as a rose now. “I’m unhurt. Are the outlaws—?”
“Dead,” Davy MacKenzie interrupted. “We came upon them an hour before dawn. We questioned them about ye, but they only said ye were the fiercest lass they’d ever met, and ye’d escaped.” He grinned happily. “We hanged the lot of them.”
Gillian looked sad at that. “They were poor men—most of them. One was just a lad.”
Davy MacKenzie shrugged. “They’re Bains. Rabbie Bain and his men have plagued my lands for a long while. They’ve murdered, raped, and pillaged. They are—were—dangerous men. We made sure they won’t be troubling my folk or anyone else again, save for the devil himself in hell.” He looked at Gillian with a tender smile. “I have ye to thank for that, mistress. You’ll forgive the delay in comin’ to fetch ye, I hope. I left my men to see to the hanging and came after ye as soon as it was light enough to track ye.” His eyes roamed over Gillian. “We expected to find ye in far worse condition, if ye were still alive at all.”
“I was safe with John,” Gillian said softly, and the MacKenzie looked at John as if he’d forgotten he was even there and wondered why he still was. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but John held his gaze.
“Mistress MacLeod needs food and rest,” he said sharply, and MacKenzie frowned.
“Aye, I ken. It’s why we’ve come—torescueher,” he said, scowling at John.
“I don’t need to be rescued,” Gillian said, but only John heard her.
“She’ll ride with me,” Davy MacKenzie said, still glaring at John.
“She’ll ride with her kinsman,” John replied.
He met Gillian’s eyes, saw the soft, confused light in them, the exhaustion. “Come, Gillian, I’ll help you mount up behind Callum.”
“You’ll come?” she whispered as he lifted her and set her on the garron’s rump gently, knowing she must be sore. She dug her fingers into his shoulders briefly, and he met her eyes, saw the plea there. He stepped back before anyone else noticed.
“Of course. I’m part of your tail. I’m supposed to give you away at your wedding, remember?” She drew a sharp breath.
“John—” He looked at the lovely gown, the gown he’d never forget.
“Why did you bring this gown?” he asked softly.
She looked at him, her eyes wide, luminous. “It was to be my wedding gown,” she said. “Meggie chose it, insisted . . .”
John stepped back as if stung. She hadn’t brought it for him or out of fond memory of their moonlight kiss.
He looked at the green stains on the skirt, the mud on the hem, the bloodstains he hadn’t noticed in the dark. “It’s ruined now,” he murmured.
She scanned his face. “Is it?”
Before he could reply, Callum kneed the garron forward, and Gillian held John’s gaze until he lost sight of her among the trees.
