“Nay,” Wilkie mumbled, still aghast. “’Twas never confirmed either way.”
“Aye,” agreed Dougal gleefully. “The king was wary of imposters, so he never described the child’s identifying features. Who knew that we would find the king’s lost child in our own kitchens? That our very ownservant is in fact heir to Ossian Lochs, the most coveted estate in all the Highlands? And that she knew not of her own identity?” He chuckled again, apparently highly amused by the mysteries of life, those same mysteries that had steeped many years of my life in turmoil and dread.
A cool and not entirely unpleasant sensation swirled throughout my body now, as their words sunk in. I didn’t believe it could be true. Yet the story, and my past, I had to admit, it matched. Delivered to a childless couple of a distant clan, to be safely and quietly absorbed into a far-away family, out of reach of the king’s vengeful wife? Could it be true that the maniacal ravings of a superstitious old woman were unfounded and uninformed?
Once the ramifications of all that was realized settled into place, the mood of our tense gathering changed, as though a sudden breeze had renewed a vigorous animosity. The unlikely conversation that had sprung up from a shocking revelation vanished, then, in the blink of an eye, transforming the scene back into the escalating conflict it was destined to be.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wilkie grip his sword a little tighter and Kade raise his circular weapon subtly, incrementally higher.
“Now step aside, Mackenzies,” said Dougal, “and let us be on our way. The lass belongs to Ogilvie.”
The soldier Dougal was foolish indeed, if he believed Wilkie Mackenzie to be so accommodating. “We will not step aside,” said Wilkie evenly. “The lass comes with us.”
At Dougal’s covert command, one of the Ogilvie soldiers made a sudden move as though to attack Wilkie.But before the man even got close, there was a blinding flash of light, and the attacking Ogilvie soldier slumped heavily to the ground. Kade’s circular blade was embedded deep into his forehead.
With that, the battle was very suddenly on. Kade was now being quickly approached by the raised sword of an Ogilvie warrior whose name I knew to be Hayes; he had the reputation of a vicious and highly skilled fighter. They would be well matched, and I prayed silently for Kade’s success.
Dougal, enraged now by the death of one of his men, hissed an order at another soldier. The man raised his sword at Wilkie, but before he could even gain a secure grip, Wilkie struck. The lightning-quick jab speared cleanly and deeply into the small hollow at the base of the man’s throat. In and out, before I—or the man himself—could quite make sense of what had happened. The dying soldier looked entirely surprised and made a slight gurgling noise as black-red blood spurted from the fatal wound in his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his body slumped to the ground.
The remaining guards watched the fallen man for several seconds, as though waiting for him to get back up again. He did not.
Dougal roared a single word, “Attack!”
And the Ogilvie soldiers obeyed in unison. Hayes engaged Kade, and the two others—Dougal and another—circled closer to Wilkie, striking as one. The deafening clang of clashing swords echoed sharply as the men attacked and Wilkie deftly fought them off. Panic lurched in my veins. I struggled in vain against Gregor’s strong hold on me. Oh, how I wanted to step in and help him and keep him and distance him from thewrath and the danger! To see my warrior, threatened and surrounded: the seething terror in my gut turned to anger. “Don’t harm him!” I screamed at them.How dare you attack him!“Don’t touch him, he’s mine!”
Despite my terror, I could take some small comfort in the sheer authority of him. I could only watch in amazement at Wilkie’s skillful finesse. As terrifying as the sight was, his grace and flair had me momentarily spellbound. He was a warrior to his bones, and a gifted one.
Either one of the Ogilvie men would have been entirely outmatched by him. The two of them, however, were a trained and cooperative team. They seemed to work in well-rehearsed moves that each of them understood. And they were dangerously close to overpowering him. Dougal lunged, slicing across Wilkie’s bare upper arm. Wilkie barely flinched, and I could see that the wound was not a catastrophic one but deep enough to possibly impair the movement of his stronger right arm. The sight of his blood horrified me. I would rather give myself up to Ogilvie a thousand times than see Wilkie cut down by his men.
And I could not see Kade, although I could hear the metallic clash of his fight somewhere in the near distance.
Gregor pulled me farther toward the horses and Wilkie’s attention was momentarily diverted to the commotion, as I struggled against Gregor’s strength. But I could see what Wilkie could not.
“Wilkie!” I screamed. “Behind you!”
Wilkie twirled, his sword at the ready. An almighty clash jolted my senses as his sword connected with Dougal’s. Wilkie’s sword seemed to have a life of itsown, translating and delivering his energetic power. It seemed the second soldier who had engaged Wilkie had now joined Hayes’s fight with Kade, after a pained yell that I could only hope came from the soldier Hayes.
Wilkie and Dougal exchanged several more blows until it was clear that Wilkie was winning. Dougal stumbled, but before Wilkie could strike his final, deadly hit, Gregor, who had apparently decided he did not at all like the way this battle was going, yelled loudly and close to my ear, “Halt your attack, Mackenzie! Both of you! I’ll kill her! I’ll do it now!”
Wilkie stopped, holding his sword pointed at Dougal but turning his head slightly in my direction. His chest heaved from his exertions, but otherwise he remained motionless. He stared at Gregor with a measured hatred that promised death. I’d never seen him look more fierce, nor more striking. But he clearly knew that the soldier’s words were an empty threat. If it was true that the mark inked to my back meant I was the king’s child, or if there was even the remotest possibility of it, I knew Ogilvie would kill any man who harmed me. I was the key to obtaining the grand and unsurpassed Ossian Lochs, a holding that Laird Ogilvie—and many men—coveted above all others. These Ogilvie warriors knew it. And so did Wilkie. Gregor amended his statement, a taunting lilt well-pronounced in his words. “Or I’ll think of something else to do with her. Half-naked and tempting as she is. Now drop your weapon.”
This threat was possibly not as empty, especially clad as I was, barefoot and bare-legged, with a still-wet and clinging tunic that barely reached the middle of my thighs. And nothing under it. The soldier’s huge body was not only wrapped around me but also pressedup against me. Cold horror surged through me at the warning, and a spark of alarm flashed briefly across the rage that featured far more prominently in Wilkie’s flashing eyes.
Dougal was back on his feet, his sword raised.
Gregor’s grip tightened even further. I could feel the coarse hair of his beard brush against my face as he spoke, sickening me. He smelled of sweat and doom. “You should know we’ll go to any lengths to get this lass back to the Ogilvie keep,” he said loudly to Wilkie, “or I’ll die trying. A rich reward has been offered to the man—or men—who delivers her. Averyrich reward. And I’m eager to collect it. If you delay us any longer, and further bore me with your futile rebellion, I’ll first give myself a reward of a different description, right here and right now. So drop your weapon or I’ll take this lass while you and Dougal finish your fight, Mackenzie. And then I’ll kill her, just to spite you.” The soldier’s hand, slung tightly around my chest, moved slightly, so his thumb brushed over the tip of my breast. I heard a small, terrified sound and realized it was my own response. “What’s it to be, Mackenzie?”
Wilkie did not hesitate. He tossed his heavy sword to the ground, where it landed with a humming clang. He held his hands out, palms up, in a quietly insolent gesture.
Dougal stepped forward to hold the edge of his sword to Wilkie’s neck, so it rested just under his jawline. Wilkie stared at him with a look of utter contempt as the blade waited. “’Tis the only way you could best me,” Wilkie said to him. “I, unarmed. You, without honor.”
Dougal glowered at Wilkie, knowing full well Wilkie’s statement was true. The blade of the sword presseddeeper against the vulnerable pulse of Wilkie’s neck, and the sight of it there unraveled something in me.
“Please!”I begged. “I’ll go with you! Lower your sword and leave him. I’ll not fight you. I’ll come willingly.”
“Tie him up, Dougal,” snarled Gregor, whose grasp was becoming more and more insistent, hurting me and frightening me. “We’ll bring him with us.”
Dougal removed the knife that hung from Wilkie’s belt and tossed it out of reach. “I’ll kill him,” Dougal said.
