Haunting Warrior (31 page)

Flashes of Liam as a child played against the backdrop of horror. She could see him splashing in the river that ran near their keep . . . racing through the waving meadows, chasing butterflies and birds . . . sitting on her lap as she told him stories of CuChulain the Hound. . . .

So many of her loved ones had died. She couldn’t live if it meant losing Liam, too.

“Bain,” she said under her breath. “Protect yer brave warrior. Come to me now as y’ have before and bring justice on these monsters.”

Again the breath of wind stirred in the clearing, turning dust into spinning circles that danced around the men. One of the soldiers, a young man Saraid didn’t know, cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. Saraid watched, feeling her blood turn cold and her heart slow as her frustration grew into helpless fury. It would take more than a playful breeze to stop these men.

“Did y’ hear that?” the young man asked.

But the others ignored him. Two held Liam up by his outstretched arms. Scar- eye handed his blade to a third man, nodding at the fire while he continued to bludgeon her brother with fists the size of hams.

“Are y’ ready to tell me where it is?” Scar-eye asked. “Or will I have to pull y’ apart bit by bit?”

“We don’t have yer fooking Book,” Liam said. His voice cracked and his brave face crumbled. Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. “Don’t y’ think if we had it, we’d use it?”

But it was clear that Scar- eye did not think at all, and Liam was weakening. He could not stand much more and neither could Saraid.

She wouldn’t stay here and watch them kill Liam, and she would not abandon him while there was still breath in her body. Easing back into the foliage, she looked around, finding a small cluster of egg-sized stones nearby. Hardly weapons, but she was more than a fair shot with a stone. Hadn’t she grown up with four brothers?

Her wedding gown was tattered and filthy. Fitting, she thought, considering the cursed union she’d entered. Her marriage wouldn’t save her family from destruction, but her gown might help her save her brother. She pulled the skirt out and used it as a pouch, loading as many rocks as she could carry into it before inching to the edge of the basin. She wished for more than one place to hide while she volleyed the stones at Cathán’s men, but she knew any hope of freeing Liam depended on speed and accuracy. She would have to knock out all of them before they caught her. Even as she hefted the first rock, she knew it was a battle she couldn’t win. But she would face it bravely or die trying. Her brother deserved that much.

Perhaps death here would not be the worst fate. However misguided, she had hoped Tiarnan was right about the alliance her wedding was to have forged. But all his plans had frayed and come apart like strands of worn rope, and now she could only presume that Tiarnan and the others were dead. She was alone, with no husband, no family, no clan. It would be an honor to die if it meant saving their last hope, the last hope for their people.

By now the knife was hot again, a red glowing menace, and Scar-eye took it in hand, moving this time to Liam’s face. Saraid could see her brother wincing away from the heat of the blade as Scar- eye held it inches from his eye. He grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked Liam’s head back. Her brother’s terror rolled off him in waves, catching Saraid like a blow to the chest.

“Wonder what name they’ll give y’ once I dig that eye from yer skull,” Scar-eye said.

Liam began to sob, and the sound wrenched all other fears away. Saraid took a deep breath, prayed that the gods would see her aim true, and threw the first stone with all the strength she possessed. It sailed through the air and caught Scar- eye just below his ear before clattering to the earth. For a moment he was too stunned to move and Saraid used that time wisely. No sooner had he turned toward her hiding place than she hurled another stone, this one bigger. It caught him squarely in the head and brought him down with wobbling knees and a shout of pain and surprise. Whether it was the gods or Bain, someone must be watching over her, for on the way down Scar- eye hit his head on the Druid stone and collapsed unconscious.

Saraid’s breath came in short bursts, and fear clutched her heart. The other four men watched in shock as the giant fell, unable to fathom that someone had so easily taken out their leader with a stone the size of an egg. As they gaped, she hefted another rock and aimed for one of the men holding Liam’s arms. This rock flew wide and nicked the man on the shoulder, only serving to rouse him from his stupor and make him angry.

“Over there,” he shouted, pointing at the place where she hid.

They released Liam and rushed at her. She had only a moment to see her brother sag to his knees before one of the men launched himself up the basin wall and at her. He was too close to pelt with the rocks, so she took one in each hand and letting out a cry that came from the very depths of her enraged soul, Saraid charged, swinging her weighted fists, landing blows that split her knuckles and shot pain up her arms. She fought for her life, aware only that she and her brother must win to survive. The man locked her to his body as he fell back, down into the clearing. They landed with a thud that knocked the breath out of each of them, and then Saraid was squirming wildly, trying to break free.

Liam had managed to untie his bindings while the others were distracted and now he scrambled to his feet. He was badly beaten and she knew he’d be little help, but like her, he wouldn’t go without a fight. Kicking and clawing, she managed to get free of the beast who’d grabbed her, but another caught her in a bear’s hug, pinning her arms. She screamed as she slammed her head back into his nose, feeling the bones crush and the hot splatter of blood on her neck, but he held tight, crushing her ribs, making it impossible to draw a breath.

“Run, Liam,” she shouted, feeling the whole of their history and future lay with him. He had to
live
. But a wave of helpless frustration left her weak as she realized that he would not leave her any more than she could leave him.

Liam grabbed Scar-eye’s knife, which had fallen nearby, wincing in agony as he clutched it in his wounded hand, and charged with a warrior cry. While one man held her powerless in his grasp, the other three turned to Liam, spreading out as he barreled forward. A lucky strike caught the first man at the throat and sliced through like butter. He had time only to make one gurgling protest before he keeled over. Liam kept coming, intent only on the man who held Saraid.

She shouted for him to turn, but he had the bloodlust upon him and could master nothing over his need for vengeance. As he hurled himself at her captor, the other two caught him from behind and wrestled him to the ground. It was over in seconds.

The three men stared at their two downed comrades in shock and then rage. “Kill the boy,” said one of them, stepping forward to take the lead. He looked at the man still holding Saraid and smiled. “Kill him. We won’t need the whelp now.”

Saraid watched in horror as he rucked up his tunic and shoved a hand inside his trews to hold himself, his intent made clear when he reached out with the other hand and roughly squeezed her breast. “We’ll have more fun getting what we want from this one.”

R
ORY reached the point where he’d planned to cut down into the clearing only to find a natural barrier of rock that prevented it. After wasted minutes trying to breach it, he’d been forced to back-it. track until he could go around to a place where the basin wall was lowest and the forest grew to the very edge. His heart was pounding hard, and he knew too much time had passed. A sick feeling told him he was too late to save the kid. He’d heard Liam’s agonized cries and then silence, knew that he was probably dead.

As he raced through the foliage, he cursed himself for leaving Saraid’s side, for trying to use his brain instead of his brawn. If those men had hurt her . . . he could hardly allow himself to even consider the possibility, contemplate what he would do.

Panic surged through his veins as he plowed forward, unmindful of the branches whipping at his face. Through them he saw Saraid standing on the other side of the basin’s rim, throwing rocks, bringing down a Goliath of a man and fighting like Wonder Woman on steroids. Like some primitive goddess, all wrath and wicked aim, awe-inspiring in her fury.

A few seconds more and he reached the clearing. In a blink, Saraid had been subdued and was now held by a burly, furry man with a wild mess of black hair that merged into a bushy beard. Great wily brows nearly met in the middle over deep-set eyes. A tall, agile-looking man who was nearly bald had the kid pinned with a sword at his throat.

“Kill the boy,” the third man said. He was built like a brick house, solid, square-featured, battle-scarred with a fierce, mean stare. A hard man. From the command in his voice to the way the other two listened and followed him with their eyes, Rory assumed he was the new captain now that Saraid had taken out the old one.

The captain moved to stand in front of Saraid. “Kill him,” he repeated. “We won’t need the whelp now.”

In a split second, Rory took it all in. His mind was going a million miles an hour, weighing options, discarding them. Seeking a way for the three of them to get out of this alive.

He had a weapon—but what good would it do him against men who were obviously seasoned warriors? Rory had been bouncing drunks for the past six months and he was as ripped as the Terminator. He wouldn’t think twice about taking on the three of them hand-to-hand. But throw long, ugly swords and short, deadly daggers into the mix, and it was another story. He wasn’t afraid for himself as much as he was for Saraid and her brother. If he was their only hope, then he’d better be sure before he moved.

But there wasn’t time to be sure about anything.

Saraid and her rock slinging had been impressive, and he scooped up a couple of stones just in case. But the element of surprise was gone, and the men had a wariness about them that told Rory they wouldn’t be caught by that trick again. That left him with few options, except . . . except . . .

Except he had the face of Cathán Half-Beard’s son.

The realization rolled over him suddenly and completely, swamping him with all of its implications. They didn’t know that he really wasn’t this Bloodletter maniac that everyone thought he was.

His gut clenched painfully, but he forced himself to stand and calmly enter the circle. He was quiet, and they didn’t notice him until he was right behind the bald guy who held the sword on Saraid’s brother. Saraid was still trapped in the arms of the hairy bastard who probably shared some grizzly bear DNA. The site of her pinned against his sweaty chest set Rory’s blood to boil. It took everything to keep some measure of control about him.

“We’ll have more fun getting what we want from this one,” the third man, the captain, was saying as he reached out and squeezed Saraid’s breast.

Rory fought the haze of rage that urged him to start swinging and to hell with the plan.

“Report,” he commanded, startling the three of them. They spun to face him, two still holding their captives. The captain reached for his weapon, but stayed his hand when he saw Rory, armed and ready. The banked fury in his eyes made the other man falter.

In the silence that followed, a small voice of doubt whispered in Rory’s ear. What if all Cathán’s soldiers knew of the betrayal? What if he’d just walked into the perfect opportunity for one of them to finish what Stephen had begun?

“I said, report, you fucking idiots.”

The captain said, “Caught the boy at a camp up on the hill. He won’t talk, though. Won’t tell us where the Book is.”

The men all looked at the kid accusingly. Liam’s face was bloody, eyes nearly swollen shut. Pinned to the ground by the blade of a sword, the kid watched Rory with hatred that snapped and snarled in the air. Standing nearby, Saraid watched him, too, but there was something more in her eyes, something that pierced deeper than any blade.

Surprise. Doubt. And beneath both . . .
hope
.

He tried to ignore what he saw. He didn’t want her to believe in him, not in any way. Especially not now when he might get them all killed.

“Let her go,” he said, and the grizzly man holding Saraid hesitated, looking to his captain before obeying. Rory stomped up to him and snarled in his face. “Do you question my authority?”

The man dropped his hands and backed away immediately. Rory pulled Saraid to his side.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to ask with his eyes if she was hurt. He could see the trembling going through her, though she kept her head up and her eyes cool. If she was hurt, she wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of knowing.

Rory turned to the bald guy holding the blade to the boy. “Five of you to this scrawny runt and a woman and still you have casualties?” he said.

He showed his scorn with a sneer as he looked from the man with his throat ripped wide, bleeding into the black earth to the one Saraid had felled, the one with the knot on his forehead the size of an ostrich egg. He’d yet to regain consciousness. Rory wanted to grin at the lump Saraid had put there, but he didn’t. Their survival depended on how well he played his part.

“It appears you haven’t heard the news,” Rory went on, his tone hard and steady. “These people are our family now. She”—he nodded at Saraid—“is my wife.”

“The fook y’ say,” muttered the captain.

Rory strode to the man, invading his personal space until he took a stumbling step back. “I said she is my wife.”

“The Laird told us—” the bald man began, but the captain cut him off with a look of rage.

“The Laird told you what?” Rory asked softly.

“He feared a betrayal,” the captain answered.

If Rory hadn’t known the truth, he would have believed the man. Either the captain believed it himself, or he was a damn good liar.