The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (41 page)

Someone hit his back, dragging him down. He twisted wildly and bucked against him, and the brigand fell, screaming as Mettle's hooves struck him.

"Get up! Get up!" Sara yelled, and in that moment Boden realized they had stopped.

He scrambled to mount. The chargers leapt forward.

"Maggie!" Boden screamed. He pulled Mettle about as he remembered the girl, but at that moment he saw two riders ahead and knew she was safely astride.

"Hurry!" Liam yelled.

Boden spurred Mettle ahead. Darkness galloped past.

Behind them, men yelled and swore. A horse screamed, and hoofbeats thundered.

Dear God! They were after them, and the nightmare began anew. Terror pursued them like the hounds of hell. Branches slapped his face and scraped his burns. Boden wrapped his fingers in Mettle's mane, hoping with every dim wit that if he passed out he wouldn't fall, wouldn't slow them down.

They rode for an eternity. Morning came, then noon, hurting his head.

"We've lost them for now," Sara said. "Into the barn. Quickly."

The world moved. The daylight dimmed, and then they stopped.

"Here, Boden, here," Sara said, reaching up. Her hands felt like heaven against his skin. Liam's were not so gentle, but finally Boden was eased to the earth. "Boden." There were tears in her voice.

One fell soft and warm against his face. So sweet. So nice to rest, but she was unhappy, and he was so content, just to lie there near her. "Boden, I am sorry."

"Aye," he said, sighing. "And well you should be. Couldn't you have rescued me sooner? Tis the duty of all good angels." He touched her face because he couldn't help himself.

The tears felt hot and seared his heart. "I'm fine, lass," he whispered.

She shook her head. "I know tis not true. You are not even complaining."

"I am a knight," he said, and stroked her cheek.

She smiled shakily. Silence settled in.

"I couldn't find you," he said, his voice barely audible. "Where were you? How could you leave... Maggie? The goat?"

She laughed, but the sound was nothing more than a warbled sob. "I could hardly escape you while dragging the goat about," she said. "But I had to leave. I promised Caroline, and I couldn't risk you any longer."

"Risk me?"

"Tis your duty to take me to Knolltop. Tis mine to see Thomas to safety. I took the babe and the milk bladder and went to Firthport. My cousin, Roman, owns a house there, but Liam was there instead. Twas he who found a nursemaid and horses."

"So my heart was right; you went west instead of north." Boden fell silent for a moment, and though he supposed his words sounded nonsensical, she didn't question them.

Her eyes were like heaven, her whisper soft as the dawn. ' 'We rode as fast as we could. But finally I could go no farther." She paused. Her lips trembled with emotion.

"Why?"

"I could bear your pain no longer," she whispered. "I knew ye were in danger. I felt it in my soul, and I thought surely I would die if ye were hurt again. So I left Thomas and the nursemaid at this farm, for I could not live any longer without ye."

A thousand half-imagined possibilities sparked between them. But suddenly Margaret was beside them. Sara moved aside to give the girl room. The child stood back, terror in her eyes.

"Maggie mine," he whispered. "Angel child."

She refused to move. He lifted a wounded arm toward her, hoping she would come to him, needing some way to assure himself that she was well, but she spun away and bolted from the barn.

"Maggie," he called after her, trying to sit up, but Sara pressed him firmly back down. He turned his gaze to her.

"We abandoned her," Sara whispered.

"But you went back for her."

"Nay." Sara shook her head, her expression solemn. "I did not. She found you on her own."

"Nay."

"Tilly followed Mettle. Wee Maggie followed the goat."

"Tis not possible," Boden rasped. Hot emotion seared his heart. "She could not have done that.

Not for me."

"Love makes all things possible," she murmured, cupping his cheek.

"Love?" He whispered the word, but now she drew her hand from his face.

"Lie back now," she said. "Let me tend your wounds."

Boden grimaced. "They're not so bad," he murmured, and hoped he would faint.

Long before evening they were riding again, six of them, not counting the goat and the weasel.

The rolling green of Scotland surrounded them in silence. If he were a true knight, he would insist they turn around to return to Haldane, Boden thought, but he didn't. Instead, he rode with them, drugged, bandaged, scarred.

Night passed. Morning came and went, and then evening again. Twas that night that they felt the evil.

They stopped deep in the woods where they rode, huddled together like frightened rabbits.

Liam had somehow obtained two swords. Boden now had one strapped to his hip, but the odds were against him defending them from anything more fierce than a field mouse. Far better to hide than to challenge powers he could neither understand nor defeat.

"Wh... What is that?" whispered the nursemaid named Tess.

Liam hushed her. "Don't think about it. All will be well."

And then, to keep their minds free, Sara sang. Her voice was low and as sweet as mountain water. Boden lay against a summer soft tussock of grass, letting the notes flow over him, taking what he could for as long as he might, and finally the deep dread passed. ; On they rode again, more careful than ever to stay hidden. The terrain roughened.

"How far do you think?" Sara whispered.

Night had settled in.

"Less than two days travel if our luck holds," Liam said.

Luck! Not Boden's forte, and the feeling of dread was growing again. He drew his sword and sat awake in the darkness.

Morning dawned cool and foggy. They ate dry bread, shared a bit of Tilly's milk, and tightened their belts.

The day warmed rapidly. Fear rode with them. The very air felt heavy with it, like an impending, inescapable storm.

Boden scanned the hills that seemed to close in around them and pushed Mettle up beside Sara's mare.

Her eyes looked wide, her face drawn. Their gazes caught.

"They are coming," she whispered and he nodded, wanting to reach out, to pull her to him, to hold her for these last few moments before the storm broke. "When do you think?"

"Soon," he said.

"We have tried," she whispered. "We have done our best."

"And you will succeed," he said, "but you must go now."

"Nay, I canna."

Their gazes clashed. "Please," he whispered. "I beg you. The dragon is with you. He will keep you safe. When they come, I'll hold them off for a time. Ride as fast as the mare will take you."

"Nay!" Her voice was fierce. "I will not—"

"You will not what?" he asked, desperation spearing through him. "You will not give the babe a chance at fife?"

Tears filled her eyes, and he weakened still more, almost reaching out. But there was no time.

"And what of Maggie?" he asked softly. "Does she not deserve a life in your Highlands?"

"I canna live without ye," Sara whispered, and for a moment Boden thought his heart might rip in two, so sweet was the bitterness that seared it.

"You can," he whispered. "And you—"

The air was shattered by a scream from the woods beside them. Horses crashed out from every side.

"Ride!" Boden yelled. "Ride!" For one heart-stopping moment, he thought she would refuse, but she wheeled her mare away. Margaret froze, but Boden spun

Mettle toward her and whipped her mount, sending her after Sara.

There was no more time to think. A warrior's shriek filled his mind, and suddenly, like darkness in the dawn, fear fled and anger consumed him. They would not have Sara, not if he had to fight the powers of hell to keep her safe. Not if he had to give his very soul. He spun like a madman, spurring Mettle into the brigands as he slashed and hewed. Men screamed and fell before him.

Something sliced his arm, but he barely noticed. A destrier reared up in front of them. Mettle slammed into him, knocking his opponent off balance, and in a moment he was dead.

Satisfaction burned through Boden, but suddenly he realized the truth. Warwick was not there.

He spun Mettle about. In the distance, he saw the wizard thundering after Sara.

"No!" Boden screamed and slammed Mettle into a gallop. There was nothing now but evil and good. The distance between him and Warwick snapped away. There were only a few yards between him and his quarry when suddenly a black horse lunged toward him. A sword swiped at him.

Reflex made him answer. Steel rang against steel. Boden parried, but he was not fast enough, and blood spurted from his shoulder. Rage washed over him like a tide of blood. He spurred Mettle into the other horse, and the black crumpled beneath him, spilling his rider to the earth. The man rolled away. He was on his feet immediately, but he had no chance. Boden drew back his sword, ready to strike. But in that instant a scream split the air.

"Sara!" Boden yelled her name even as he wheeled Mettle away, exposing his back to the brigand behind him.

The world stood still. Only Warwick and Sara seemed to move, struggling against each other in the midst of the river.

There was only a breath of a moment, a split second of opportunity. But no thought was required. Boden aimed and threw. His sword spun from his hand in slow motion, end over end for an eternity to slice with predestined accuracy between Warwick's shoulder blades.

It took forever for the dark wizard to fall, like an old tree too long standing. But he did so, toppling silently downward with his fist clenched tight. Water sprayed up like smoke, then settled around him, dragging him under. Behind him, Sara lifted her gaze.

"Boden!" Her scream began the world anew.

Boden spun his horse back toward his opponent, but it was too late! Mettle shrieked in pain as blood sprayed like a geyser from his forearm and he fell, crumpling to his knees, spilling Boden off balance. From another world, Boden saw a sword swing toward him.

He heard the sharp hiss of an arrow, a shriek of agony. Pain descended, and death laughed as he fell beside Mettle's body.

Hoofbeats filled his head.

"Boden!" Sara screamed his name, and in a moment she was there beside him, her hands like cool heaven against his skin.

"Sara." He forced his eyes open. "Sara." It was all he could manage, though he wanted to lift his hand, to brush the tears from her cheek. "Don't cry. Not for me. My life is done."

"No." She sobbed the word. "Don't say that."

"It is," he said, "but I don't mind, for you will never be mine, and without you I do not care to live." He smiled. "What chivalrous love, aye? Mayhap I was a knight after all."

"Boden, do not leave me."

"Be happy, Sara," he whispered, and let the darkness take him.

"Boden! Boden!" she sobbed, rocking back and forth. "Don't leave me. Please." But he lay still and limp, his eyes closed. "No!" she cried. "No."

"Lady! Lady!" screamed Tess, hugging Thomas to her. "Come! We must fly! They're coming."

Coming? The words soaked into her mourning. She lifted her face. Tears blurred her vision, but now she saw the riders galloping toward them. "Who?"

"Brigands. More brigands!" shrieked Tess and wheeled her horse away.

"No!" Sara stumbled to her feet, searching wildly for a weapon. The only sword nearby was clutched in a brigand's hand. She lurched forward to pry it from his fist and swing about to face the oncoming horsemen. "Stay back!" she shrieked, shielding Boden's body with her own. "You'll not have him."

Suddenly she was surrounded by horsemen. One leapt from his mount and banged her sword aside with his own.

She stumbled at the force of the blow, but righted herself and brought her blade back to center.

"Stay back, I say!" she warned.

But he bent and felt for a pulse at Boden's throat. "He's dead," he said, rising.

"Nay!" Sara screamed, and slashed at him.

Shocked, he lifted his own blade, but fury lent her power, and his sword flashed from his hand.

She swung again. He stumbled backward, tripped and fell. Panting and weeping, Sara pressed the sword to his throat.

"He's not dead!" she sobbed. "He's not."

"Sara, no!" Liam yelled.

"Sara! Sara, love!"

The words rang in her ears, the memory of a gentler time. Her killing rage dwindled. "Rachel?"

she whimpered, glancing up.

"Sara!" called Rachel again, and suddenly she was there. "Don't kill him, cousin. He's my guard."

"Rachel," she whispered again, her hand shaking, causing the sword to tremble against her victim's throat. "Boden's not dead. He canna be dead."

"Then we'll take him to Mother," crooned Rachel. "She'll know what to do."

"To Fiona," Sara whispered, then, backing away, she waved her sword at the man on the ground. "Get up!" she ordered. "And you!" She motioned to the others. "Lift him up. Gently. Not a hair will be harmed. Do you hear me?"

"Aye!" murmured the man she'd nearly killed. "Aye, Lady!"

It had taken Boden long enough to get to heaven. It had felt like a long, grueling horse ride. But he had finally arrived. He hadn't expected it to smell so good. But he wasn't surprised by the music. It was lovely, angelic, floating over him in waves of dulcet peace, letting him sleep. Nay, encouraging him to sleep.

God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.

Quiet settled about him again.

Voices woke him, but they were hushed and soft, gentle, strangely familiar, soothing. Not like the orders he'd heard yelled as he lay dying.

Heaven was heavenly.

But then it came. Darkness. A flash of something. Evil? But he was dead. Nothing could harm him now. Surely he had earned some sleep.

But darkness flared up again.

Sara! Her face flashed through his mind.

He sat up with a start. Too fast. His head pounded. He reached a hand for his brow and was surprised to find it just where he'd left it, right above his eyes. Were angels supposed to have bodies?