Chapter Twelve

Knowing he had but one chance to perfectly coordinate his movements and keep Fiona hidden, Duncan yanked his dirk free with one hand and used the other to push away from their hiding spot. In doing so, he purposely pulled seaweed down to cover her exposed face.

She sputtered, but he masked it with a growl of rage. He spun, dirk raised, and deflected the first sword thrust of the closest sailor. Thomas, he presumed. His tired muscles screamed in protest, but he relished this opportunity to exorcise his frustration. He planted his foot on the bastard’s chest and shoved, sending him flying back. Thomas stumbled against the rocks, arms spinning, and landed on his arse.

Duncan danced to the side, leading them away from Fiona. So far, they’d not noticed her under his féileadh. And he’d keep it that way.

Not wishing to be outflanked, he kept his back to the bluff.

Nasal Voice bore down on him, sword drawn. Duncan tossed his dirk to his left hand, drew his own sword, and met his attacker’s thrust with his sword and dirk crossed. Steel scraped against steel. Keeping the sword trapped, Duncan twisted and kicked the side of his attacker’s knee.

Nasal cried out, dropped to his other knee, and grasped the injured one. Duncan swung the flat of his sword at the back of his head, and he slumped to his side.

Thomas, having just recovered, charged, murder blazing in his eyes. Their swords clashed. They thrust and parried, equally matched. But a disadvantage hampered Duncan—he knew the fate that awaited anyone who murdered one of the King’s men. He fought to injure. Thomas, however, fought to kill.

And then Duncan’s heart lurched up into his throat—Fiona had risen from the hiding place.

Holy Mother. Was she not aware what could befall a maiden? He was reasonably confident he’d prevail, but if not, she’d have escaped detection at least. The metallic, sticky taste of fear coated his tongue, and his belly lurched and shuddered like congealed oatmeal.

Duncan worked to keep Thomas’s attention, but when the latter swung to the side to dodge a strike, he caught sight of Fiona jumping sideways to avoid his gaze.

“Oh-ho! And a juicy wench to boot. I’ll not kill ya right off then. I’ll make ya watch, I will, while I have me way with ’er.”

While Duncan now knew true fear, he was stunned to see Fiona stalk forward, determination etched on her delicate face, undeterred by the wretch’s words. Fierce pride at her bravery swelled within his fear, but he increased the fervor of his attacks regardless, looking for any advantage.

She gave it. Like a fisherman casting a net, Fiona threw his féileadh up so it landed on Thomas’s head. Perfect. ’Twas the opening Duncan required. As with Nasal, he knocked Thomas out with his sword, while he’d been occupied clawing at the cloth.

“Get behind me,” he shouted to Fiona, relief nearly making his knees buckle. Aye, she was a fierce one.

She obeyed. With his dirk, Duncan cut off several long strips from his féileadh. He placed three ends together and held it out to Fiona. “Hold this.” Quickly, he braided a rope and knotted each end. “Cut three more.” He yanked his sgian-dubh from his boot and tossed it over. She nodded, and he hastened over to Nasal and lashed his ankles to his wrists.

With Fiona’s help, he braided another and secured Thomas. They’d just finished when Nasal groaned.

“What—?”

Duncan descended on him and pressed his sword to Nasal’s neck. “Do not be uttering a word unless it’s an answer to my questions.” Judging by the man’s breath, he’d already been sampling that whisky.

He nodded, fear widening his eyes. Then narrowed in calculating lust when he caught sight of Fiona.

“How many are ye?”

Frustratingly, the man’s lips pinched up into a sneer. “I’ll not be talking to the likes of you.” Blood dripped from a cut above his eye.

Duncan gave his own sneer. “So only the two of ye then. I knew the English were stupid, but not that stupid.” He shrugged. “Makes my job easier.”

“There’s four more, ya bloody idiot. So don’t get cocky. And they’ll be on ya quicker than you can swive. And what do ya ’ave? A sword and a wench?” He struggled against his bonds.

“That sword and that wench took care of the two of ye, now didn’t they? Why are ye here?”

Nasal pressed his lips together. Duncan nudged his sword, drawing a lick of blood. “Tell me, and I won’t cut your throat.”

The words exploded on a rush. “Find stragglers and strip your galley of supplies.”

“Interesting.” Explained the whisky comment.

“What are ya going to do with me? Don’t kill me!” He shrank back.

“I gave ye my word.” With that, Duncan straightened and cuffed him on the back of the head. He slumped forward.

Duncan crossed to Fiona. She held herself poised over Thomas, gripping a rock. Och, she was a fierce wee warrior. And then he gave a low chuckle—she’d cut off more strips and had gagged the scoundrel. Grinning, she tossed him another strip, and he gagged the blabber.

Since he had no desire for blood on his hands—and thus a price on his head—he lugged each one up the bluff. The tide could return at any time. The wind had lessened, making his short trek up and back down easier.

Nearby, he found a dip in the ground perfect for his needs. They’d be invisible to anyone looking across the short plain from the island’s other end.

That accomplished, he returned to Fiona’s side.

She bit her lip. “What now?”

“Now, ye hide.” He pointed to their crevice. “I’ll take care of the others.”

“I’ll help you.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his forearm. Even through his jacket’s sleeve, he felt her touch like a brand. Which was why it took a second for her words to penetrate.

He reared back. “Too risky.”

“As risky as me being here alone in a crevice that didn’t hide us the first time?”

He shoved a hand into his hair and pulled. “I’ll make sure you’re well and truly hidden. ’Tis still dark.” Just the thought of her in harm’s way—and on purpose no less—made him feel as frantic as if midges were in his blood, biting him from the inside. Aye, she’d been fierce, but he couldn’t risk her safety again.

“You can’t take on four.” She crossed her arms.

“The hell I can’t,” he barked.

“This isn’t the time for male posturing.”

Male what? “The swine lied. That skiff I saw held four at the most.”

“Still, let me come with you. I can act as bait.”

“As bait?”

“Yes.” And she was nodding as if it was the most natural suggestion in the world and it was himself who was daft. “We can find a perfect ambush spot. You can hide, and then I can be ‘discovered’ ”—she made a curious double-dip with her two fingers on each hand—“by the other patrol.”

Now the midges swarmed his heart, biting. “You will do no such thing.”

“But—”

He slashed a hand in the air. “We have no time to argue. They could be around the next bend. Don’t make me knock you out too.”

Her eyes rounded. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

They stared, a silent battle raging from her eyes to his and back. Finally, she huffed. “Ugh. Have it your way.”

Relief suffused him, but he didn’t delay. She could change her mind. He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the crevice. He spread out the remainder of his féileadh. “Do not come out. I’ll be back for ye soon.”

“I’d like to make it known that I’m doing this against my best judgment.”

“As you wish.” He grabbed her hand, flipped it over, and pressed the hilt of his dirk into her palm. “In ye go.”

Grumbling, she crawled inside, and he covered her with the seaweed. Satisfied she was well hidden, he strode to the first curve in the bluff. He checked his way forward. The coastline was so jagged, each yard could reveal a patrol.

He’d stared Death in the face many times in the past and had known a detached fear. The trick was to acknowledge it, but not let it control. But seeing Fiona willingly put herself in harm’s way? Aye, he’d not be forgetting that taste of fear anytime soon. The jittery panic still had his hands shaking as he eased around the jutting bluff. Knowing she was safe behind him was the only thing that helped calm him.

Adrenaline pumped through Fiona as she waited like trapped prey for Duncan to do his macho routine. This was so stupid. Unlike last time, she could see through the fingers of seaweed. Which meant dawn was not far off. To her left, Duncan was inching along the bluff. Cautious.

The sky was growing lighter by the second.

And Fiona’s hiding place felt lamer by the second.

A hundred yards away, Duncan edged around the first jagged curve.

To her right, rocks clinked. Two Englishmen advanced just this side of the bend. Other than that betraying clink of rock, they moved stealthily. And faster than Duncan. One had a pistol already pointed in the air.

Shit. Duncan was oblivious.

Worry for Duncan fueled her blood and made her heart pound so loudly it felt audible. If she remained hidden, they might pass right by. Then they’d see Duncan. And possibly shoot him in the back before he was even aware.

Shit.

If she remained hidden and they found her, they’d have the advantage.

They drew even, and she decided.

She pulled in a lungful of air. And screamed.

Then jumped out of her pit, still screaming. Later, she’d laugh, she was sure. Because their faces. Seaweed clung to her in gobs, and she had Duncan’s dirk held high.

One turned and bolted. The other stood stiff, his pistol lying at his feet.

She shook her body, making the seaweed jiggle, and twirled. And cackled. At the end of her twirl, her cackle morphed into a gleeful screech—Duncan was dragging the bolter’s body around the bend.

Time to put the icing on this man’s cake. She cooed and leaped forward. The guy jumped back a foot, his face pale.

“Mmmm. Delicious. So young too,” she crooned in English. Okay, she officially had no clue what creature she was channeling, but it actually kind of helped with her fear. Acting as maniacal as she could not only gave vent to her nerves, it was working. A dark stain grew at the man’s groin. She lurched forward another step. And cackled.

Then dashed straight for him.

He screamed. High-pitched. And careened backward several feet before falling on his butt. Then he scrambled up and tore straight down the shore. Straight to Duncan.

To keep the pretense going, she kept charging. So she saw the glorious moment he rounded the bend and went flying from Duncan’s knockout blow.

When she reached Duncan, she scraped off the clinging seaweed and grinned. “We did it!”