Stricken Warrior
Nightfall forced Ewan and his men to slow their pace, but he remained determined to push on to Creag Castle. Walter shared his foreboding that the Morleys intended to do away with Kendric. They hoped Fynn and David would realize the danger and protect the bedridden laird until they arrived.
Ewan chose to center his thoughts on the threat to Kendric, preferring not to think about what Shona was enduring. The ramifications of what might have happened to her during the time spent with Mungo loomed like a bottomless abyss. Even if the Morleys were dealt with, Duncan Mackinloch would never sanction his son’s marriage to a woman who’d been violated, no matter how much Ewan might insist he still wanted her.
She’d be shunned by the MacCarron clan as well, through no fault of her own. If he’d not schemed to avoid the marriage, none of this would have happened. It came as a startling realization that he would willingly spend his life making up for the harm he’d inadvertently caused.
They came at last to the River Lochy. “No safe place to cross here,” Walter shouted over the noise of the rushing water. “We’ll go further along to the ford near the old castle.”
“Inverlochy, I suppose?” Ewan asked, recalling what he knew of the region’s bloody history. “Not too far out of our way, I hope.”
Walter pointed. “Ye can see the towers in the distance. Falling into ruin now it’s been abandoned in favor of the timber fort Cromwell built further south.”
Ewan squinted into the gloom, just able to make out four squat round towers and a curtain wall, black in the weak light of the new moon. “It must be twenty years since Montrose routed Campbell’s Roundheads there.”
Walter scraped his beard. “I was a lad. About Robbie’s age, I reckon, so that sounds about right. They say the ill-fated Earl of Montrose still haunts the place.”
“Ye’d think he’d sooner haunt the MacLeod who betrayed him,” Ewan quipped, though he’d prefer to be far away from the eerie ruin. It was a painful truth that his country was full of ancient castles stained with the blood of thousands of Scots.
“Tragic waste,” Walter said, as if sensing his thoughts.
“Aye. Look at Montrose himself. Hanged, reviled, head stuck on a pike at the Edinburgh Tolbooth for years, then suddenly he’s a hero. They dig up his bones, reassemble his body and bury him in the High Kirk.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes, each preoccupied with his thoughts. Walter called a halt and looked back the way they’d come. “Havna seen the hound for a bit. Hope he tracks us to this ford.”
Ewan too had become concerned. They’d traveled far and fast and Ruadh had fallen behind, or lost their scent. “Nay doot he can swim. We canna wait.”
As they edged their horses to the water, the deerhound came bounding out of the darkness. Ewan’s relief turned to irritation when the dog ignored them and kept on galloping towards the castle. “What the fyke’s he after now?”
*
Shona peered nervously into the darkness of the hall, but couldn’t see what was making the strange noise. It certainly wasn’t a mouse, or even a rat. The loudly snoring guards clearly hadn’t heard whatever it was. Perhaps Montrose did indeed haunt the place. But it sounded like a panting animal. Something with claws that clicked on stone. What kind of…
She backed as far into the ingle as she could when two eyes flashed briefly in a shaft of moonlight from a hole in the roof. Fear turned her blood to ice as the animal came closer.
She mouthed Wolf, but the alarm died in her dry throat. She almost laughed out loud with relief when, a moment later, Ruadh planted his paws on her shoulders and licked her face. “Hush,” she cautioned when he whimpered his delight. His unexpected presence revived her flagging spirits.
She got to her feet, pondering how the hound had come to be here. One thing she knew for sure—he was too lazy to venture so far from Creag on his own. Men must be searching for her nearby. If she could get outside…
She guessed she was halfway to the door of the keep when rusted hinges squealed. Brian and Niall cursed, evidently awakened by the noise. Feet shuffled, daggers slid from sheaths. She had to trust that the men entering the ruin were not cohorts of the Morleys. “In here,” she shouted.
“Shona?”
Euphoria soared. Ewan Mackinloch had led the search.
But her joy was short-lived when one of Mungo’s men seized her arm and pulled her back from the door. “Two guards,” she managed to yell before a hand was clamped over her mouth.
“Quiet, bitch,” Niall hissed, but then howled when Ruadh sank his teeth into his leg. “Get this hound off me,” he bellowed at Brian.
Shona struggled, trying to elbow Niall in the ribs and free herself from his grip, but he held on. She had no idea where Brian was, but evidently he wasn’t helping Niall remove the growling dog attached to his leg.
The dark hall filled with echoes of running feet, loud shouts, swords crossed, Ruadh barking, shrieks of pain—then an ominous yelp. Niall loosed his hold and she collapsed to the stone floor, heart pounding. On hands and knees she felt frantically for Ruadh. Her worst fear was realized when her fingers touched wiry fur and came away sticky with blood.
*
Ewan had been in many a skirmish, often against MacCarrons and far greater odds than he faced now, but the stakes had never seemed higher.
The darkness, the barking, the shouting, his fear for Shona: all conspired to render him half-mad with rage and helplessness. He’d never forgive himself if he unintentionally harmed her with his dagger.
He held his breath and narrowed his eyes when the faint light of a sputtering torch finally flickered over the scene.
Two men lay on the floor—one dead by the look of it, Walter’s blade plunged to the hilt in his chest, the other moaning, his trews torn to shreds, blood oozing from vicious dog bites on his mangled leg.
Grim-faced MacCarron men sheathed their weapons at Walter’s command and more torches were lit.
Then he heard a noise that tore at his heart. Shona wept somewhere nearby. Frantic to make sure she wasn’t injured, he grabbed a torch from one of the men and raised it high, handing it back abruptly when he espied her near the hearth next to Ruadh. He scooped her up and crushed her in his embrace. “Thank God,” he murmured over and over as she put her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.
Walter knelt beside the hound. “The dog’s wounded,” he said grimly. “Badly.”
Shona raised her head. “Is he…dead?”
“Nay,” Walter replied, “but there’s a deep gash across his shoulder, and a lot of blood.”
Ewan braced himself for an argument. “I understand ye love him and he needs tending, Shona, but we canna delay. Mungo and Ailig…”
“I ken,” she replied, rubbing her eyes. “They’ve gone to kill my uncle. They have his laudanum.”
“I can leave men here if ye want to stay with Ruadh.”
To his surprise, she grimaced and said, “Put me down.”
He obeyed, expecting a tongue-lashing, but instead she stood on tiptoe and cupped his face in her hands. “Ewan Mackinloch, ye are a true hero for coming after me when I treated ye so badly.”
Staring into tear-filled eyes, Ewan knew he’d lost his heart to this strong woman. “’Twas my fault, forcing Fynn into pretending to be yer intended. Forgive me.”
“He’s at risk too,” she replied. “Mungo the Fool still thinks Fynn is my betrothed.”
The need to question Shona about Morley burned in Ewan’s heart, but he lacked the courage, fearing what she might have to confess.
Walter saved him. Gilbertson got to his feet and headed for the door, Ruadh cradled like a bairn in his beefy arms, the dead man’s torn shirt tied around the wound. “We can stand about all night while the two o’ ye blather on, or we can ride for Creag and save our laird. I’ll carry this brave warrior.”
Ewan smiled at Shona, then bent to brush a kiss on her lips. “Shall we, my lady?” he whispered.
“Aye, my lord,” she breathed in response as he lifted her again and carried her out to his faithful Liath, vowing silently to make the Morleys pay dearly for every bruise and scratch she’d suffered.