HIGHLAND ESCAPE
CHAPTER ONE
14th Century
Cheviot Hills, Scottish-English Border
Anna glanced over her shoulder. The two plump harts she and her brother Edrick had killed lay secured on the back of the pack horse. She smiled, waiting for Edrick’s excuses to begin anew.
“You know mine had more antler points before he stumbled down the ravine and broke a tip,” Edrick declared with a pushed tone of frustration.
“Mayhap, but the fact remains my stag has twelve to your ten.” Anna’s nonchalant answer didn't match the merriment spilling from her eyes, or the tremors of barely contained laughter.
Edrick gave a sigh of annoyance, tempting Anna further toward laughter. They'd been having this argument ever since the ill-fated fall of his winning kill.
“Mine still outweighs yours.” His resentment was comical. Anna rolled her eyes.
“Yes, well, if that were the wager, you would be the winner. However, ’twas not.” Her curt reply gave no ground. “You have my stable chores for the next sennight, brother mine.” She burst into a sputter of giggles she could no longer restrain.
They broke from the forest at the base of a gentle hill. A column of thick black smoke billowed in the sky. The pungent odor of burning drifted to them, interrupting the delicate aroma of spring. A hasty glance at Edrick told Anna they shared the same fear. As she readied to put a heel to her horse, he hooked his reins on his saddle and drew a dagger, grabbing her reins to stop her.
“You must swear you will do nothing but fire your bow from a distance.” The fierce look in her brother's eyes was a familiar one. Before she could answer, he cut loose his kill and turned to do the same to hers in order to leave the pack horse unburdened.
“Your word, Anna.” He sounded like a hardened warrior, bred and trained to lead.
“’Tis my home, too.” She raised her chin in defiance.
He gazed at her for a moment with a sudden softness she rarely glimpsed. “Yes, but I cannot do what needs to be done whilst I worry for your safety. You may cover my charge from a distance, but nothing more. We may already be too late. If the fight is lost, you must flee into Scotland to Grandfather. Your word.” The command in his voice mimicked their father's so strongly, it compelled her submission.
Anna stared hard at him as the second stag slid off the pack horse. Her brother's height of six feet two inches made him tower over many. Only four inches shorter than he, she stood head to head with all but the tallest of her father's men. Edrick's straight coal black hair, strong nose and chin mirrored her own, but the dark blue-eyed ancestry of the Braxton line passed to him, while Anna inherited the deep green of their mother's clan.
“You have my word,” she conceded reluctantly.
He nodded once and kicked his horse into a gallop. Anna paused long enough to unsling her bow and hook it across her back. Then, giving her horse his head, she sped toward the smoke. Reaching the top of the hill overlooking her village and home, Anna took in the scene below. The sight stole her breath and her stomach churned with anguish.
The roof of their manor house blazed with a fire so intense, ’twas well past saving. The crackle of hungry flames reached her ears. A small group of armored men attempted to breach the gates. She recognized their armor and tactics immediately.
“Bloody English,” she spat.
Though her father’s soldiers kept the enemy at bay, the opposing numbers appeared too great.
She followed Edrick as he guided his horse to flank a small formation of archers pinning down Baron Braxton’s men, leaving them unable to ward off those trying to break through the massive wood-and-iron gate. She halted between two slender trees, sighting the archers, ready to protect her brother. Edrick kept his approach silent, riding through their back line before they could react. His sword rose and fell, cutting through the lightly armored bowmen like a sickle to ripened wheat.
He wheeled his mount to make another pass. Several archers broke formation to flee. Two archers readied to fire as Edrick charged. Prepared for such a reaction, Anna sucked in a steadying breath, then launched an arrow deep into the chest of the first man. Drawn swiftly to prevent the second archer from harming Edrick, her next arrow missed its target, penetrating the man’s hip instead of his torso. Knowing she'd fired too quickly, Anna took more time with her third shot. As the wounded archer turned, her arrow slammed into his breast, knocking him onto his back.
Edrick's second pass through their ranks killed or scattered the rest, allowing the men atop the wall to focus on the large group manning a battering ram. He felled two more archers as they made their way toward the main body of the army. A cheer rang from the wall, her father's men recognizing their unexpected allies.
Arrows, crossbow bolts, large stones and oil rained down with renewed fury on the attackers. Lit by torches, the enemy became screaming human bonfires, stalling their assault on the gate. The stench of burning oil and charred flesh soon joined the bitter smell of Anna’s home aflame.
A sickening roar pulled Anna's attention from the fight. The roof of her home collapsed, flames and sparks shooting heavenward. A wall of the main keep shifted and crumbled as stone exploded under the heat of fire.
The conflagration continued to the tower where her chamber was located, a level below her father's prized library. The terrible heartache of loss threatened to overwhelm her as the horror of death and smoke assaulted her. Anna violently shoved them aside and focused on protecting her brother.
She urged her horse forward, picking her next position amid the slain archers, and swung down to retrieve quivers of abandoned arrows. A feeling of hopelessness unlike any she'd known gripped her as she realized the odds they faced.
She turned her fear into anger, using it to shower death upon those closest to her brother. His sweeping attack from flank to flank at the rear caught the enemy unaware, and many foot soldiers fell before they could respond to the unexpected threat. Each time one turned to meet Edrick's charge, Anna's shaft pierced his chest, putting an abrupt end to his challenge. Another pass against the men on the ground, and Edrick pushed the enemy death toll well past a score.
Panic dug in like talons as the enemy surrounded her brother. She fired arrow after arrow, carving an opening in the noose of flesh and steel around him. Edrick's sword cleaved death on two more, making use of the gap Anna created. He cleared the group encircling him and flashed her a smile that ended abruptly in a look of shock. He slumped forward in the saddle, a crossbow bolt protruding from the middle of his back.
“NO!”
Frozen, she watched in horror as a crush of men dragged her brother from his horse. The main gate shattered, the sound of splintering heavy oak drowning out all other noise. Soldiers swarmed the bailey of the barony’s fortified keep.
“No.” Her voice fell to a strangled whisper.
The enemy made short work of the outnumbered men inside the walls. Fixed by grief, unable to move, Anna watched as everything and everyone she loved was violently ripped away by blood, fire and steel.
The sound of horses approaching jarred her from the paralyzing terror. Twisting in the saddle, she spotted men bearing down on her. Remembering her vow to Edrick, she turned Orion and kicked once, spurring him toward the forest. She was instantly at a gallop, clumps of turf tossed high in their wake. Lying flat against her horse’s mane, she encouraged him as he lengthened his stride, ears flat against his head. Daring a backward glance, she noted the gap between them and the attackers widened, the men’s heavy armor slowing their mounts.
Anna's knowledge of these lands, coupled with Orion's speed, soon left her pursuers far behind. She guided the stallion north across the River Tweed, then into a copse of trees before traversing open ground toward the forest again.
She sought signs of a chase, slowing Orion to a trot as they entered the woodland. With the enemy out of sight, her only goal was to hide. Putting distance between herself and home, she traveled deeper into Scotland, darkness and the dense timberland concealing them.
“Easy, boy.” She patted Orion’s neck and he dropped to a walk. “Bloody bastards cannot keep up with us. Serves them right for wearing heavy armor and choosing steeds more fit for the plow than war.”
The horse flicked an ear in response, then willingly splashed into a swiftly moving stream swollen by the spring melt.
“No oats tonight, my boy.” Anna kept her voice low despite the noise created by the fast-moving stream. “We will search for a nice thicket under the stars. Let us hope the night remains clear and dry.” Tears streamed down her face as the reason for a night alone flashed across her mind, and she stroked his mane, drawing comfort from the warmth of his massive body.
The current washed away his hoof prints as fast as he made them. After a furlong, she turned him up a graveled bank and into deep shadows. Sliding from his back, she unsaddled him, setting her unsheathed swords close by on the ground for quick access.
She settled in for what rest to be found before dawn, but slumber did not come easy. Edrick's death played over and over again, tormenting her dreams, leaving her more exhausted than restored. Finally giving up, she rose, dawn scarcely a hint in the sky. She wasted no time breaking camp, looking and listening for any sign of pursuers. Satisfied none were about, she mounted and continued deeper into the forest, unsure of her destination.
* * *
Anna picked her way through forests and fields, avoiding civilization, questions tormenting her without cease.
Whom did they serve? Had a neighboring lord attacked? With no visible standard, no heraldic device, how could she be sure? Who is friend? And who is foe?
Which led to another important question—where would she go? Returning to England was out of the question. Anywhere she appeared, she could unwittingly put herself in the hands of unknown enemies. Though she had promised Edrick, she couldn't go to her grandfather's clan for fear of bringing her father's enemies to his doorstep.
With both her brother and father dead, she was now her father’s heir. She would be declared a ward of King Edward and forced into marriage if she returned—and could not live with such a fate. She squinted her eyes at the sky, weighing her options. Her only path lay north—into the Highlands.
One day bled into the next, and then another. Having never traveled this far into Scotland, Anna had only the slimmest idea of her location. The terrible loss of her home and family continually gnawed her heart, but she had no time to indulge grief. For now, stealth and survival were her priorities.
* * *
Feminine screams pierced her thoughts, causing her to put Orion to flight. At the edge of a large glen, six men held two young women. One fought, kicking at the man holding her until he threw her down, tearing her dress. Sounds of nearby battle reached her ears. A raiding party?
Anna clenched her jaw. Cursed barbarians, stealing women. After days of unfulfilled vengeance eating away at her, here was an injustice she could throw herself into.
Leaving Orion in the trees, Anna drew her bow and crept closer to the party. The woman with the torn dress lay on the ground. The men surrounding her laughed and held the other woman roughly until she ceased to struggle. Anna moved nearer for a better look. The two were barely more than girls. A cold rage swept through her.
She stepped from the trees, bow at the ready. Taking careful aim, her first arrow penetrated the back of the man who'd thrown the girl to the ground. Standing menacingly above her a moment ago, he now lay motionless beside her. The fallen young woman released another scream, transporting Anna back to the battle for her home. The ghostly sound of Edrick's battle cry ringing in her ears, she drew her bow again. The next arrow pierced the neck of the man holding the second girl, the weight of his lifeless body snapping the slender shaft as he hit the ground.
The men’s attention turned from their hapless captives, seeking their attacker. Anna’s third arrow hit the largest brute squarely in the chest, dropping him to his knees. With a shout, the three remaining men charged. Her fourth arrow also found a home, sending another to his death. The last two men were nearly upon her.
Discarding her bow, Anna drew two curved short swords from the sheath on her back. An emotionless detachment descended on her, numbing her to fear. The first man to reach her swung a broadsword she easily avoided by stepping sideways. Striking his sword arm with the first blade, her second blade slid across his throat with little effort.
Only one savage remained. He slowed, glancing at his five fallen companions. He stared at her, his evil smile promising pain and death.
Anna’s eyes narrowed. Arrogant swine!
His sword strike arced in a slow and predictable manner. Anna deflected the strike with one sword, then spun, stepping past her opponent.
Her other blade bit deeply into the back of his leg, sending him to his knees. Continuing to twirl with the momentum of her previous attack, she struck with each sword again, and he pitched forward into the bloodstained grass.
Scanning the area for more enemies, she spotted two groups of men on horseback racing toward them across the field. She turned to the two women. “Hide in the woods, now!”
Eyes wide with shock, they obeyed without question. Pleased they trusted her, Anna retreated until the forest stood directly behind her, trees and undergrowth forming a protective wall against an organized attack from the mounted men. Head raised, she faced the oncoming threat.
Spying their kinsmen on the ground, the rogues in the first group wheeled their horses to meet the riders behind them. They were cut down without mercy, the sound of steel on steel ringing in the air. Two warriors in the second group waded among the downed riders, dispatching them with brutal effectiveness. Seeing the fierceness of the men now thundering toward her, Anna wished for her bow to even the odds. Fear prickled along her spine, but she refused to pay heed. Her escape into Scotland appeared to be at an end.
A few yards from her, the lead rider held up his arm, calling the group to a halt.
“Da!” The young woman with the torn dress ran to meet the men, the other girl following her.
The leader dismounted, embracing the first girl fiercely. Men gathered around, now too close for Anna's comfort. Alone and exposed, her swords held at guard, she faced two men pointing crossbows at her, ready to fire at their leader's word.
“Hold,” the leader commanded. He pulled his daughter behind him and looked to Anna. “Who are ye, lass?”
One bowman stepped closer, his weapon ready. Anna shifted her stance, putting both the leader and bowman in her vision.
“A traveler, my laird,” she replied in Gaelic, her instincts screaming for her to run.
He frowned. “What is yer name?”
“Anna,” she replied in a flat, emotionless voice. The grip on her swords belied her calm demeanor.
“English?” His voice lowered to a growl.
“No, my laird, Scots.” She took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure.
Eyeing her, he rocked back on his heels. “What clan?”
“I am sorry if I trespass, my laird. I will leave at once.” Anna swept her gaze over the group, searching for any threatening movement.
She slowly backed toward her horse. Without warning, the man still aiming at her fired his crossbow. Anna stepped slightly aside, deflecting the missile with her swords. Dropping one sword, she drew a knife from her leather bracer. Flat with no hilt, its design made for flight, it fit her palm perfectly. She spun, launching the knife at the man. The blade penetrated his shoulder deeply, sending his crossbow crashing to the ground.
“I said hold!” the leader roared, making eye contact with each of the men behind him.
Anna regained her sword, continuing to back toward Orion.
“The next man to defy the laird dies by my sword!” a deep baritone growled as it echoed across the glen, causing all to cease moving, including Anna.
A younger version of the leader drew his steed a few feet closer. “This is Kenneth MacGregor, laird of clan MacGregor.”
Bowing slightly, Anna replied in disbelief, “Am I to be your prisoner, Laird MacGregor?”
The younger man, clearly the son of the laird, dismounted. The two men exchanged a brief conversation, quietly enough she couldn't hear a word.
Anna took in MacGregor the Younger. He appeared to be a few inches taller than she, arms and shoulders thick with muscle. His uncovered legs appeared as big around as her waist. Sable hair, tied at the back of his neck, reached his shoulders, curling at the ends. His eyes, the lightest blue she could recall, bored through her when he shifted his stare from his father to her.
She swallowed uneasily.
He and his father wore the blood of their enemies liberally on skin and clothing. Knowing the young woman was his sister explained the ferocity with which he fought to reclaim her. It did not explain, however, why Anna was being detained.
“Aye. Ye will come with us.”
The laird mounted his horse, picked up his daughter and placed her on the front of his saddle. He then rode back across the field. Another man did the same with the other girl.
The younger man faced her. “I am Sir Duncan MacGregor, the laird's son. Ye will hand over yer weapons and ride with us. It can be done willingly, or ye can fight. The choice is yers.”
With a hard look, Anna unbuckled her sword sheath and removed the two daggers from her belt. She then tugged each dagger from her boots, handing them with a growl to the men who approached.
“Will I be allowed to ride, sir?” she asked with as much venom as she dared.
Duncan motioned for her horse. “Aye, the laird put ye in my charge. Ye will ride.”
Taking Orion's reins, he indicated she mount. As they headed toward the battle site, she noticed a man speaking with Laird MacGregor, arms flailing, clearly angry.
“He is my brother, laird. ’Tis my right to demand a challenge!”
The laird glanced at Anna then back at the fuming man in front of him, reluctantly nodding his head. “Set camp. See to the wounded first.”
So, the brother to the man I knifed demands the right to avenge his injury. Anna’s blood boiled. Never mind that he’d disobeyed his laird's orders. He cannot believe ’twas done by a woman, she mocked. His rage suddenly made her weary. It was not the first time a man wished to kill her. She shrugged. He will join the ranks of others who have tried. The only question is, dead or wounded?
“’Tis what I get for being of assistance.” She didn't realize she'd spoken loud enough to be heard, but MacGregor the Younger gave a twitch of a smile at her complaint.
Men set up tents, built fires and gathered the wounded.
“Sir, I am trained as a healer, if I may offer aid,” she said as Duncan tied her horse to a nearby tree.
He eyed her suspiciously. “Why would ye assist my men if ye believe yerself our prisoner?”
A good question. Why indeed? “Am I correct in assuming these men were injured rescuing two young women kidnapped by a raiding party?”
He gave a short nod in response.
“Then helping men who were injured putting a stop to such a barbaric practice is reason enough.” The opportunity to tend to the wounded drowned out her anger—for now.
Cocking his head slightly, he crooked one corner of his mouth at her response. “A fair answer. We have a tent and some supplies. Do ye require aught else?”
Dismounting, Anna pulled her bag from Orion’s back. “Boiling water and whisky if you can spare it.”
“Fetch water from the burn and set it to boiling,” Duncan ordered one of the men tending the fire. He stared hard at her as if trying to assess the truthfulness of her answer. Anna stood fixed as his gaze penetrated her. After a few unnerving moments of forceful scrutiny, he strode toward the tent.
Opening the flap, Duncan motioned for her to enter. As soon as she did, the stench of impending death struck her. Supplies sat on the ground between two pallets with injured men already on them; they appeared to be the worst of the injured. One man suffered a deep belly wound, the source of the acrid smell. The other bore a long slash down one leg.
Anna spoke quietly to Duncan. “Sir, this man is not likely to survive. I will make a poultice to staunch his wound and give him poppy tea for the pain.”
Duncan nodded as a man brought in a pot of steaming water and whispered to him while Anna went about her work.
Finishing with the stomach injury, she turned to the leg wound. Using waxed silk thread and a rounded needle, she closed the extensive gash. She then applied a medicated salve to ward off infection and bound it. One after another, men were brought to her, each staring at her in surprise when they arrived for treatment.
While she worked, she repeatedly caught sight of Duncan MacGregor from the corner of her eye. He watched her, his countenance brooding, angry. Though not an overly tall man, he possessed an imposing presence. He carried himself as a seasoned warrior, the scars visible on his arms also giving testament to his experience. He was a man used to having orders obeyed. When his men made eye contact, a nod gained their compliance. The MacGregors appeared highly trained and well disciplined. The slight number of their injured, compared to the number of their enemies now lying dead on the field, proved this fact.
“May I ask why I am being detained, sir?” Anna asked without turning away from the injured man she tended.
When Duncan did not respond, she glanced in his direction. He hadn't moved. Still standing, legs apart, arms folded across his chest, he wore a grim, inscrutable mask. The heat of anger rose within and her hands clenched around her tools. Held for no perceivable reason, she now endured being ignored as if of no consequence. I should let them treat their own damned wounded. With an effort, she resisted the temptation to pack her bags and cease her hard work.
The healer in her wouldn't allow her to let these men suffer. Since MacGregor permitted her to see to his men, she knew they had no healer among them. The wounded played no part in their laird's decision to hold his daughter's rescuer against her will. As much as she wanted to retaliate for his treatment, her honor wouldn't allow it. Her father always said a true man or woman of honor behaved such, whether it was expected or not, whether observed or not. Honor did not, however, prevent her from goading her captor.
She waited to speak again until finished with the last man brought to her. “Is that all the wounded, sir?” She bit back the snarl she wanted to use to punctuate her question.
Duncan nodded once.
“Thank you for allowing me to treat your men. I applaud your efforts in stopping barbarians such as those from taking young women against their will.” The sarcasm in her voice apparently fell on deaf ears. Again, she inspired no visible response. The urge to challenge him with physical confrontation swelled, then faded. Even if she could get past him, a large group of men outside the tent would not hesitate to stop her.
Surrounded by seasoned warriors, she saw no chance to escape. She would have to bide her time. After watching her dispatch their enemies, Anna knew they would not see her as a helpless female and would thus be on guard.
Now finished treating the wounded, she wanted to wash the blood and filth away and quench her thirst. After a quiet morning, this day seemed to grow more and more disastrous. Tomorrow promised to be more of the same. If she survived the night.
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