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  Graham strode forward and took her in his arms, embracing her safe and tight to his chest. “The bastard willna hurt ye. I swear it.”

  His protective words rumbled against her, filling her with a comforting warmth, a fleeting sense of possibilities. Could they survive this unscathed? She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the rough weave of Graham’s jacket. She breathed in the consoling scent of the man dearer to her than life. How could she fear anything with his strong arms around her? “I can’t have you or your family hurt,” she whispered. “Father will not fight fair.”

  Graham’s laugh shook through her as he kissed the top of her head. “I dinna fight fair either when it comes to those I cherish.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I willna rest easy until we reach Tor Ruadh.” Graham rested his hand atop the butt of his pistol as he scanned the surrounding land.

  Every tree, every rock, every towering crag could hide an intruder intent on hurting Mercy. Every sound from the group’s movement seemed magnified in the tunnel-like pass through the silent mountainous sentries of Scotland. Horses clomped and thudded across the packed dirt. Harnesses rattled with their twisting and shifting. Wagon wheels creaked and groaned with the rhythm of every bump and turn. Christ Almighty. They couldn’t announce their presence any louder if they shouted it from the mountain tops. The place made them easy targets, slow-moving and open to ambush.

  Graham had no doubt the Duke of Edsbury had dispatched someone, and this was the perfect place for them to strike. He wished Marsden had seen fit to share the report of the duke’s expulsion from court earlier. More time to plan a suitable defense and a different route.

  “I’m torn betwixt riding ahead to warn Alexander and staying here.” Duncan rode beside him on the road that was little more than a tramped down path. He twisted in the saddle and hurried the men forward. “Keep the wagons closer behind us, aye? No straggling through here.”

  Doughal and Percy March complied, urging the draft horses to pull at a faster clip. Cook’s wagon swayed from side to side behind them, driven by the sour-faced cook herself with Janie sitting beside her clutching hold of the guardrail around the seat.

  “I need ye here, brother,” Graham said with a backward glance at Mercy. “I wish yourself and Marsden to flank Mercy through this pass. I’ve an ill feeling about this place.”

  Steep, rugged cliffs cradled the long stretch of overgrown woodland, walling in the towering trees and moss-covered boulders lining the narrow roadway. Instinct and experience bade him hasten them to the open glen on the other side. At least once they reached open land, he’d be able to better see around them.

  “Someone watches us. I can feel it.” Graham nudged his horse into a canter. “Stay together and keep up,” he called back to others.

  Suddenly, something whizzed past him, followed by another. Arrows from higher ground.

  “Halt and take cover!” With the heavily laden wagons there was no outrunning the attack but by damn, they would hide and bide their time, and strike back when the marauders got within range. “Women, inside Cook’s wagon. Now!” He thanked God when Mercy complied without argument. She dismounted and hurried back to climb inside the wagon.

  “Bolt the doors and windows! Open them for no one!” he shouted after her.

  She paused long enough to send him a fearful, longing look, then disappeared inside.

  Graham, Duncan, Marsden, and the rest of the men took cover between the two flatbed wagons the men had steered off the sides of the road so Cook could draw her wagon up between them.

  Pulling a pair of rifles out from under one of the wagon’s benches, Graham motioned Wills and Robbie forward. “Crawl under and guard the back of Cook’s wagon and see that none breaches it, aye?” he said as he handed each of them a rifle.

  “Yes sir,” Wills said, eyes wide as he stared down at the rifle Graham thrust into his hands.

  “I wish we’d brought our bows,” Duncan remarked as the rest of them crouched between the sturdy bodies of the draft horses and waited for the attackers’ next move.

  Dread grew inside him like a raging fever. Instinct warned him the arrows were a diversion. He cocked his pistols and turned toward the wagons. “They mean to charge the back of us. Come!”

  Gunfire split the air from behind the wagons, followed by shouts and the sound of wood splintering. The horses reared and attempted to run, but Doughal and Percy held them fast.

  “Go!” Marsden shouted. “These men and I shall hold the front.” He aimed his rifle at the scattering of men headed down the hillside toward them and fired.

  Graham and Duncan took cover under Cook’s wagon, joining a pale, panic-stricken Robbie where he lay on his belly clutching his hands over his ears.

  “Wills,” Robbie said, taking one of his hands away from his head long enough to point at the lad’s body lying in the leaves just behind the wagon. “Shot him dead, they did.”

  Graham propped the barrel of his pistol on the rung of the wagon wheel and fired, dropping one attacker to his knees. Duncan fired and finished off the man, who fell to the ground.

  Elbow-crawling over to Wills, Graham grabbed hold of the boy’s belt and dragged him back beneath the wagon. “He’s no’ dead,” he told Robbie. He pointed to a dark red stain on the boy’s leg. “Shot in the leg and fainted.”

  “Thank God above,” Robbie whispered, then put his hands back over his ears, squinting his eyes shut against the racket of the gunfire.

  Graham took hold of the boy’s shoulder and shook him until he opened his eyes and looked at him. “Ye’ve got two choices, boy. Fight or die!”

  A shot fired above them, sounding as though it had come from inside the wagon instead of from the woods. One of the men running toward them stumbled to his knees and dragged himself away, seeking cover behind a tree.

  “Someone in the wagon has good aim,” Duncan said as he reloaded, then fired on another man creeping down the hillside. The man growled and grabbed his arm as he retreated back up the rise.

  Then the woods grew quiet.

  The wagon boards above their heads creaked with scurrying footsteps. Graham rapped the butt of his pistol up against the boards. “Stay inside while the men and I ensure ’tis truly safe!”

  The steps inside the wagon stilled.

  “Are you well?” Mercy’s voice, muffled and fearful, came to him.

  “Aye, love. I’m fine,” Graham called back. He crawled out from under the wagon and stood with a pistol in each hand. “Just a mite angry,” he added under his breath. Except for the occasional moan and rustling of leaves coming from the hillside to their left, the skirmish appeared to be over.

  Duncan rose from the ground, brushing dirt from his knees. He looked toward the sound of the moans. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Try not to kill them, aye? We need information.” Graham knew Duncan’s temperament. His younger brother had little patience with those who fired the first shot.

  Graham bent and looked back under the wagon where Robbie crouched beside the still unconscious Wills, staring down at the red stain spreading along the thigh of the boy’s trews. “Robbie!” he purposely barked the name to snap the boy out of his fear-induced stupor.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Drag him out so we can see to his leg. It looks to be nothing more than a grazing, but we need to be sure.” Graham gave a disgusted shake of his head. Useless. Both of them.

  A shot echoed through the woods. It came from the direction Duncan had taken.

  “Duncan!” Graham skittered backward, pressing his back to the wagon with both pistols at the ready.

  “The fool shot himself,” Duncan shouted down from the mountainside. “Saw me headed toward him.”

  Coward. Graham had hoped for information. “Best come back down here among the wagons,” he shouted. He was still none too certain the area was safe.

  The door to Cook’s wagon eased open. Mercy peeped through a crack in the door.

&n
bsp; “Did I no’ ask ye to say inside for a bit longer?” Graham asked.

  “I needed to see you safe.” Her eyes shimmered with tears.

  Graham forced himself to speak in a kinder tone. “I told ye I was fine, lass. Ye must heed me during times such as these, ye ken?”

  Mercy looked tempted to argue but responded with a jerking nod. “May we come out now? All seems quiet.”

  Graham took one last scan of the woods. All seemed quiet. “Aye, lass. Come out.”

  Mercy pushed open the door, jumped to the ground, and rushed to him, clutching hold of him in the best possible way as she threw herself into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tight, tucking her face into his neck. “I was so afraid for you,” she whispered against his skin.

  Graham hugged her tight, grinning at the stares focused on them, not giving a damn what they thought. He held her close, reveling in the feel of her against him. What a perfect match they were. Their bairns would surely have hair dark as ravens and temperaments fierce and stubborn as mules. He looked forward to filling a keep with their brood. As much as he hated letting her go, he peeled her away from his chest. “We must go. I willna rest ’til we’re out of this pass.”

  Mercy stepped back, sliding her hands down his arms with a reluctance that set him on fire. She gave a quick nod. “Agreed.”

  A pitiful moan came from Wills, lying at the side of the road where Robbie had dragged him.

  “Oh no! Wills!” Mercy rushed to his side, bending to check the wound on his leg.

  Wills sprang to life, snaking an arm around Mercy’s waist and locking a dagger tight to her throat. Robbie hurried to stand beside him, holding a pair of pistols at the ready, one trained on Graham, and the other sweeping the rest of the group as though trying to decide upon a target.

  Two men stepped out from around a cluster of large trees. A third man rose from behind a pile of boulders. He sauntered forward with an arrogant smile that fueled Graham’s rage even hotter. “Gobs!” he shouted. “Bring the other one down so we can all have a wee chat before we’re on our way.”

  A man taller and uglier than any man Graham had ever seen, half-shoved, half-dragged Duncan down the hillside. One hand held the barrel of a pistol stuck into Duncan’s ribcage, and his other meaty hand clutched Duncan by the hair on the back of his head. A grimy knotted rag was jammed between Duncan’s teeth and tied tight around his face. His hands were lashed behind his back.

  “See, you stinking Scot? I ain’t the coward you thought me.” Robbie leveled a pistol higher, aiming it at Graham’s head. “I’m a good shot, too.” He clicked back the hammer.

  “No!” Mercy screeched, lunged to the side, and landed a kick into the back of Robbie’s knee, bringing him to the ground just as Wills sliced a cut across her throat.

  “Stay still, Mercy, I beg ye.” The sight of Mercy’s blood staining the front of her bodice filled Graham with an icy panic, blinding him with unrelenting rage. The only thing that held him at bay was the gut-wrenching fear for her life.

  The man from behind the rocks walked up to Wills and cuffed him hard on the ear. “Look what you done! She’s worth more unmarked, fool!”

  Wills jerked away, rubbing his ear against his shoulder as he resettled his grip on Mercy. “Caught me off guard, she did, Flynn. Lucky, I didn’t cut her throat proper.”

  “I’ll twist your head clean off your neck, ye wee bastard.” Graham took a step forward, coming to a halt when Wills pressed the dagger harder against Mercy’s already bleeding neck.

  “Settle down, you. We’ll be taking your lady with us,” said the leader. “Got quite the prospects for her, we do.” The man gave Graham a gap-toothed grin. “Her Da done promised us her weight in gold and told us whatever we sells her for is ours, too.”

  He took a step closer to Mercy, slid the tip of his rifle under the edge of her skirts, and lifted, bending to inspect her. “Well, will you look at that now, lads? She’s wearing some kind of fancy breeches.” Flynn shook his head. “We’ll have to remedy that afore we get her to the docks, we will.” He winked at Graham. “Gotta be able to show off them wares, eh? Get a better price that way.”

  Graham dove toward Flynn but came up short when Wills tightened his hold enough on Mercy to make her cry out. “If ye dare hurt her anymore, I’ll kill ye slower than I’m already planning.”

  Flynn laughed out loud, then motioned to the others in his band. “Tie the Scots and the redcoat to the wagon wheels and be sure to gag them. Since they’re such an ungrateful lot, I’ll be lettin’m die slow. No blessing of a fast, clean bullet for the likes of them. Lock the rest in that there fancy wagon.” He nodded toward the harnessed horses and those tethered to the wagons. “Shame we haven’t got time to sell a bit of horseflesh, but no sense in leavin’ the poor beasts trapped to suffer starvin’ to death. Set’m loose, boys.” He chuckled. “Any of these fools worms their way loose, they can walk.”

  “Stay alive,” Graham roared to Mercy as they dragged her away. “I will find ye. Just stay alive, I beg ye!”

  “Now that’s right touching, that is,” said the one called Gobs as he yanked hold of Graham to tie him to the same wagon wheel as Duncan. “Hold her up a minute!” he shouted to Wills. “Turn her this way.”

  “What for?” Wills halted, swinging Mercy around to face Graham.

  “He won’t be finding ye in this life, m’lady.” Gobs gave a snorting laugh, then stabbed his dagger deep in Graham’s side.

  Graham held his breath against giving the bastard the satisfaction of any kind of reaction to the searing pain.

  “No!” Tears streamed down her face as she bent over Wills’s arm, flailing from side to side and sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Thanks, Gobs. Now I gotta carry the wailin’ bitch.” Wills hefted her along, dragging her to one of the horses brought down from higher on the hillside. He threw her over the saddle, belly down, like a sack of grain, then mounted up behind her.

  With a hard, chewing bite into the leather gag, Graham struggled to breathe through the ripping burn in his side as he watched the men ride away. The wound didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the knowledge they had tricked him. Led astray by a pair of little bastards who had probably planned this day all along with Edsbury. Graham closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wagon wheel. He’d missed the signs. How could he have been such a damned fool?

  *

  With her body slung over the horse, the rush of blood drummed inside her head, and her skull felt ripe to split from the pressure. The ridges of the saddle dug into her ribcage. Her neck wound was still bleeding.

  The weight of Wills’s hand on her rump, groping and squeezing as they thundered through the forest repulsed and infuriated her. Fighting his touch proved futile, enraging her even more. She prayed for the opportunity to rip that knife from his belt and split him from gut to gullet.

  The horse leapt over a crack in the forest floor. The rough landing made her wretch and cough, then gasp for air.

  “Hold up, Wills!”

  A deep, wheezing voice she hadn’t heard before sounded somewhere close to her head. At this point, Mercy couldn’t be certain of anything. A low buzzing filled her ears and she felt dizzy. When she dared open her eyes, lights flashed and distorted her vision. But one particular pain, one brutal image focused crisp and clear in her mind: Graham stabbed in the side and left to die. The cruelty of it twisted her heart. She let loose a piercing sob. I am so sorry, my love. So very sorry.

  “God Almighty, Wills, pull her up so she’ll stop that infernal noise,” the wheezing voice said.

  The horse stopped, and Mercy went limp, determined not to help the disgusting Wills in any way. She felt no fear, only a cold determination. Graham had begged her to live. Begged her not to give up. She wouldn’t. But what she would do was escape and make her way back to him. She had to get back to him.

  Wills grappled and yanked at her but lost his hold. She slid out of his grip and fell to th
e forest floor, hitting her right hip first, then slammed hard to the flat of her back. She gasped, curling to her side, struggling to regain the wind knocked from her.

  “Dammit, Wills!”

  Gunfire boomed and reverberated through the trees. Wills sagged to one side, then hit the ground with a sickening thud beside her. His sightless eyes stared into hers as he gasped his last breath.

  “You killed him, Tracker!” Robbie said with a high-pitched squeak. Mercy recognized that little traitor’s voice.

  “You want to be next, boy?” The voice belonged to their leader.

  “Naw.” Robbie answered quickly, no doubt in his voice.

  Mercy struggled to rise, head swimming and eyes so swollen from weeping and hanging upside down, her sight faded in and out.

  “Get her up and on the horse, and tie her hands to the saddle,” Tracker said. “We need to make some distance afore nightfall. We’re too damn close to Ben Nevis for my likin’. MacCoinnich’s brother has enough warriors to be a problem.”

  “What about Wills?” Robbie asked.

  “Leave him,” Tracker said. “Crows need ta eat.”

  The greasy, bloated man, the one called Gobs, and for good reason judging by the look of him, yanked her up and plopped her on the horse as easily as if she were a rag doll. Mercy forced back a gag at the rancid stench of the man. She flinched as he lashed her hands to the saddle horn, pulling the cord so tight it bit into her flesh.

  “Damn, she be a tender one,” Gobs said as he smacked a meaty paw across her bleeding hands and laughed. He gave her a slow wink as he took hold of her horse’s reins. “You’ll bring us a good price, hen. We’ll do well ’cause a you.”

  Mercy clenched her teeth and stared straight ahead, determined to remain silent. Give me your strength, Mama. Please give me your strength. Head bowed and sagging forward, Mercy feigned the show of a cowering, hopeless female whilst stealing glances all around and assessing her captors. Mama had raised her to be a proper lady, but she’d also taught Mercy to be a fighter. Both Akio and Mama had seen to that. Poor Mama had seen too much in her lifetime and had known better than to trust Papa’s title to protect them.