Highland Barbarian Part 49

"You will hand over your sword to my men who stand behind you or they will cut you up in little pieces and feed you to the wild animals that roam these mountains."

"Do you think me foolish enough to turn away from you for even one moment? I know your little trick. You think to render me defenseless while I am distracted."

His smile grew.

"Take the lady's sword."

Meredith felt a hand at her shoulder and turned, prepared to do battle with another. Half a dozen men faced her, swords drawn. From the looks on their faces she knew that they would have no qualms about killing her where she stood.

From behind came Holden Mackay's evil laughter. "Drop your sword or my men will run you through."

He watched as her sword slipped from her fingers and dropped on the moist ground.

"Now, my lady, I believe we have a score to settle." To his men he shouted,

"Bind her and toss her over my saddle. The lady is mine." He leaned close. His breath was hot on her cheek as he gave a hollow laugh and added for her ears alone,

"To do with as I please."

Brice and his men rode in single file along the path worn into the earth by Meredith's mount. When it was raining it had been an easy job to trail her. Now that the rain had stopped, he prayed they would find her before the earth dried up and the trail was lost.

None of the men spoke, and though they were weary, not one of them complained of the long hours in the saddle. They knew how much their leader loved the woman they searched for. They would travel to h.e.l.l and back for Brice Campbell.

As they topped a ridge Brice suddenly reined in his mount and slid to the ground.

"There were men and horses here." Brice pointed to the churned up earth.

"And there was a scuffle."

He walked several paces before stooping. He touched a finger to the small footprint imbedded in the soil.

"No man's foot could leave so small a mark."

Angus swallowed, reluctant to agree.

"Do you recognize the horses' marks?" Though Brice studied the other prints, his gaze kept returning to the small print that he knew had been made by Meredith's booted foot.

Angus called to Alston, and together the two men went over every mark on the ground. While they did, Brice walked about, careful not to obliterate any of the prints.

"They were Highlanders," Alston called out.

"Six or seven of them."

"They rode from a northerly direction," Angus called. "And when they left, they headed north again."

"Mackays," Alston said softly.

Brice felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. Holden Mackay. In his mind he could still see the scene in his chambers, when Mackay had nearly succeeded in taking Meredith by force. He thought of the bruises he had seen on her throat, and the fear he had read in her eyes.

Angus swallowed, aware of the pain Brice would be enduring at this moment. All the fear, all the rage, at last had a focus.

"It had to be the Mackays," he said in a near whisper.

They stood and began to walk to where the others waited with their horses.

"G.o.d in heaven."

At Brice's exclamation, Angus and Alston hurried to his side. Brice was kneeling near the trunk of a gnarled old tree. At the base lay a discarded sword. His sword, which had been missing along with his clothes and stallion.

He brushed his hand over the damp earth, over the small boulders at the base of the tree.

"Blood."

Angus and Alston looked at each other before Angus said softly,

"Aye.

Tis blood. But we cannot be certain it was the la.s.s's."

"And we cannot be certain it is not." Brice pulled himself into the saddle. His face was a grim mask.

"By all that is holy I swear that if Holden Mackay harms her in any way he is a dead man."

He turned to his men.

"We ride north. To confront the devil himself."

Chapter Seventeen

Q^zr^s^Q JVleredith fought back a wave of panic as she was forced to ride, hands tied, astride Mackay's horse.

It had been humiliating enough to be bound and lifted like a sack of grain. But to be held firmly in his arms, his hands brushing the undersides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s while his horse broke into a trot, was almost more than she could bear. She had to swallow back a rush of nausea.

She must not give in to the panic that threatened to reduce her to weeping and hysteria. It was exactly what this monster would want.

Instead, she must appear calm, no matter what he said or did.

His men fell into line behind him, their spirits high. Their little foray into the forests this day had brought them an unexpected bonus.

For weeks, since their leader had returned from Brice Campbell's castle, he had been brooding and sullen. Now, with the discovery of this la.s.s, he had come alive again. It was obvious that there was a simmering feud between these two. And though the men had no idea what had occurred earlier, Holden Mackay now had someone on whom he could focus his anger.

When the skies once again opened up, Meredith hunched deep into her cloak. But the cold seemed to seep through to her very bones. It was not only because of the weather, she realized. It was because she was already replaying in her mind the scene in Brice's chambers, when Holden Mackay had come dangerously close to taking her by force. She knew what awaited her at the end of this journey, and though she tried, she could not blot it from her mind.

They rode for nearly three hours, often leaving well-worn paths to plunge into the dense forest. There was little said between the men now, but Meredith sensed that they pa.s.sed signals among themselves.

Could there be someone on their trail? Or did they take these evasive routes routinely to avoid running into anyone along the path?