Part 49 (1/2)
”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.