Page 98 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“Hurts like the swivin’ devil himself, but I’m still breathing.”
“Ye’re strong as an ox, ye are.”
“It’d take a lot more than a slug to the shoulder to put me in the ground.”
“Aye, ye’re too stubborn to let those bastards get ye.” Connor swept his gaze over his brother. “Any other wounds?”
“Nay.” Gerard pressed himself up to a sitting position. “They took her.” A look of misery contorted his features. “Dammit, it was my duty to protect the lass. I failed ye both.”
“Ye’ve failed no one. Who did this?”
“Cranston’s men. The big, ugly one. And the English troll.” Gerard stared into the distance, as if reliving the moment when he’d been attacked. “They must’ve taken the carriage. We have to go after her.”
“Ye’re not goin’ anywhere, other than a safer spot than right here in the open. Phantom nearly galloped right over ye.”
“Ye cannae do this alone,” Gerard protested. Putting his palms to the ground, he pushed himself to his feet. His long legs swayed like saplings in a stiff wind. “Ye’ll need backup.”
Connor watched Gerard struggle to stand. “Ye’re in no shape to do battle.”
“The bastards left their mounts. Just get me to one of them. I can ride.”
Connor slowly shook his head. God knew he could use Gerard’s skill as a marksman when he confronted Cranston, but the notion was preposterous. His brother’s bleeding had ebbed, but the wound had taken a toll.
“Stay here. Keep an eye out for more men heading Cranston’s way. I’ll be back.”
Gerard set his jaw. A small groan made its way between his half-gritted teeth. “I still have my pistols. Those fools didn’t think to check me for weapons.”
“And ye might need them,” Connor said. “But not now. We can’t take that chance with ye wounded as ye are.”
“Ye underestimate me.”
Stubborn as they come, that brother of his. Connor felt a surge of pride at his brother’s courage. Battered. Bloodied. Weak. Yet still ready to battle the men who threatened Johanna and the wee lass she adored. Staying behind was no doubt a bitter choice, but there was no alternative. Gerard would be easy prey in his current state. Connor could not take that chance.
His brother moved toward a dark gelding tethered to a tree. His knees seemed weaker with each step. “Just get me on the bluidy horse.”
“Not a chance. For once in yer life, listen to reason. Wait here. I may need backup if we’re pursued.”
“I am not a blasted coward.” Gerard stumbled toward a tree and allowed himself to slowly slide along the trunk until his legs stretched out over the ground.
“No one would ever accuse ye of that.” Connor pulled himself into the saddle. “Keep yer weapon at the ready. The castle is less than an hour from here on horseback. I’ll be back with Johanna and the bairn. If they’re still breathing, Cranston’s men will pursue us. Just make sure ye shoot those bastards and not me.”
…
Connor spurred his mount to a gallop. A loyal partner in so many missions, Phantom devoured the ground with each powerful stride. Darkness closed in, making the road ahead more treacherous. Keeping a firm hold on the reins, Connor guided the beast over the rough path.
Damn Cranston. How had his thugs known to attack the carriage? Had someone discovered details of their plan? Or had the brutal bastards simply happened upon the coach? The memory of Gerard’s blood puddled on the ground cut through him like a lance. Connor could only give thanks that in the ebbing light, the buffoons had not seen through Gerard’s disguise. If they’d deduced his identity, Connor would likely have come upon a dead man in that clearing.
Regret dug into Connor’s gut. He should’ve been there. It should’ve been him protecting Johanna.
Where was she now? The question ate at him. At least he could count on the brutes keeping Johanna alive until Cranston was done with her. That would buy him time. If the ruffians had abused her—damnit, he shook off the thought. Anger would only make him careless. He had to keep his wits about him. Soon, he’d see Cranston’s cold savagery brought to an end.
Shadows surrounded the forest like ancient specters, trailing his path, watching his every move. A chill trickled along his spine. Devil take it, he knew better than to be drawn into superstition. But with the sounds of the night bearing down on him, the acts of his ancestors took on a logic of their own. Was it any wonder people of old whispered of spirits and spells and evil encased in a blood-red ruby?
The blastedDeamhan’sCridhe. He’d put more stock in the prospect of Phantom sprouting wings and flying past the moon than in the tales of the gem’s powers. But there was no denying the history of bloodshed and tragedy that followed that polished bit of crimson rock. The product of man’s greed for power and wealth, not the intrinsic properties of a blasted stone.
The ruby was secured, secreted away by Brenna and Finn to a vault buried in a cave few knew existed. Truth be told, Connor was glad to be rid of it. He was a logical man, a man who dismissed the legend as so much manure. But somehow, he couldn’t deny that holding the stone had triggered a sense of unease, a primitive wariness that penetrated to the bone. Now, the cursed thing would be locked away. Preserved and protected, yet forbidden to bastards who’d use it to buoy their power, if only in their own minds.
He carried another stone on his person, a jewel secured in an unadorned wooden box. Brenna had stunned him when she produced the case and opened the lid. Cushioned in a bed of plain, homespun linen, the ruby was precisely the size, cut and hue of the gem he’d recovered beneath the ancient oak. A replica, she’d explained, her pixie face bright with excitement at finally being able to reveal the secret she’d been entrusted with since girlhood.
