Page 33 of Laird of Flint
“What is it?” she whispered, praying it wasn’t a pack of wolves.
Hamish chuffed out a foggy breath on the chill air. But he wasn’t afraid. Hamish was vexed.
She scanned the hillside, looking for the source of his ire.
Then she heard scuffling behind her. She turned to see two men clambering down the slope, headed straight for her.
She nearly leaped out of her disguise. Her worst fears were confirmed. She’d been seen. Not by the monk. Not by a guard. But by two men who must have been waiting near the coos.
Neither of them were Cainnech, the cooherd. When the weather turned this cold, Cainnech left the cattle on their own until it was time to bring them to the close.
Who were they then?
“Stop, thief!” one of them commanded.
“Hold it right there!” the other said.
Hamish startled at the sudden noise. If she hadn’t had an arm around his muzzle, he might have bolted and run off.
But the other cattle were not so restrained. If the pair of barking fools charging down the hill weren’t careful, they’d panic the beasts and wreak havoc.
One of them sneered, “That’s Dunlop’s coo.”
She recognized the voice. It was a Boyle. Gilbert or Herbert. She couldn’t tell which. She didn’t dare lift her head to look.
What were they doing here, in the middle of the night, on Dunlop land?
The second brother shrugged a rope off his shoulder and chimed in, “And we’re goin’ to take the beast—and ye—straight to the laird.”
She gulped. Not her father. That was her worst nightmare.
“But first,” he added, punching a fist into his palm, “we’re goin’ to show ye what we do to filthy caterans.”
Carenza gasped.
Sweet Mary! Did they intend to beat her?
Fear drained the blood from her face. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
For one horrible instant, she wondered if she would die on this hill. If all her father would find of her when he went out riding the next morn would be her bloody and battered corpse.
Then, as the bullying brothers grew near, she glimpsed their bloodthirsty sneers and their vicious eyes. She suddenly saw them for what they were. Spineless, entitled cowards who preyed on the weak.
Slowly, her fear curdled into rage. How dared these dunderheads trespass on her father’s land? How dared they threaten her with violence? Who did they think they were?
She wasn’t going to let them ruin her best-laid plans.
She couldn’t fight them on her own, of course. She had neither the muscle nor the mass to do battle against this ox-sized pair of brutes. But she had friends who did.
Still calming Hamish, she began waving her free arm about wildly. Then she took a deep breath and let out a loud, long, wolf-like howl.
As she expected, the sound pushed the rest of the cattle to the edge of panic. Lowing in alarm, they rocked up onto their hooves. They danced in confused agitation, kicking up moss and gravel as they bolted in all directions.
The Boyles, intimidated by the deadly thunder of hooves rumbling on the sod, yelped and separated, fleeing for their lives.
Carenza wasn’t afraid. She knew these beasts. They might charge about wildly for a while, shaking off the dregs of fright. But they’d never hurt her. Carenza was practically part of their clan.
And while the brothers were looking after their own safety, dodging the rush of cattle, she could steal away into the night as planned. Unrecognized. Uncaptured. Unbeaten.
