Page 2 of The Beast of the Highlands
“My brother is a captain in the English Army. He is following closely behind, so I suggest you move out of my path before he arrives and has you all court marshaled for your desertion!” Autumn knew it was a bold, and possibly foolish move, but she was desperate.
The pock-faced man snickered. “Then why’s he not riding at your side, Miss?” His grin widened. “Anyway, if he’s what you say he is, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to ride over that border without his battalion behind him. The Scots don’t care for English soldiers, riding alone.”
“Aye, the Beast of Ettrick will eat him for breakfast,” another man jeered, sending a bolt of terror through Autumn’s chest.
She had heard the nickname once before, referring to Laird MacLennan—the very person she was journeying to see. That first time, hearing him called “Beast,” she had shrugged it off as brotherly exaggeration. But there was a genuine fear beneath the jeering tone of this soldier’s voice that made her anxious.
Can Laird MacLennan really be so awful? If he is, should I turn back now, before I find myself in his clutches… or the clutches of these men?
She was about to turn Seashell around, in an attempt to race for safety, when she heard the hiss of a fuse being lit. Her head whipped back around in time to feel the burning kiss of a lead shot skimming her cheek.
All of a sudden, Seashell reared, sending Autumn tumbling backward. Her hands flailed to try and find purchase on the saddle, only to drop the dagger to the ground, before joining the weapon on the hard dirt. The air rushed out of her lungs as she hit the road with a jarring thud, but that was the least of her concerns.
“Seashell! Seashell!” she shouted helplessly as the palomino stomped and reared all around her. It appeared as though the mare had twenty hooves instead of four, as Autumn tried to roll and twist out of their way while wincing against the pain that cracked through her bones.
Another musket shot fired, sending Seashell into a panicked frenzy. Indeed, before Autumn could do anything to stop the mare, the beast had taken off through a gap in the nearside hedgerow, abandoning her rider to whatever these cretins had in their filthy minds.
Lying on the cold, snow-slushed ground, Autumn panted for breath as her hand scrabbled across the mud for the dagger she had dropped. If they thought they could take her without some kind of protest, they were sorely mistaken.
I would rather you killed a man than have a man hurt you or try to kill you.Those had been her brother’s words when he had gifted her the dagger, and though she had never expected to have to act on them, it seemed fate had possessed other ideas.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” One of the deserters stooped to pick the dagger off the ground and proceeded to pick some kind of gristle from between his two front teeth with the sharp point.
Autumn tried to sit up, only to feel a boot against her chest, pushing her back down. “You will release me,” she wheezed. “My brother will… be here… soon.”
Orwell, I know it is impossible, but… please say you followed me. Please say you will come for me.
“He isn’t coming, Miss. Don’t lie.” The same man finished picking the food from his teeth and leered down at her. “My, you’re a pretty one, ain’t you?”
The rest of his men clustered around him—ten in total, now that she could see them more clearly—and she flinched at the lusty glint in their collective gaze. There could only be one outcome, considering she was alone on the road, with no one coming to rescue her.
I should have departed in daylight. I should have stayed at the manor. I should have tried to gain employment with an English family. I should have… I should have… I should have…
But there was no use in wondering what she might have done differently, for it would not change what was about to happen to her.
“Please…” she whispered desperately, "please, do not… hurt me.”
The leader of the deserters ignored her and knelt at her side. She could smell his sour breath and did not like the intent look in his eyes—meaner than those of the men around him. She flinched as he touched her, trailing his fingertips up her arm. As he did so, the other men loomed closer, a few of them crouching to join their leader.
Frantic now, her eyes searched for some kind of refuge within running distance; a farmhouse, or a cottage, or even a barn where she might be able to hide. The landscape, still swathed in shadow, showed nothing but black desolation. She thought she could see the rolling stretch of fields and hills through gaps in the hedgerow on either side of her, but nothing else.
“Oi! I see ye, ye wretched rats!” A booming bellow cut through the confusion that swirled in Autumn’s head. A crashing sound followed, as though someone had barreled through the congregation of deserters, taking them by surprise.
A moment later, she heard the grate of steel as swords were drawn. The deserters’ leader whirled around, eyes wide in alarm. At the same time, Autumn saw the shining blade of a broadsword sweep through the air… and the wretched man fell to the ground, unmoving.
She would have cheered and praised whoever had come to save her, if her mind and body had not collapsed and sent her into that dark oblivion that she had been fighting.
2
Autumn awoke abruptly to the violent sensation of strong hands shaking her. Her eyelids cracked open to meet the stern, black gaze of a stranger. Behind him, another stranger wielded a lantern, allowing Autumn to look upon the face of her savior.
“What were ye doin’, ridin’ alone on these roads?” her savior asked sharply, but Autumn was too stunned by his visage to respond immediately.
Though his dark eyes were somewhat frightening, they were framed with the longest eyelashes she had ever seen, giving them a distinct prettiness. And his lips, though set in a disapproving line, were luscious and full, with a deep bow at the top.
His nose was proud and somewhat Roman, and it suited the angular nature of his face, complementing his sharp cheekbones and the square cut of his jaw, which was grazed with stubble. Dark curls framed his remarkably handsome features and some of the tendrils flopped over his right eye, making her want to reach out and push them to the side so she could see him better.
He shook her again. “I asked ye a question. Do ye nae ken what can happen to lasses that ride alone?”
