Chapter 1
Western Highlands of Scotland, April 1629
At sunset, Gavin MacTavish halted his horse at the edge of the ancient pine forest and held up his hand. His friends and their guards stopped behind him. Had he seen a flash of light in the dimness beneath the swaying branches? 'Twas like a final ray of dying, orange sunlight glinting off a polished blade. Narrowing his eyes to a hard focus, he scanned the area, certain he had not imagined it. He pulled the basket-hilt broadsword from its scabbard.
His longtime friend Torr MacElrath drew up on his left side. "Did you see something?"
"A glimmer there." Gavin pointed his sword at one of the low-growing juniper bushes among the thick pine trunks.
Stopping at his right side, his foster brother Brodie MacCain withdrew his sword. "Could be highwaymen wanting to steal our horses."
"Or Alpin. He still covets the chieftainship." But his cousin was third in line. Gavin's father, Lunn, still served as chief of Clan MacTavish.
Gavin briefly laid the sword across his lap, tied his long, dark hair back in a queue, and yanked the strip of leather into a knot.
Brodie's brown eyes gleamed with ire. "He was, without doubt, the knave who shot at Chief MacTavish last month."
"Aye." Gavin's father had been stalking a stag when an arrow had flown past his shoulder. Gavin hadn't been with him at the time, and the guards couldn't find the archer responsible. "My cousin has been angry and jealous since he was a lad… when his father died in battle."
Readying for a skirmish, Gavin lifted the round, metal-studded targe from his saddle and slid it onto his left forearm. He eyed the bushes, but the erratic gusts of wind made it difficult to see enemy movement.
Torr dismounted, his tawny hair blowing back, and strung his bow. "'Haps Alpin blames your father for his own father's death."
Having never considered it, Gavin frowned. "Mayhap. Though he has not said."
Alpin had left Caithmore Castle when his mother had remarried and moved away. Gavin hadn't missed his mean-spirited and vengeful cousin. Several years ago, he'd even caught Alpin beating a stable lad for a minor offense.
"I'll flush them out." Torr nocked an arrow, pulled back on the bowstring while aiming at the juniper, and released. A shout echoed. The bushes quaked, and almost a dozen sword-wielding warriors burst forth, charging them on foot.
"'Slud!" Gavin leapt to the ground and slapped his horse on the rump, sending it away to safety. Lifting his targe, he blocked the strike of the first enemy, a young, bearded man he had never seen before. Gavin struck out with his sword, but his challenger ducked.
"I'll take him out, Silas!" His dirty blond hair flying back, Alpin rushed Gavin while swords clashed all around him.
Fury singed Gavin's nerve endings. "I knew 'twas you, cousin! Are you ready to die this day?"
"Are you?"
Alpin and Silas charged Gavin at once.
The bastards' fighting method held no honor. Nay, this was an assassination attempt. Gavin slashed his blade toward both men's necks, but they dodged back before he made contact.
For two foes, he would need two weapons. With the wide leather straps securing the targe to his left forearm, Gavin withdrew the foot-long Highland dirk from its scabbard and held it in a reverse grip in his left hand while his sword remained in his right.
Alpin and Silas circled sideways and attacked from opposite directions.
Gavin parried and thrust his sword at Alpin. He shoved Silas back with the targe and stabbed with the dirk.
Silas's blade slashed downward toward Gavin's head. He dodged back, but the sharp tip sliced down the left side of his face. Pain seared him. The blood burned his left eye and obscured his vision.
Enraged and even more determined to annihilate these bastards, he lashed out. He knocked Silas's blade away with his targe and cut his throat with the dirk. Silas stumbled backward and fell in the throes of death. Gavin spun and stabbed his sword toward Alpin's torso, but he blocked with his targe.
Face blanched, Alpin gawked at his dying friend, then whirled and fled toward the wood. "Retreat!" he yelled back at his cohorts. But another foe had already succumbed to Brodie's blade. He lay sprawled upon the ground while the rest bolted after Alpin.
"Cowards!" Gavin shouted. "Come back and fight like men!"
They didn't. They vanished through the pines, scrubby junipers, and bracken ferns.
"Gavin, your face!" Torr's scowl told him how horrible the cut looked.
