"'Tis only a flesh wound." Gavin hoped. With the piercing pain and the hot blood dripping from his chin, turning his white shirt red, who could tell? Left eye squeezed closed against the burning blood, he glanced around at their guards. "Anyone hurt?"
"A few minor injuries," his brawny guard Finch said, then his eyes flew wide. "Sir! We must get you to Caithmore and the healer. You're losing blood!"
Gavin knew it.
Brodie stood over the man Gavin had dispatched. "You ken who he is, aye?"
"Alpin called him Silas."
Brodie gave a sharp nod. "I met him once. He's the MacRae chief."
Frowning, Gavin drew back. "In truth? Why the devil would he take such a great risk for Alpin?"
Brodie shrugged. "He has a mad dog reputation. His da died last year, so he has not been chief long."
The man appeared four or five summers younger than Gavin's own age of eight and twenty.
"Here's the one I shot with an arrow," Torr called from the wood.
Gavin, Brodie, and their guards joined him in the ever-deepening gloaming. A man lay behind the scrubby bush, an arrow protruding from his throat.
"Saints! I had nay inkling you were such a deadly marksman," Gavin said.
Torr shook his head, appearing baffled.
"His sword is still in his hand, so he intended to kill us," Brodie said.
"Alpin planned to murder us all. I'm ashamed of my cousin. I should've killed him instead of Silas MacRae."
Torr nodded. "When Alpin saw his friend lying dead, he realized he could not win. He lost all courage."
"The MacRaes will seek revenge for their chief's death, even though 'twas a fair fight." Gavin despised clan feuds. They could last hundreds of years and cause countless deaths. "Alpin is such an adder; he will lie and claim we ambushed them."
Brodie sheathed his sword. "We'll go with you to Caithmore and be ready when they attack. I'll send for reinforcements from my clan."
"As will I." Torr pulled a round silver flask from his doublet and handed it to Gavin. "You must be in pain."
His face ached, but Gavin shrugged, downplaying it. He drank a swallow of the potent whisky, then happened to catch sight of his reflection in the polished silver of the flask. The thin cut started on his forehead, bisected his left brow, then sliced down his cheek. Once he wiped the blood from his left eye, he discovered it remained just as blue and flawless as his right eye. 'Twas undamaged and his vision perfect, thank the saints. But he would be left with an unsightly scar.
∞∞∞
Out of breath from running miles across the heathery moors between the rugged mountains, Alpin MacTavish stopped in a small copse of trees, bent, and propped his hands on his knees. Darkness closed in upon them. Gavin and his bastard friends had held their horses captive, forcing Alpin and his companions to return to MacRae lands on foot. Why couldn't the whoreson die?
A pang of loss struck Alpin's vitals like a dull sword. Silas had been his best friend, and they'd had a grand plan of being elevated to chiefs of their clans at the same time. Silas hadn't wanted to kill his own father, so Alpin had stepped in and dealt the killing blow so Silas could be chief sooner rather than decades later. Silas had been willing to return the favor and kill either Lunn or Gavin… or both of them. Neither had happened, but Silas had tried.
The wind sighing through the pine needles like ghosts, Alpin glanced out through the trees toward the flickering torches lighting the walls of Raeglen Castle in the distance. Imagining having to tell Silas's mother, Lady Wilona MacRae, her son was dead, Alpin cursed. The woman would be furious. She might even blame him and have him killed. He couldn't let that happen. She had to know Gavin did the deed.
Alpin faced his men and Silas's remaining guards, their plaids and leather armor stained with blood. "Listen, lads. Our eye-witness accounts must match. We were out stalking deer when Gavin MacTavish, his friends, and their guards ambushed us. They outnumbered us two to one and murdered Laird Silas MacRae and two of his guards."
Solemn, the men nodded. They would go along with the lie, else he would make sure they lost their positions… or their very lives.
Surely Lady MacRae knew Alpin would never harm Silas, for they were like brothers. But at times, he suspected she was touched with a bit of madness.
Alpin pointed at three of his own guards. "All of you quit MacRae lands. Go back to Gormly Castle and hide. We're going to say you were killed in the ambush."
One of the guards, Telford, quirked a brow. "Sir?"
"Do it, and ask no questions. I'll sort it out later." Lady MacRae did not know his guards by name or face. She paid no attention to them. Nor would she ever go to Gormley, his stepfather's holding.
