Page 59 of My Notorious Highlander

Torrin nodded. He'd heard tales of the elusive and murderous McMurdo all his life and knew better than to underestimate him.

The clan tracker, Silas MacKay, a tall, lanky fellow with a receding hairline, rode in front as they left the coast and headed inland. Beyond the byre, Silas veered off the trail onto the moor, got off his horse and examined the grass and other plants. "Looks like they might have gone this way," he called back to Erskine and Torrin.

They all followed him as he walked, leading his horse so as to see the ground and plants better, looking for signs of disturbance. An hour later, they neared larger rocks and crags leading into the mountains, the large expanse of gray broken only by patches of green heather.

"We must be ready. They could be hiding behind any of these boulders," Erskine warned.

"Indeed." Torrin crept forward with them, all the men armed with swords, targes and dirks, though Torrin did not have his own sword; the outlaws had stolen it the day before. Three MacKay archers also accompanied them. Those on horseback dismounted.

The farther they advanced into the mountains, the more the path turned to gravel and scree which had eroded off the mountains for millennia. 'Twas impossible to see tracks now, but only one trail existed through this area with the steep mountains on both sides.

Fully aware their horses could be injured, killed, or stolen by the outlaws, they left the beasts with five men and continued on foot. 'Twould be too simple for a horse to break a leg amongst these unstable rocks.

Going by foot also allowed them to creep more quietly along the rough stony path. Torrin hoped they could slip up on the outlaws and catch them unawares. Most of all, he prayed Aiden was unharmed. He didn't know the lad well, but he was Jessie's beloved brother. Daft though he may be for leaving the keep to talk to Haldane. He should've known better, but Torrin could also understand the need to try to talk some sense into his law-breaking younger brother. Torrin wished he could've convinced his own younger brother to change his depraved ways before it was too late.

No use wishing for things he could never have now. A heavy sense of loss kicked him in the stomach and memories of their younger years haunted him.

Damnation! Don't think of it.

The one thing he was determined to have now was Jessie. He simply had to convince her of his worth and devotion.

A scent caught his attention—smoke and roasted meat. He halted, holding up his arm so those behind him would stop. "Smell that?" he asked, his voice hushed. "Their camp is close."

"Aye," Erskine whispered.

Sudden loud clanging and war cries resounded through the rocky crags. A rag-tag group of warriors wielding swords and targes stormed from behind boulders. But Torrin was ready, and the men who stood with him appeared ready as well. Blade clashed against blade.

Arrows flew down from the cliffs above. Torrin lifted his targe to deflect them. A skinny, blond-bearded man wearing ragged trews charged Torrin. He easily warded off the younger man's blows. The miscreant bared his teeth and launched a more determined attack. After landing a few blows against Torrin's blade, the man had worn himself out.

Torrin went on the offense. With two strikes, he drew blood, and with the third, dealt a killing slash. The daft lad had chosen the wrong opponent.

The next man to meet his gaze was McMurdo. A quick glance at the warrior lying unmoving and bloody at his feet stopped Torrin's breath. Erskine? Torrin charged forward, intending to run McMurdo through, but the gray-haired bastard fled with uncanny agility up the rock-covered ravine along with the rest of the surviving outlaws after Haldane had shouted the order to retreat.

"Get him! He's killed Erskine," Torrin yelled at the MacKays and chased McMurdo up the mountainside. The smoking campfire came into view, along with Aiden, sitting at the entrance to a cave, a brawny man with a sword guarding him.

"Bring him!" Haldane pointed at Aiden.

The guard picked up the lad, tossed him across his shoulder and ran.

"Bastard," Torrin growled.

Aiden wriggled and fought his captor, but it did no good. The man weighed twice as much as the lad.

Arrows rained down on Torrin and the MacKays, forcing them to use their targes for protection overhead and dive for cover behind boulders; their targes could not shield the whole of their bodies. Once the outlaw archer had stopped shooting, Torrin charged forward again.

"They're getting away!" Torrin sped up but the outlaws were twenty yards ahead. "Give me your bow and an arrow," Torrin ordered the young MacKay archer.

The bow was about the length of his own. Torrin threw down his other weapons, took the bow in hand and nocked the arrow. He aimed, praying he wouldn't shoot Aiden, but if he didn't get that whoreson to release him, he'd likely be dead soon anyway. When the outlaw turned a bit, his side facing Torrin, he released the arrow. The broad-head stabbed into the outlaw's ribs and he fell to his knees. Aiden slammed to the ground as well, but tried to scramble from beneath the injured brigand who was yanking at the arrow and growling like an enraged wolf.

The rest of the outlaws dashed out of sight, but the one he'd downed grabbed for the sword he'd dropped.

Aiden stumbled and fell amongst the rocks.

"Aiden! Come on!" Torrin tossed the bow back to its owner, grabbed his sword, and sprinted forward to help the lad.

Aiden shoved to his feet and loped toward him, while the injured outlaw lumbered forward, growling, his teeth bared.

Another arrow stabbed into the knave's chest. He dropped like a rock and writhed upon the ground, howling in pain.