Page 60 of My Notorious Highlander

Torrin quickly glanced back to see that the MacKay archer had fired the shot.

Reaching Aiden, Torrin grabbed his arm. "Hurry. We have to get you out of here."

Aiden was gasping for breath as he stumbled forward. Torrin glanced around, checking for lingering outlaws, but thankfully saw none.

"Help him down the mountain," he told the MacKays.

"Come on, cousin. I've got you." Conall's burly son, Dougal, picked Aiden up on his back and carried him. "Are you hurt?"

"Nay." Aiden huffed and puffed. "I thank you. All of you."

Torrin retrieved his targe and dirk from the ground, where he'd tossed them earlier, and followed.

Minutes later, Aiden insisted on walking, and they rejoined the rest of the search party.

"Aiden!" Conall yelled, his face red. "Are you daft? Leaving the keep that way? You could've been killed. Erskine's badly injured."

"He lives?" Torrin asked, his gaze scanning over Erskine's bloody, unmoving body and closed eyes.

Iain, crouched next to Erskine, glanced up. "Aye, indeed."

"Thank the saints! How bad is it?"

"'Tis a deep sword gash. He's lost a lot of blood."

"Bastards," Torrin growled. "We have to get him back to Dunnakeil." He wanted to tell Aiden he should be whipped for putting himself and the clan in so much danger. But he was the chief's brother. 'Twas Dirk's place to reprimand him. Or Jessie's. He was certain she would rake Aiden over the coals.

Upon seeing Erskine's bloody wound, Aiden squeezed his eyes closed. "I'm sorry. I ken 'twas my fault."

"Aye," Torrin agreed with a glare at the lad.

If Aiden was his brother, he might cold cock him, but they weren't family yet. Instead, he turned his attention to Erskine and knelt beside him. His face was ashen, and he was out cold.

Iain removed his shirt and used it, along with one he'd gotten from one of his men, as a makeshift bandage around Erskine's abdomen, trying to staunch the flow of blood. "We have to get him out of here."

"Indeed." Torrin stood, his gaze searching the craggy granite mountainsides to make sure no outlaws had returned, then the ground closer to him. Two outlaws, besides the one Torrin had killed, lay dead. Their weapons caught his attention. "'Tis my sword and Jessie's dirk," he muttered, snatching up the weapons and shoving them into his scabbards.

One of the MacKays approached with a wood and linen litter. He must have retrieved it from one of the horses, farther back, to transport Erskine on.

Torrin prayed they made it back to Dunnakeil in time for the healer to help him.

∞∞∞

Jessie paced back and forth in the cobblestone bailey, praying Torrin, Aiden and the rest of the men would return soon. They'd been gone all day, and gloaming was imminent. Sunset streaked the sky overhead with pink and gold.

"They're coming, Lady Jessie!" one of the guards called out from the battlements and pointed toward the east.

"Oh, thank the saints." She rushed to the portcullis. Minutes later, upon hearing the clomp of horses' hooves and men talking, she stepped back several paces. The guards raised the portcullis.

Torrin and Aiden entered the bailey first, leading horses. Joy that they were both alive and well near overcame her. Tears burning her eyes, she grinned and rushed forward to greet them. But neither of them was smiling. Instead, they appeared morose and worried.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Erskine was badly wounded," Torrin said.

"Nay," she gasped, her gaze searching among the men and horses pouring into the bailey. Then, she saw Erskine, passed out, on a litter carried by two men. The large makeshift bandage around his abdomen was soaked with blood.

"Oh, saints." She rushed toward them. "Take him into the great hall." Turning, she found a stable lad nearby. "Go get Nannag and take her to the great hall quickly."