Page 78 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Sadly, yes.” Erroll wondered how he was going to tell Gordon and Nab’s mothers he’d watched while the slavers took their sons, then realized he didn’t have to. “Are you two gentlemen good shots?”

“I can hit a fly at fifteen paces,” Joseph said.

“I can hit a man, well enough,” David said.

“Fine, then we will do our best to save these lads,” Erroll whispered. “There are four men and we have four shots.” Only the angels of God could direct their bullets to all four intended victims with the first shots—and that would take Michael the archangel, the only celestial being willing to commit murder, no matter how justified. “Joseph, if you would, give me your knife. I will attack head on,” Erroll said. “You two stay here and fire from the trees.”

“We won’t stay behind like scared women,” Joseph said indignantly.

“Not hiding, lad, strategy. When you two shoot, the sailors won’t know how many men we have. If we can take down two of them, the remaining two might run like the cowards they are. I want to get as close as possible, so hold your fire until I shoot.”

The men grunted in acknowledgment and Joseph drew his knife from a boot sheath and handed it over. Erroll pulled his gun from his waistband and stuck the spyglass in its place then, knife in one hand and gun in the other, he scurried from the cover of trees. The clouds abruptly parted and Erroll’s heart jumped to a gallop. He pulled back the hammer on his pistol. The clouds rolled across the moon and the men kept going. Seconds later, with Erroll twenty feet from the men, a boy cried out and the big sailor whirled. Erroll fired. The sailor stumbled backwards as another shot sounded.

The sailors’ curses mingled with the boys’ cries of surprise and the report of a third revolver followed. A fourth weapon was fired, this one from one of the sailors. The boys scattered in the pandemonium. One of the two remaining sailors swung his gun in Erroll’s direction. Erroll drew back his knife to throw, but one of the bigger boys barreled into the sailor’s ribs. The sailor’s gun went off and he and the boy crashed into the sand. Erroll turned, scanning for the last sailor and saw him disappear into the trees to the west.

“Laird,” a young man called as the boom of a cannon sounded from the brigantine.

“Get down!” Erroll shouted.

Everyone dove onto the sand as another boom rolled across the water. The first orange–sized ball thudded into the sand two feet away and sprayed sand even as a third cannon fired. He lifted his head as the second ball soared past and spit up sand between two of the boys who lay five feet away. One lad cried out and two boys jumped up. The third ball landed short, closer to the water, and Erroll shoved to his feet. The remaining boys followed suit.

“Move, lads.” Erroll pointed toward his companions, who had left the trees. The boys remained rooted to where they stood and Erroll realized they were afraid of the men. “They’re friends,” he shouted. “Move.”

The boys rushed forward. Erroll waited until the last boy flew past then turned, taking several long strides as he pulled the spyglass free of his waistband. He slowed and looked at the brigantine. Captain Johnson stood on the quarterdeck staring back through his spyglass.

Johnson seemed frozen for an instant, then yanked the glass from his eye. In the instant before the captain whirled, Erroll glimpsed fear in his eyes. Erroll turned and raced after the boys who had nearly reached his companions. A moment later, the boys disappeared amongst the trees. Erroll caught up with the band moments later and they raced up the hill.

When they finally reached the jollyboat, he said, “We must make two trips.”

“We dinna’ need to go with you,” Nab said. “We can make our way back home.”

“Yes, you can,” Erroll said. “But I won’t risk those brigands catching you before you reach home. Your parents would not forgive me if you were captured a second time. We will go together, and stop at Corrynachency. No worries, Nab. I will hire transportation from there.”

“I willna’ go,” Nab said.

“You will, or your mother will hear about it.” That stopped the boy, as Erroll knew it would. Erroll looked at Joseph. “Take the first group of boys to the ship.”

“I am not a boy,” one lad burst out.

“My apologies,” Erroll said. “Men.”

He singled out the five youngest boys. They grumbled, knowing they were chosen for their age, but Nab ordered them into the boat to be quiet, and followed with the stern threat of a beating if they ignored him.

“Joseph,” Erroll said, “the rest of us will await your return.”

“Help me, lads.” Joseph grabbed the starboard edge of the boat. The boys grabbed the edges and they started pushing the boat when David said, “We have company.”

Erroll jerked his head around and spotted several figures emerging from the trees. He yanked the spyglass to his eye and counted half a dozen kilted men, pistols in hand. The click of two revolvers broke the silence.

“No,” Erroll hissed to his companions. “They aren’t part of Johnson’s crew. Nab,” he handed the boy the spyglass, “tell me if you recognize them.”

Nab peered through the hole. “The one in the lead is Sheriff Laine.”

“Seems someone realized you lads were missing,” Erroll said. “Nab, come with me. The rest of you, don’t move—and for God’s sake, gentleman, do not fire those revolvers. If one of these boys gets shot, I will never hear the end of it from their parents.”

Erroll took several steps forward with Nab at his side, then called, “Laine, don’t shoot.” The men halted. “I am Erroll MacLean, Earl of Rushton.” Erroll added in a low voice to Nab, “Tell them, lad.”

“Laine,” Nab called. “It’s me, Nab. Me and the others are all right.”