Page 9 of Highland Storm

“He’s the one. He’s the man I saw kill our men,” she shouted.

Hawke glanced up to see a woman standing at the edge of the forest. Her hood fell back, and dark black tresses spilled past her shoulders as she lifted her face to peruse him. It distracted him and, in that split second, he felt the sharp tip of a sword sink into his shoulder just below his collarbone. He involuntarily doubled over, only managing to get kicked next as the man removed the sword from his flesh. Stumbling backward, Hawke hit the ground hard, knocking his head against a rock.

“I killed the brute,” shouted a man triumphantly. “Let’s take care of the rest of them and get the hell out of here. Be sure to take their weapons and horses.”

“Phoebe, hurry and go through the pockets of the dead and take everythin’ ye can from the wretched curs,” said another of the MacNabs.

Hawke’s eyes drifted open slightly as his world spun before him. The pain in his shoulder hurt like the devil and he tasted bile rising to his throat. Through his blurred vision, he saw the MacNabs capturing his grandfather. All of the rest of the men who had come with Hawke from Hermitage Castle were slain, lying in puddles of blood.

“Nay,” he mumbled, willing himself to move, but he couldn’t. He was no longer sure he wouldn’t die with the rest of them. The sound of horses’ hooves on the hard earth echoed in his ears as the MacNabs retreated into the forest.

“Let me go,” he heard Ian MacKeefe shouting. “I hate ye all. Ye just killed my grandson! I’ll have yer bluidy heads for it. I will have my revenge!”

“The way I see it, we’re even now,” came a MacNab’s reply. “Yer grandson is to blame for all this. He killed four of our men earlier and now four of yers are dead in exchange.”

“My son, Storm, willna let ye get away with this,” warned Ian. “He’ll hunt ye down like dogs. He’s the Highland Storm.”

The man chuckled. “Well, I hope he’s better with a sword than yer grandson. After all, he couldna seem to save ye. Now, we’ll hold ye for ransom and take everythin’ from the bluidy MacKeefes, Hermitage Castle included.”

Through slitted eyes, Hawke saw his bird up in the sky. Apollo flew in circles above them, shrieking.

“I wish we had an arrow to shut that bird up,” snarled one of the other men.

“Phoebe, let’s go,” someone called out. “Yer faither is goin’ to be happy we brought him The MacKeefe.”

“Aye, we’ll be in the laird’s favors now, especially after losin’ four men,” said another.

“I have one more man to check,” the woman answered, her voice coming closer to Hawke. He heard her light footsteps and the sweep of her gown over the dry earth as she approached him.

Then Hawke felt the light touch of a woman’s hand going through his pockets. It took all his strength to keep from drifting into an unconscious state since his pain was so intense. The MacNabs had stolen his sword but he still had a dagger hidden in the waistband of his plaid. Hawke had to do something to save his grandfather or die trying. He would not lose him and neither would he return to the castle without him. Suddenly, an idea came to him. This would be his only chance, so he needed to stay conscious to do it.

His hand lashed out and gripped the girl’s wrist as his eyes popped open, scaring her since she thought he was dead.

“Och!” she cried, looking down at Hawke in terror. Fear filled her hazel eyes. Because she was startled, it gave him the advantage. She was just a wench so it should be easy to hold her, even with his wounds and his pounding head. Stirring up the strength he needed to continue with his plan, Hawke pulled her to him. At the same time, he sat up, trying to concentrate so he wouldn’t pass out.

With his free hand, he reached for his hidden dagger. Then he got to his feet, pulling the wench toward him, holding his blade to her throat.

“Release Ian MacKeefe or I’ll kill her, I swear I will!” he shouted, stopping the MacNabs from leaving. Blood covered his chest from his wound, soaking into the girl’s clothes as well. Her body trembled beneath his touch, but she did not fight him.

“He’s no’ dead, ye fools!” cried the man in charge.

“Euan, I’m sorry. I could have sworn he was,” answered a man from their clan. “I had a hard time removin’ my sword from his flesh.”

“I should kill ye, Lennox for bein’ so daft.”

“Release him,” Hawke called out, keeping his blade to the girl’s throat.

“Hawke, what are ye doin’?” shouted Ian. His hands were tied behind his back and he was thrown face down over one of the horses.

“Release him, Euan,” shouted the girl. “Do what he says. My life is at stake.”

“Nay,” answered the man stubbornly, turning a half-circle on his horse. “We’re takin’ The MacKeefe back to our laird.” He looked over at Hawke and only hesitated for a moment before he continued. “Keep the girl. I dinna care.”

“What?” both Hawke and the girl said at the same time.

“We dinna need her,” continued Euan, raising his arm in the air, signaling to the others. “Let’s go, men.”

“But Euan, Laird Angus is goin’ to kill us if we let anythin’ happen to his daughter,” said the man named Lennox.