Highland Savage. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
him off the cliff. The fall would only have added to his already serious injuries. Just before they had tossed her off as well she had caught a fleeting glimpse of Lucas’s limp body being dragged off the rocky shores by the rough, wind-tossed waters of the loch. She had barely survived being tossed into those waters herself and she had not been beaten first. Even as she struggled to keep from drowning in those cold, dark waters, she had looked for Lucas and seen nothing.
“The mon has those same eyes, m’lady,” Thomas said. “Aye, and e’en the same voice. I recall both verra clearly, although he didnae seem to remember me. It has to be him.”
“Weel, ye have grown a fair bit in the last year,” she muttered, still fighting her shock.
“Did Sir Lucas nay tell us once that he has a twin?” asked William as he stepped up to stand close by Katerina’s side and place a comforting hand upon her shoulder.
A wave of sharp disappointment swept through Katerina at her second-in-command’s words, but she just nodded in silent agreement with his recollection. “Aye, Cousin, he did. Artan was his twin’s name and Lucas said they were alike in looks, voice, and sword skill. This must be Lucas’s twin. His family has finally come to find him or to seek revenge.”
“But, m’lady, did ye nay tell us that Ranald and his dogs had cut Sir Lucas’s face?” asked Thomas.
“Aye,” Katerina whispered, unable to halt the searing memories of that day from flooding her mind.
“Weel, this mon has a scar upon his face and he also limps a wee bit, as if his leg is a wee bit stiff.”
“It could still be his twin brother.” That both men would suffer such similar wounds was too great a coincidence to be plausible, but Katerina was afraid to let herself hope that Lucas had survived and had returned to her.
“Ranald and his dogs believe it is Sir Lucas and they mean to be certain that he dies this time.”
“Then, whoe’er this mon may be, ’tis best if we pull him free of this trouble ere those curs kill him. We can sort out this puzzle of who he is later. Thomas, ye best spread the word that we are riding so that all is ready for us.”
Pushing aside the fierce, tangled emotions raging through her, Katerina selected six of her men to ride with her. They all donned their long, black cloaks, wrapped a wide strip of dark blue linen over their mouths and noses to better hide their faces, secured their hoods over their heads, and mounted their waiting horses. This was not what they had planned to do when they had gathered this night, but Ranald and his men could not be allowed to murder another man.
As she led her men on a swift race toward the village, Katerina fought to kill the hope young Thomas’s words had stirred in her heart. She had done her best to kill all hope when Lucas’s body had not even washed up onto the rocky shores of the loch so that she could give him a proper burial. It had taken a long, wretched time to silence all the questions that had kept her from fully accepting his loss, ones such as why his family had never come searching for him. Those unanswered and long ignored questions were all creeping back into her mind now and she struggled to silence them again. All that should matter to her right now was that Ranald and his men were about to kill again and she had sworn on her father’s soul that she would put an end to Ranald’s brutality.
Even more important, she had yet to prove who gave the man his orders. Katerina was certain it was her half-sister Agnes, but she needed indisputable proof of the woman’s crimes and that was proving very hard to come by. She never would have thought her half-sister was so clever, so cunning. Katerina’s only moments of satisfaction, fleeting and shallow though they were, came when she thought of how Agnes had to be feeling as trapped, as cornered and frustrated, as she was. Agnes had not yet found her rogue of a husband, the man their father had so disliked. Until the man was found and Agnes was made a widow, she could not lay claim to Dunlochan either. They were both locked into this battle, which was draining all the joy and prosperity from Dunlochan.
The conditions set by her father’s last wishes had been demeaning. The results had thus far been disastrous. Katerina loathed the thought that five old men chosen by her father had the final say on whether any man she chose to wed was suitable or not. That sorely stung her pride. The fact that she and any who supported her were marked for death before her father was even cold in the ground made her wonder just what her father had been thinking of. Either he had been utterly blind to Agnes’s true nature and thus saw no danger, or his general scorn for women had made it impossible to even consider the possibility that there would be a battle over the lands and money he had left behind. Her father may not have been an affectionate man, but she had always considered him a good laird and a clever man. His instructions concerning the settlement of Dunlochan after he died made her wonder if his illness had badly disordered his wits.
The sound of sword hitting sword abruptly pulled her from her thoughts and she signaled her men to slow their pace. Even in the gray light of day’s end she could see the men in front of the inn—one man encircled by seven. Ranald never did like to fight fairly, she mused as, using hand signals, she silently instructed her men on how they should proceed. Their biggest advantage in the coming confrontation would be their horses. Few men could stand fast before a charging horse. Satisfied that her men understood what she planned, Katerina fixed her gaze upon the man in the middle of the circle and struggled to ignore how much his long black hair reminded her of Lucas’s as she kicked her horse into a gallop.
Lucas cursed as one of the men behind him managed to get close enough to score his lower back with his sword. He saved himself from a more dangerous wound, but only barely. There was some comfort to be found in the fact that he had bloodied his foes, but Lucas could not ignore the fact that he, too, was bloodied. That he was still alive proved how much of his old skill he had recovered, but it was not enough.
Even as he knocked the sword from the man’s hand Lucas suddenly realized that the pounding he had heard was not in his heart or his head. The man he had just disarmed had halted abruptly in rushing to retrieve his weapon, his eyes widening as he stared at something behind Lucas and his face turning parchment white. The men flanking him looked the same. Even as Lucas strove to keep a close watch on the men surrounding him, he looked in the direction they all did and gaped.
Seven horsemen were galloping straight toward them, their horses large and holding steady. One male rode slightly in the lead, the others in a neat line right behind him. Lucas watched that straight line slowly curve around and realized they moved to encircle his attackers and cut off their escape. The only hesitation in that awe-inspiring maneuver was when one of the horsemen smoothly leaned down and caught up the pack Lucas had dropped. The leader never wavered, but continued on in a straight line, one that led straight for him.
For a moment it was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. Lucas saw his enemies react to this attack as if they moved through thick mud. He saw everything clearly, from the fact that the rider headed for him was a lot smaller than the rest to the eerie sight of their black cloaks flowing out behind them and the dark blue cloth that covered most of their faces. It was all a beautifully graceful yet utterly terrifying sight. Then his enemies started to try to flee and Lucas’s ears were assaulted by the sound of swords clashing.
Lucas was also looking for a route of escape when he realized the lead horseman had slowed. The huge black gelding the man rode reared to a halt at his side and the rider held out a surprisingly small gauntleted hand. It appeared he was about to be rescued, Lucas thought.
“Get on ere one of these cowards realizes I am a verra easy target here,” snapped the rider.
Despite the way the rider’s voice was muffled by the cloth wrapped around his face, Lucas felt a twinge of recognition. He tried to see the rider’s eyes but the hood of the black cloak shadowed all of the face not masked by that blue cloth. Grabbing the rider’s extended forearm, Lucas used the hold to help swing himself up into the saddle behind the man. A soft grunt escaped the man and the struggle he had to stay in the saddle was obvious, but Lucas was impressed by the strength of what he now assumed was little more than a boy.
“My horse…” Lucas began.
“Will