Page 45 of Bride Takes a Charmer (Highland Vows & Vengeance #3)

W hen Cadge’s ox went missing, all were roused and asked to join in the search. Shaw was hard-pressed to reject the offer to aid the farmer. Although he wanted to be on his way, there was no hope for it. He assembled his men and gave the order to spread out to locate the wayward animal.

“How did he get out?” Shaw asked the crofter.

Cadge shrugged. “I do not know, Laird. Last eve, I made sure his pen was closed and put the pin in the latch as I do nightly.” The wooden pin was nowhere to be seen now as they viewed the pen and the surrounding ground.

“Why would someone purposely release your ox?” Shaw was baffled by the happenstance.

A steer was a sacred and valued property.

Men were killed for stealing animals in the Highlands.

Surely someone wouldn’t risk their life for one ox.

“Have ye had any problems with thieves or anyone bent on trouble recently?”

“Nay, Laird, nothing of the sort. Hooligan is my only ox and I take good care of him. I was going to plow the last field this morn and then put him to pasture. He worked hard the past month helping me to harvest the grains.”

Shaw walked alongside his crofter. “Worry not, my men and I will help search for him. If he got out, he might not have gotten far.”

“Aye, aye… The last time he escaped, he got as far as the bluff.” Cadge grabbed a long rope that hung outside the barn and then another from inside. “We will need these to capture him. Hooligan does not like to be trapped.”

They spent a good amount of time searching for the animal.

Awakened near dawn, time whittled by and the sun rose higher.

So much for getting an early start to the next croft he’d wanted to visit, Shaw thought as he directed his men to search the hills and beyond.

Hooligan could be hiding behind one of the higher hillocks.

Finally, they spotted Cadge’s ox. An ornery beast, he stood on the butte of a high crag as if he challenged them.

His soldiers ran at the steer and tried to rope him but Hooligan wasn’t having it.

Surrounded by eight men, the ox charged at them.

Hooligan’s horns were massive and thick, but fortunately for them pointed downward.

If they were positioned upward, he and his men ran the risk of being skewered by the beast.

Three men had tried and failed to secure the steer.

Hooligan thwarted them easily and practically ran the men over.

Overall the animal appeared unamused by their efforts as Shaw’s men lay in the dirt and groaned.

In contrast, Shaw bellowed with laughter at the easy way the ox had thwarted them.

It was as if he were playing a game. Cadge was right when he said his steer didn’t like to be trapped.

“Ye cannot run at him. Hooligan is smarter than most oxen. He knows when he is being pursued. Best ye slide forward on light feet,” Cadge said, trying to give direction as he shook the bucket of grain he’d secured to tempt the beast to come near.

“Go on, Henny, ye are next.” Shaw motioned to his comrade and tilted his head at the ox. “Let us see if ye can catch him. Ye are light on your feet. If ye do, I will bring ye a jug of brew when we return home.”

“Do ye mean the good stuff or what Mistress Edra serves us?”

Shaw chortled. “The good stuff. Now, let us see how ye fare. Go on.”

Henny held the rope and inspected the knot at the end of the line.

If his soldier could get it over the beast’s head, then he might have a fair chance at capturing him.

Now he ambled forward with slow, light steps.

Focused on the food the farmer carried, Hooligan seemed uninterested in Henny, who tossed the rope and missed by a good length.

“Bollocks!” Henny muttered and then ground out a few more expletives.

Hooligan tossed his head, flicked his tail, and pawed the ground.

“Go easy, Henny,” Shaw said. “Ye are our last hope. Try again.” In truth, he hadn’t laughed so hard in ages. His eyes were soaked with tears of mirth as his men had a difficult time trapping one massive, ornery beast.

Henny studied the animal and grunted. “Aye, ye want us to leave ye be? Sorry, ye wee troublesome ox, och your master needs ye. Ye have work to do. Come on now, best ye cooperate.” He approached Hooligan from the side. Henny’s calm voice seemed to soothe Hooligan.

The steer seemed less threatened now since Henny left a clear path for the ox to escape should he feel trapped. His soldier set a hand on the steer’s back and pressed it toward the animal’s neck and head.

“There is naught to fear.” Hastily, Henny set the rope over the ox’s horns and gently pulled it tightly to ensure Hooligan couldn’t gain his freedom.

“Ye see, all is well. Come, we shall get ye back to your pen.” He began walking with Cadge beside him, shaking the bucket enticingly, and Hooligan followed meekly without further trouble.

“I owe ye a jug of brew, Henny. Remind me when we get home,” Shaw said and followed the group of men back to camp near Cadge’s croft.

As soon as they reached the camp, Shaw hoped to get on the trail to the next croft. It wasn’t too far from where they were presently and with luck and some hard travel, they might reach it before nightfall.

On the approach to camp, Henny veered off and led Hooligan to his pen. Shaw traipsed toward his horse and noted all the tents had been packed on the cart. Likewise, the fire had been extinguished and the rest of their belongings were stowed.

From afar, Walen raised his arm and signaled to him, then began to approach. Shaw waited for his friend to reach him. He opened his saddlebag and removed a piece of bread. With the excitement of the morning, he hadn’t eaten and was famished.

“Laird, I am gladdened ye returned. Milady went for a walk with your sister earlier and they have not returned.”

Shaw swallowed the bread and nodded to him. “Aye? Ye sound a wee bit worried.”

“They should have come back by now and have been gone a long time. I was about to set off to find them but heard the men returning. Now that ye are back, I can go and fetch them.”

He waved Walen off. “Nay, I will go. See that the rest of the men make ready to leave. I want to get on the lane as soon as I return. Which way did they head?”

Walen pointed to the left. “They said they were going to wash at the river.”

Shaw bobbed his head and headed toward the west. An outcropping of trees dropped their leaves overhead as he ambled through a worn lane between the heavy trunks, still chewing his chunk of bread.

He kept his eyes trained ahead and focused on where he was headed.

He couldn’t discern any movement ahead of him as he searched for Sorsha.

Before he left the tree line, something stung him on his back.

Shaw turned slightly to find Idris standing behind him.

“What goes here?” Then Idris moved and he saw him pulling a blade away.

A warm gush—of blood?—flowed and made his garment wet, and the sting grew into a swath of pain over his side and back.

He pressed his hand to feel the place from where the pain originated, and grunted.

When he looked at his palm, it was slick and red with his blood. Idris had stabbed him!

His brother-in-law shoved him and Shaw fell to the ground. His head spun from the pain that now reverberated through him. He took quick breaths to try to alleviate it but it did no good. Never had he thought his brother-in-law would attack him.

His training took over his mind and he tried to reach the dagger in the belt loop at his waist. Though the effort brought on more pain and he finally got a hold of it. With the blade held in his hand, he aimed it at Idris.

“Stay still ye bloody bugger,” Idris said, kneeling beside him and raising his blade in his fist over Shaw’s chest. “’Tis the end.”

Shaw flailed his body to try to get away from his brother-in-law, who peered at him with fierce loathing.

Though he held his dagger, it slipped in his bloody palm.

Unable to get a good grip on the weapon, he struck Idris with his left fist then bent his legs and shoved himself up enough to dislodge the man from atop him while twisting his body to the side at the same time.

Idris rolled on the ground face down then pushed himself to his knees.

Again he raised his knife and was about to stab Shaw in the chest when suddenly his eyes widened and he made a startled, choked sound.

Before Shaw could make out what happened, Idris pitched forward and fell face-first to the ground. He didn’t speak but continued to gurgle and gasp as he convulsed. Shaw’s gaze shot from his assailant to the man standing behind him.

Henny gripped his sword, still lodged in Idris’s back, and nodded to him.

“Ye see, Laird, that is why ye should always be aware of who is near. Best to be prepared for an ambush at all times. Ye never know who means to attack ye.” Henny yanked his sword free and wiped the blade clean on a dry place on Idris’s clothing before setting it down.

He then pulled a wad of cloth from the satchel that hung over his shoulder. “Let us get ye bound and back to camp.”

At that moment, Walen sprinted up to join them. “What the hell has happened? Laird, are ye hurt? Why is Idris…?” His comrade’s eyes shifted from him to Idris, and then to Henny.

“Idris tried to kill me. Henny saved me.” Shaw held up his clean, unbloodied hand for Walen to help him up and tried not to groan when his comrade gently pulled him to standing. “I owe ye more than a jug of brew, Henny. My thanks.”

“’Tis my duty, Laird, to protect ye.” Henny yanked Shaw’s tunic above the wound and proceeded to wrap the thin cloth around his torso. “’Tis a deep wound. Ye will need stitches to bind it. Might take a wee bit of time to heal.”