Page 27 of Bride takes a Scot

Declan leaned his head against hers and whispered, “Right now, all I want to do is pleasure ye.”

“That’s all I want too.”

Chapter Nine

Fog rolled overthe far-stretched hills in front of Declan. The morning air warmed but the ground remained damp from overnight rain which swathed the land in obscurity. There was something oddly pleasing about riding in the open areas of grassland amongst the thick fog. Declan always appreciated the serenity of it. It was as if he’d died and roamed the land almost unliving. Riding through the mist lightened him because he eased and didn’t give thought to the hefty problems he faced. Soon the sun would rise and chase away the allure.

When he’d left Isabella that morn, he was apprehensive. After the disastrous supper the night before with his family, he didn’t wish to leave her. But he had a foe and murderer to find and gain the vengeance he sought.

The score of men he’d brought with him rode ahead. Anse, Trevor, and Lorcan led the procession toward Campbell land. Declan had left Slone home to look after the clan and Isabella. He intended to meet Robbie Campbell head-on to find out if it was he who had made the accusations that put him in the king’s dungeon.

Leona’s brother wasn’t pleased when Declan married his sister. Robbie had spoken harshly about his objections to their alliance. Yet he didn’t think Robbie would go to such lengths to have him tried for his father’s murder or accuse him of such foulness.

“Laird, I hear the Campbell’s sentry ahead,” Lorcan said as he dropped back to ride next to him.

“Lead on and let us cut them off at the pass.” Declan pressed his horse’s sides and passed the soldiers who rode ahead of him. He rode hard, wanting to meet with the Campbell soldiers. As he reached the pass, a trail that meandered betwixt their lands, he stopped. Before him sat at least thirty Campbell soldiers but he didn’t spot Robbie amongst them.

“Where is Robbie, your laird?”

One of the soldiers rode forth with his sword drawn. “You’re coming close to trespassing on our land, MacKendrick. Tell me why we shouldn’t kill ye now?”

“I want a meeting with Robbie.”

The soldier laughed. “Do ye now? Well, what if he does not want to meet with ye? Go on home afore we send ye back bloodied.”

Declan wasn’t about to stand down. He pulled his sword free and gripped it tightly. Though he wanted badly to use it to wipe the smug look off his foe’s face, he held back. “Tell your laird that I will be here awaiting him in these woods. I wish to meet with him and only want to talk. He has a sennight to come. If he does not come, I will deem him a coward and shall send the word of his fear throughout the land.” There, he’d meant to insult the Campbell laird to entice him to meet with him. Surely his soldier would relate their conversation word for word.

“I’ll give him your message, MacKendrick. Och, I do not think it’ll do any good.” The lead soldier rode off and the other Campbell men followed.

Declan motioned to his comrades to retreat. They turned and rode until they reached a copse of trees where they could take cover and make camp. The rest of the day, Declan surveyed their location and the best route to take should Robbie Campbell actually show himself.

The wait grewtiresome as the days and nights passed, and Declan began to doubt that Robbie would meet them. He took the same path on his walk each day in hopes that his former brother-in-law would take his message to heart. But Robbie still hadn’t come and there hadn’t been any sighting of the Campbell sentry since their encounter days before. It was somewhat disappointing, but Declan wouldn’t give up hope.

Robbie had one last day to show himself and it began with pouring rain and a wee bit of a hefty breeze. Before long, a storm engulfed them and soaked them through. The sound of the rain hitting the newly sprung leaves and ground was deafening at times and everyone was cold and miserable, though at least the winged insects were kept at bay. Midges were such a nuisance this time of year but fortunately the area where they chose to camp was devoid of the nasty pests. He held his hand out and let it fill with the drops.

“Psst, Laird, someone comes,” Trevor said.

Declan hastily returned to his horse and made quick work to ready it. He mounted it and rode in the direction of where the soldiers were said to be. His men rode closely behind him, and they nudged their horses to move faster. At the crossing, they spotted the regimen of Campbell soldiers who were likely out on sentry duty. A shout came from someone amongst their men. Declan took it as a call to arms and so he too called to his men. They raised their swords and rode toward their adversaries with all the fervor of warriors unwilling to back down.

Sword clashes rang in the air. A few fell from their horses into deep puddles made by the heavy rains and trouncing of horse hooves. Declan searched for Robbie among the men, but he didn’t see him. He growled fiercely because he’d only wanted to talk to him. Now, however, he was angry, and if it was the last thing he’d ever do, he’d force the Campbells to accept their fate of defeat—their complete desecration.

More clashes sounded and before Declan could put his sword in any of his foes, they called a retreat and absconded. The Campbells disappeared into the mist and rain. Silence abounded except for the heavy breath of his soldiers and the snorting of horses.

He turned and peered at his men, taking note of who was wounded, who was felled, and who bore the attack. Declan sheathed his sword and was about to dismount to give aid to those who needed it. His feet hit the ground and were soddened when he landed in a deep puddle. He was about to leave the field when four men returned and rode at them.

The attackers came swiftly at him, taking aim. They intended to cut him down. Declan was struck on the thigh with the flat side of a man’s broadsword. His leg buckled and he fell to the ground. He groaned and gripped his leg, knowing the wound was severe. When his men saw him lying there, they ran forth. The rest of the men chased after the attackers and forced them back into the mist. Shouts came and more sword strikes and then silence. With a hiss at the pain radiating from his wound, he tried to rise from where he lay.

“Declan, stay still,” Anse instructed. “Do not move.”

“Someone get the healer,” Trevor shouted.

But they hadn’t brought the healer with them and hadn’t anticipated a clash. Declan removed his upper tartan and grimaced as he wrapped his leg to lessen the blood flow from a thin laceration where the blade penetrated his flesh. Anse helped him onto his horse. They rode back to camp and a large fire was erected between the trees, where the leaves protected the ground, and it wasn’t so damp.

Declan lay next to the fire and groaned. “Damnation, I cannot believe I was struck. I was foolish and left myself unprotected. How could I be so inattentive? Was it the Campbells?”

“I am unsure if it was them. You did not have time to defend yourself, Laird,” Anse said. “Let us see what happened to ye.” He unwrapped Declan’s leg and motioned to Trevor, who handed him a cup of water. He poured the water over his leg and Declan drew in a hiss of breath. “Looks horrible, but not grave. ’Tis not deep enough, och it might need a stitch. Your tartan kept the blade from slicing ye too deeply. It will smart though and pain ye for a time. Do ye want a dram of my brew? It’ll help ease the pain.”

Declan swallowed hard at the intense throb in his leg and nodded. He took the flask from his cousin and gulped more than a dram. He eased instantly and lay back. The pain ebbed slightly and wasn’t so excruciating.