Page 32 of Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe #3)

Once she made the top, she crossed a burn that rushed into the ravine not far below where she had fallen, then ran hard to put more distance between her and her pursuers.

As she ran, she searched for the perfect place to turn up the benside, a place where her tracks would simply disappear.

She found such a place in a recent tumble of rocks that reminded her of the curtain wall at Dunlairig Castle after it had fallen, a pile of rubble and nothing more.

She hopped quickly from stone to stone, taking time only to check with care that she had left no print, no broken leaf, no overturned pebbles to mark her passing, until she reached the far side of it, where she purposely left the faintest mark for them to find, a single partial footprint where she let her heel touch down as she stood on a small stone.

With even greater care, she managed to return to the rubble field without leaving any sign that she had doubled back, and crossed the stones once more, heading up the ben this time.

As she reached the edge of the stone-strewn area, she found enough rocks to make her way up the ben a short distance without leaving any sign of her passing.

From there she stretched to get up on a fallen tree and picked her way further up the ben on it.

When she reached the end of it she climbed off and crouched down in the lee of its roots that had been pulled out of the ground when it fell, and listened for the men who followed her.

After long moments she heard nothing but the usual sounds of the forest, birds twittering overhead, rustlings in the undergrowth, but none of the sounds of people, especially of men who had tried to keep up with her as she ran.

So where were they, and how could she find out without putting herself in jeopardy?

“I am a warrior,” she whispered, reminding herself of all the things she had learned and needed right now. “I am skilled at tracking and at hiding my trail. I am a creative strategist. I have a gift of ...”

Of course. Her gift! ’Twas her greatest weapon though not reliable when she needed it—it certainly hadn’t told her Duncan had followed her to the pass, and it had not warned her of the English soldiers, either, but she had been so wrapped up in her anger, in Duncan’s betrayal, that she might not have noticed if she had known either.

She took a long, slow, calming breath, quieting her mind and her body.

She prayed that she could call upon her gift now, when she needed it so badly, but as she listened for the soldiers both with her ears and with her mind, nothing came to her.

Nothing. Had her gift truly deserted her as much as Duncan had?

As she thought of him she knew that he waited for her below the pass inside the Glen of Caves.

If he had followed her she would not be alone now.

Anger threatened her focus, so she took another slow breath and turned her thoughts to the soldiers and to her gift, remembering only then that her gift was drawn to things and people she had an emotional connection to—like Duncan.

But the only emotional connection she had to the English swordsman and the Welsh archer was that she wanted to escape them. It would have to be enough.

She closed her eyes and brought to her mind exactly what the two scouts looked like, but then focused on the archer and his skill with the bow, even in the thick forest, and she realized ’twas likely he was the one who had killed Brodie as he sat high in a tree.

’Twas likely he was the one she had vowed to kill, and with that thought and the burst of determination that came with it, she knew .

S COTIA MADE GOOD time getting back to the main pass into the Glen of Caves while still being careful to make herself hard to follow.

As she drew close, she gave the tawny owl call and slid behind a tree where she would not be seen from outside the glen, even though she knew the two soldiers were backtracking her original careless trail as she had feared, and would quickly end up at her private, unguarded pass.

She shifted from foot to foot, trying to keep her impatience at bay so that her gift would not be hampered by it, waiting for whoever was guarding the pass to approach her.

“Why are you here, lassie?” Denis asked as he stepped onto the path that led into the glen. He looked about, as if only then taking note of the direction from which she had come. “How did you come to be outside the glen on your own?”

“I left by another pass, over the bens that way.” She pointed south. “Two English soldiers are on their way there now. We must send guards to stop them. They will find the pass, but they must not be allowed to live to tell of it.”

Denis moved closer to her in his odd side-to-side steps that spoke loudly that his knees were ailing him.

She tended to forget that ’twas not just the women and weans who were kept here.

Living in the wood could not be any easier on him and his old bones than was living in the caves for Peigi.

Both needed to get back to the comforts of a real shelter, a real home.

“And how do you come by this information?” he asked. “Have you snuck out of the glen without your keeper and brought more trouble to us, Scotia? We’ve no time for more trouble than we already have.” He stopped in front of her, a scowl that looked to be part pain, part irritation, pinching his face.

She started to deny what he clearly understood, then stopped. Denial would serve no one, not even herself, as she knew the soldiers would find their way to the other pass very soon.

“Aye, that is exactly what I have done, though ’twas not what I meant to do. You must send men to guard the tiny steep pass where the twin peaks of the next ben meet. If they do not go now, ’twill be too late.”

Denis stared at her.

“Denis, if you do not believe me, ’twill mean the death of all you seek to keep safe.”

“Why should I believe you, Scotia? What scheme are you about? ”

“None, I swear it. What is the worst that will happen if you send men and I am wrong? They will have trekked there for naught but the discovery of a pass unguarded? But if I am right, then you will serve the clan as you always have, watching the gates and keeping them secure. I ken you have at least five men guarding this pass—I got past two of them without being seen, and with your knees—”

He winced, but she thought it was more irritation that she had noticed his pain than pain itself.

“—with your knees you must have at least two men who can fight for you if the need arises.”

“Duncan has taught you too well.”

“Aye, he has, and not well enough, or we would not be having this problem right now.”

Denis stared at her, then shook his head. “Conall! Angus!” he shouted, then he whistled, three sharp notes. Conall and Angus arrived from either side of the pass, while she heard a third warrior coming up behind her. She refused to turn around, though, even when he said, “You did not pass unseen.”

She looked over at him and found he was one of Malcolm’s kin who had come here to help them fight the English, though she could not remember the young warrior’s name.

“Tell them what you want them to do, lassie,” Denis said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning a little away from her.

Scotia looked at each one, only then realizing that she did not know if she was sending them to defend the clan or to die, perhaps both.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she found it suddenly hard to breathe.

But as she was getting so good at, she pushed that thought, that possibility, to the side and quickly told them how to find the pass and everything she could remember about the two soldiers, then Denis sent Conall and Angus on the way.

As soon as they took their leave Denis turned to the MacKenzie man.

“Hector, take her to the chief,” Denis said, “and make sure he kens exactly what has happened here.” He gave Scotia that pinched scowl again. “And why.”