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7: MAKE YER CHOICE

CURSING, LENNOX HASTILY angled his courser in front of Davina’s palfrey and pulled both horses up.

As a precaution, he then drew his dirk.

“Who are they?” Davina asked, her voice tight with alarm.

“I don’t know,” Lennox replied, his gaze never leaving the fight.

“None of the men are wearing clan plaid.”

A curse echoed down the road, as the man they’d bailed up against a tree at the roadside—a big warrior with wild dark hair—sliced one of his assailants across the forearm with his dagger.

“I’ll stick ye like a pig for that!” the injured man shouted.

“God’s teeth,” Davina whispered.

Lennox had hoped to block her view of the fighting, yet she’d managed to peer around him.

“They’re going to kill him.”

“Aye, that is likely,” Lennox agreed.

Her eyes snapped wide.

She then glanced back at where the rest of their party had drawn up their horses.

“We should keep out of this, Lady Davina.” Archie spoke up, a warning in his voice.

“This isn’t our quarrel.”

Lennox was inclined to agree with him.

Nonetheless, things were looking grim for the dark-haired man.

The bloodthirsty expressions on the three warriors who closed on him left Lennox in no doubt about what was about to happen.

Davina urged her palfrey closer to Lennox and reached out, her fingers closing around his forearm.

“Can’t ye stop them?” she gasped.

Something inside him jolted.

Her hand was a brand on his skin.

“Mackay,” Hamish barked.

“We should leave them to it.”

“We should,” Lennox agreed, his gaze never leaving Davina’s.

It was good advice too.

Every Highlander knew that no good ever came from getting involved in other people’s fights.

Davina stared back at him, even as she removed her grasp on his arm.

She didn’t ask again, yet she didn’t need to.

The plea in those expressive grey-blue eyes said it all.

Moments passed, and then Lennox breathed a curse.

God’s blood, he couldn’t believe he was doing this.

He’d clearly left his wits behind him at Kilchurn.

An instant later, he angled his courser forward before calling out.

“Halt!” The four men froze, their gazes snapping right to him.

“That’s enough, lads,” Lennox greeted them.

“Lower yer blades.”

The warrior with the bleeding arm scowled at him.

“And who are ye to issue orders?”

Meanwhile, the man the others had been attacking, whose back was now pressed up against the tree, remained silent.

He was breathing hard, blood trickling down his cheek from a scratch beneath his eye.

“Just a traveler who wishes to prevent a lady from witnessing bloodshed,” Lennox replied, his tone deliberately light, even as his grip tightened upon his dirk.

The men’s gazes slid to where Davina sat astride her palfrey behind him, and then one of them sneered.

Next to him, another warrior made a lewd gesture with his hips.

This caused his companions to snort with laughter.

The injured warrior then spat on the ground.

“Go on yer way, fazart , and let us conclude our business.”

Lennox heaved a sigh.

Now they’d called him a coward, he couldn’t let things lie, could he?

He slid his dirk back into its scabbard and instead reached for the longbow he carried strapped to the back of his saddle.

He then withdrew an arrow from the quiver upon his back, and notched it.

“I believe ye didn’t hear me the first time,” he said, his tone still light.

“But perhaps an arrow through the throat might make ye pay attention.”

“Aye,” a gruff voice accompanied Lennox’s, and he realized that Hamish had ridden up alongside him.

A quick glance in the warrior’s direction confirmed that he too had readied his bow.

The warrior’s brow was furrowed as he stared down the three men standing just a handful of yards away.

“I’m sure it would.”

The injured man’s expression sobered.

He then glared at Lennox.

“Stand back,” he growled.

“Ye are messing with things beyond yer ken.”

“I think not,” Lennox replied, drawing the bowstring just a little tighter.

The arrow vibrated against his hand, screaming to be loosed.

“This man is a criminal,” the man who’d made the lewd gesture added.

His manner wasn’t insolent now though.

He looked worried. “Wanted by the king .”

“That’s a lie,” the big man against the tree rasped.

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Lennox frowned.

He was inclined to believe him rather than the others.

They were a rough lot and didn’t look like the king’s emissaries.

“Off ye all go,” he murmured.

“For my wrist tires … I wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot one of ye, would I?”

“Aye … and go quietly,” Hamish said, his tone threatening now.

“Enough talk.”

They went, although not without glowers and clenched jaws.

One by one, each of the three warriors, still gripping their unsheathed dirks, moved back across the road and melted into the press of alders at the roadside.

Lennox watched them go, keeping the spot where they disappeared in his sights with his bow and arrow.

“Keith, Elliot, and Archie,” he called out then.

“Make sure our new friends are really on the run.”

Wordlessly, the three warriors swung down from their horses, drew their dirks, and crashed through the undergrowth after the trio.

That left Lennox, Hamish, Fergus—and Davina—alone with the man they’d rescued.

Casting Davina a warning look, for he didn’t want her getting close to the stranger, Lennox lowered his bow and arrow and urged his courser forward, approaching the man.

And as he drew closer, recognition tickled at him.

Lennox frowned. “Have we met before?”

The wild-haired individual stared back at him, his own brow furrowing.

“I don’t know,” he admitted hoarsely.

“Although ye do look familiar.”

“My name’s Lennox Mackay, Captain of the Kilchurn Guard … and yers?”

The warrior nodded, his expression cautious.

“And I am Brogan Douglas, cousin to the Earl of Douglas.”

Lennox stilled—and then he remembered where he’d seen this man before.

Six months earlier in the stable yard at Stirling Castle.

There had been a group of angry Douglas warriors gathered there, surrounded by pike-wielding guards—and this man had been their leader.

Brogan Douglas had swung down from the saddle, unpinned a scroll from his horse’s tail, and thrust it into the hands of Stirling’s seneschal.

Letters of safe conduct.

Their clan-chief, murdered at the king’s hands, had received such a letter—but it hadn’t ensured William Douglas’s safety.

The clan had broken with the crown that day, and relations between the Douglases and the Stewarts had deteriorated ever since.

William’s younger brother, James, now led the clan.

He’d openly denounced the king and taken up arms against him, thus making him an enemy.

Lennox’s belly swooped.

Satan’s cods, those men hadn’t lied after all.

This was king’s business, and Lennox had interfered.

He started to sweat then.

Thank the saints the warriors his own men were now chasing through the forest didn’t know who he and his companions were.

The last thing any of them needed was to bring the king’s wrath down on their heads.

Everyone knew that James was set on destroying the Douglases.

“Those men were Stewarts, weren’t they?” Lennox asked after a tense silence.

Behind him, he heard Davina’s stifled gasp.

Aye, she was right to be shocked.

He should have left well alone, yet like a reckless idiot, he’d waded into the fight just to please her.

But it was done now.

Brogan’s gaze was wary as he nodded.

“They discovered I was traveling this way and intercepted me,” he said roughly.

His mouth twisted then.

“The king shall not rest until every last Douglas is dead.”

Lennox inwardly cursed.

“Aye, well, it’s just as well we came upon ye when we did,” Davina spoke up cautiously then.

When Lennox glanced over his shoulder, he saw that her gaze was veiled.

“Or they would have had ye.”

“And I am forever in yer debt, my lady.” Brogan Douglas sheathed his dirk and lowered himself onto one knee, bowing his head.

“May I know the name of my avenging angel?”

Lennox scowled.

Douglas looked a rough-mannered sort, yet he knew courtly language, it seemed.

And he knew how to ingratiate himself too.

Davina merely favored the man with a tight smile.

“I am Lady Davina Campbell,” she replied.

“Although yer thanks should go to Captain Mackay, not me.”

Douglas glanced up, his dark gaze glinting.

“The Lord of Glenorchy’s daughter?”

“Aye, what of it?” Lennox replied before Davina could, his tone sharpening.

“They’re running for the hills, Captain.” Lennox turned to see his men had returned.

Unlike earlier, Archie was grinning.

“Cursing us all the while, they were.”

“Good.” Lennox’s gaze swept his men’s faces.

“Mount up, we’d best be on our way.”

In truth, he was itching to ride on.

The faster they got away from here the better.

Best they left this incident, and Brogan Douglas, far behind them.

But luck wasn’t on his side today, it seemed, for Douglas rose to his feet, brushing dust off his braies, and addressed Davina once more.

“Are ye heading to Oban?”

Silence followed this question.

Lennox ground his teeth and was about to tell Douglas their destination was none of his business when Davina gave a slight, reluctant nod.

Douglas flashed her a toothy smile.

“Well, that’s a happy coincidence, my lady,” he rumbled, “for so am I.” His expression tightened then, his gaze shadowing.

“I was planning to find a ship to one of the isles so that I might disappear for a while. As ye can see, I’m a hunted man here on the mainland.”

“Why don’t ye return to yer kin?” Lennox asked.

Douglas glanced his way, his heavy brow furrowing.

“James has been forced to abandon Drumlanrig Castle … he and his men are all in hiding at present. We were separated three months ago, and I’ve been searching for them ever since.”

A heavy silence followed as Lennox’s men swung up onto the back of their horses, before Douglas eventually shattered it.

His gaze had returned to Davina.

“I don’t suppose one of yer escort would let me ride with him, my lady?” he asked.

“I’m weary enough to drop.”

Davina’s mouth compressed, her slender shoulders tensing.

She then glanced over at Lennox, meeting his eye.

A long look passed between them.

Once again, although she didn’t speak a word, he read her silent request. The woman was entirely too soft-hearted, although it seemed so was he.

Lennox’s gut clenched.

God’s teeth, Douglas was a wily bastard; he knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

“Very well,” Lennox ground out after a tense pause.

He then gestured to where one of his men sat upon a heavyset gelding.

“Keith will take ye.”

Keith, a solid young man with straw-colored hair, frowned at this.

Brogan Douglas bowed his head in thanks to Lennox before meeting Davina’s eye once more.

“Yer kindness humbles me, my lady.”

Lennox’s patience snapped.

“Enough blether,” he growled.

“Get yer arse up on that horse and let us be off … we’ve been delayed here long enough.”