Page 24

“ARE YE CERTAIN this valley exists, Mackay?”

Captain Stewart’s deep voice drew Kerr’s attention away from the road ahead, and he glanced at the big man riding next to him. “Aye,” he replied. “It comes from a trusted source.”

Fergus Stewart’s mouth pursed. “Ye are cagey about where ye got this information from … and that makes me nervous.”

Kerr flashed him a hard smile. “There’s no need. I’m not sending ye in there alone.”

Stewart’s brows knitted together under the rim of his domed helmet.

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, yet he couldn’t, for Kerr rode next to him at the head of the column, with Iver and Lennox just a few yards behind.

In addition to the twenty soldiers who followed Stewart, ten of the Dun Ugadale Guard also rode with them.

They’d left a skeleton garrison at the broch, and Brodie now commanded them.

Kyle MacAlister also remained with Brodie.

The bailiff was a good fighter, and with so few men left behind to defend the walls, they’d called on his assistance.

On Iver’s orders, their youngest brother had lowered the portcullis and locked the gates after their departure.

No one would be getting in or out of the broch until they returned.

Glancing over his shoulder, Kerr caught Iver’s eye.

His brother winked at him, letting him know that his secret was safe.

The eve before, Kerr had told all three of his brothers where he’d learned of this hidden valley amongst the Drum Crags.

He never kept things from Iver, and he wasn’t about to start now.

But Captain Stewart was another matter. Rose’s father had been a cattle thief and the likes of Maisie MacDonald were just looking for a reason to condemn her. The priest was also capable of spreading lies about Rose. As such, Kerr was wary of drawing the attention of the king’s men to her.

Warmth suffused Kerr’s chest as thoughts of Rose fluttered up.

The day before seemed as if he’d strayed into a dream. After his rejection at Samhuinn, he’d given up hope at having a chance with Rose.

But, suddenly, he did.

The company crested the top of the last of the Red Deer Hills then, and Kerr focused once more on what lay before him. There, to the northwest, forming a jagged outline against the bright blue sky, were the Drum Crags—a succession of windswept, rocky hills.

“We must ride toward the tallest of The Crags,” Kerr said, looking over at Fergus Stewart once more. “Apparently, we won’t find the valley until we’re virtually climbing the hill itself.”

Captain Stewart nodded, although the expression on his face revealed that he thought Kerr’s informant was making fools of them all.

However, Kerr was quietly confident this valley was the lair of The Black Wolves, where they’d retreated to these past months after each attack.

It made sense.

Like the rest of his kin, Kerr hadn’t spent much time in this area. The Drum Crags were desolate hills, covered in dry, spindly grass. The land was poor, barely good enough for grazing sheep.

They rode into The Crags, and the men fell silent, their gazes sweeping their surroundings for any sign of an ambush.

Kerr also kept vigilant. These outlaws were all seasoned warriors and cunning too. He wouldn’t be taken by surprise again.

The largest of the hills loomed above them now, and as he urged his horse toward it, Kerr’s brow furrowed. For the first time since speaking to Rose, doubt crept in.

They were drawing close to their destination, and so far, there was no sign of the opening into the valley Rose had spoken of. Instead, it looked as if the hill thrust up steeply before them.

It seemed impossible that there was a valley tucked away here.

Panic fluttered up, as well as embarrassment. He couldn’t think clearly when he was around Rose. What if she was wrong about the location of this valley? Maybe he should have questioned her more closely. Even worse, perhaps she had misheard her father.

However, he didn’t share his worries with the man riding beside him. Instead, Kerr rode on, continuing to survey their surroundings.

Come on. Tension rippled through his stomach. Reveal yerself.

They were just a handful of yards from heading up the steep hillside when Kerr’s gaze alighted upon a scattering of rocks, as big as bothies, to the left.

He angled his horse toward them, squeezing through a narrow gap between two of the rocks.

Kerr didn’t glance behind him, although he knew the others would be following. They would have to travel in single file, which was risky if they were attacked.

The path ahead took him down a gorge so narrow that he could reach out and touch both sides as he passed through. The sides of the gorge reared up around him, and the sky narrowed to a strip of blue high above.

Kerr’s pulse quickened, relief flooding through him. What a discovery this was—and yet Graham MacAlister and his forebears had managed to keep it secret. The cunning bastard . The outlaws had likely stumbled upon it by accident after desperation drove them up into The Crags.

He’d traveled no more than two furlongs through the gorge when it suddenly opened up, and there before him, studded with the same massive boulders that hid the entrance, stretched a wide valley.

A cluster of hide tents crouched at the heart of it, smoke rising from cookfires. Horses grazed farther away. Kerr’s gaze narrowed. Even from a distance, he spotted Prionnsa. The bay gelding nipped at short grass, oblivious to their arrival.

Drawing his new dirk, Kerr pulled his mount to one side, waiting until his companions spilled out of the gorge behind him.

“God’s teeth,” Captain Stewart murmured, pulling up next to Kerr. “I shouldn’t have doubted ye, Mackay.”

Kerr’s pulse quickened. No, and he shouldn’t have doubted Rose either. The woman knew what she was talking about.

Flashing Stewart a hard smile, he gathered the reins. “Ready?”

Stewart grinned back. “Aye.”

“Let’s get the dogs then!”

They urged their horses forward, thundering down the incline onto the flat valley floor.

Moments later, the outlaws heard them coming. The men had been gathered around a fire, enjoying their noon meal. However, they now scattered, leaping for their weapons.

Kerr counted ten of them. More warriors had joined the ranks of The Black Wolves since they’d attacked him and his men, yet it mattered not, for they were outnumbered now, three to one.

But outnumbered or not, the Wolves still prepared to fight the men descending upon them, claidheamh-mòrs swinging, their shouts of rage echoing through The Lost Valley.

Kerr reined in his horse and leaped down, yanking his broadsword from the saddle. He then cut down the first warrior to come at him, a tall man with long black hair and wild peat-brown eyes.

The man fell with an agonized grunt before Kerr finished him off by driving the point of his blade into his throat. Stepping over the twitching body, Kerr went looking for his next outlaw.

However, having seen one of their number slain, while another lay groaning on the ground by Fergus Stewart’s feet, the other Wolves had thrown down their weapons.

Kerr watched, bloodlust thrumming through him, as one by one, they sank to their knees in surrender.

Fury sparked in the pit of his stomach.

This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d ridden into this valley looking for a fight—looking for retribution for the men he’d lost.

He didn’t want them to throw down their weapons.

Heart hammering, Kerr stared them down. They were a ragged yet mean-looking band.

Big, rough men who despite the fact they were beaten still managed to look threatening.

He longed for one of them to lose his temper, to snatch his weapon from the ground and begin fighting once more—that way they could finish this as it had started.

“Get up and fight, ye fazarts!” he roared.

Some of the outlaws muttered under their breaths at being called cowards, yet none of them rose to the challenge.

Jaw clenched, Kerr glanced around, noting that his warriors and the king’s soldiers had formed a circle around the camp, hemming the outlaws in.

There was no way out for The Black Wolves.

“Come on!” Kerr shouted once more, taking a threatening step forward. “Are any of ye man enough to fight me?”

“Leave it now, brother.” Kerr cut his gaze right, to where Iver had moved close, his claidheamh-mòr blade glittering in the noon sun. “It’s over.”

“No,” Kerr rasped. “It can’t be.”

Cold sweat bathed his limbs, and his pulse pounded in his ears. He couldn’t believe it. Maybe this was what Rose had warned him about—this rage that devoured and destroyed. He’d never seen himself as a vengeful man, yet reckoning was all he cared about now. He craved it like air.

Iver shook his head. Casting a gaze over the outlaws, his brother then nodded to Captain Stewart. His face was hard, and his dark-blue eyes smoldered with the same anger that still fought for release inside Kerr. “Bind their wrists,” he ordered.

They marched The Black Wolves back to Dun Ugadale with the warm spring sun upon their backs. The men at the rear of the company led the stolen horses behind them.

It was a silent journey. The Douglases had little to say for themselves.

Without even asking Iver, Kerr knew that his brother would behead them himself. He’d then stick their heads upon pikes outside the walls of the broch, a grisly reminder of what happened to those who killed his own.

Captain Stewart was oddly silent on the way back to the broch. He rode ahead of Kerr, Lennox, and Iver, as if deliberately keeping himself apart from them.

Kerr wondered if he too was disappointed that the skirmish had ended so quickly. His task on the Kintyre peninsula was now complete. He could return to Edinburgh and tell the king that The Black Wolves had been dealt with.

However, as they approached the crossroads between the road north and the one that would take them the last few furlongs back to Dun Ugadale, Fergus Stewart pulled up his horse. He then reined it around so that he faced the Mackay chieftain.

“We shall part ways here, Mackay,” he rumbled, meeting Iver’s eye. “And my men and I shall be taking the prisoners with us.”

Kerr’s heart thumped hard against his ribs. “What?”

Stewart ignored him, his attention never leaving Iver.

“King James gave me instructions that if the Douglases were taken alive, we were to bring them back to Edinburgh with us.” He paused then, noting the anger that flickered across the laird’s face.

“Fear not, Mackay. These turds will receive the punishment they all deserve … but the king wants to watch their execution.”

“Then invite him here,” Kerr replied, his voice low and hard. “We can wait. We all want to witness their execution.”

The captain shook his head. “Orders are orders, Mackay.”

“These men killed people on my lands,” Iver countered. “Isn’t it up to me to deal out justice?”

“Aye … unless the king states otherwise. And in this case, he does.”

Fury twisted like a blade under Kerr’s ribcage. “Why didn’t ye mention this earlier?” he ground out.

Stewart did glance his way then, his mouth lifting at the corners, even as his gaze remained flinty. “It never came up,” he replied lightly.

“Ye never spoke of it, for ye knew we wouldn’t agree.”

The captain snorted. Yet the truth of it was written over his face. “I don’t know what ye are so upset about,” he said, his mouth twisting. “The Black Wolves are no longer at large. Ye can sleep easy at night now.”

“Aye, but it’s about more than that.” Kerr was aware his voice was rising, yet he didn’t care. Any moment now, he was going to draw his dirk and go for smug Stewart. “They’ve spent months terrorizing, raping, and butchering … the folk of these lands need to see justice done.”

“Then tell them to follow us to Edinburgh,” Stewart answered.

The man’s flippant reply nearly undid Kerr.

He even reached for his dirk. It was only Iver’s hand fastening around his forearm, squeezing tightly, that stopped him from drawing it.

Glancing at his brother, surprised that he hadn’t even noticed Iver maneuver his stallion close along his right flank, Kerr spied the warning in his eyes.

Lennox had also urged his horse nearer, alongside his left flank.

Lennox’s face was taut, his gaze narrowed, yet his hot-headed brother was doing a much better job than Kerr of curbing his anger.

“Steady, Kerr,” Iver murmured. “Let’s keep our blades sheathed.”

“Aye, enough of this,” Fergus Stewart said, his voice cooling now as he swept his gaze over the three brothers. “May I remind ye that to oppose the king is treason.”