Highland Escape - Cathy MacRae Page 0,3
of his lifeless body snapping the slender shaft as he hit the ground.
The men’s attention turned from their hapless captives, seeking their attacker. Anna’s third arrow hit the largest brute squarely in the chest, dropping him to his knees. With a shout, the three remaining men charged. Her fourth arrow also found a home, sending another to his death. The last two men were nearly upon her.
Discarding her bow, Anna drew two curved short swords from the sheath on her back. An emotionless detachment descended on her, numbing her to fear. The first man to reach her swung a broadsword she easily avoided by stepping sideways. Striking his sword arm with the first blade, her second blade slid across his throat with little effort.
Only one savage remained. He slowed, glancing at his five fallen companions. He stared at her, his evil smile promising pain and death.
Anna’s eyes narrowed. Arrogant swine!
His sword strike arced in a slow and predictable manner. Anna deflected the strike with one sword, then spun, stepping past her opponent.
Her other blade bit deeply into the back of his leg, sending him to his knees. Continuing to twirl with the momentum of her previous attack, she struck with each sword again, and he pitched forward into the bloodstained grass.
Scanning the area for more enemies, she spotted two groups of men on horseback racing toward them across the field. She turned to the two women. “Hide in the woods, now!”
Eyes wide with shock, they obeyed without question. Pleased they trusted her, Anna retreated until the forest stood directly behind her, trees and undergrowth forming a protective wall against an organized attack from the mounted men. Head raised, she faced the oncoming threat.
Spying their kinsmen on the ground, the rogues in the first group wheeled their horses to meet the riders behind them. They were cut down without mercy, the sound of steel on steel ringing in the air. Two warriors in the second group waded among the downed riders, dispatching them with brutal effectiveness. Seeing the fierceness of the men now thundering toward her, Anna wished for her bow to even the odds. Fear prickled along her spine, but she refused to pay heed. Her escape into Scotland appeared to be at an end.
A few yards from her, the lead rider held up his arm, calling the group to a halt.
“Da!” The young woman with the torn dress ran to meet the men, the other girl following her.
The leader dismounted, embracing the first girl fiercely. Men gathered around, now too close for Anna’s comfort. Alone and exposed, her swords held at guard, she faced two men pointing crossbows at her, ready to fire at their leader’s word.
“Hold,” the leader commanded. He pulled his daughter behind him and looked to Anna. “Who are ye, lass?”
One bowman stepped closer, his weapon ready. Anna shifted her stance, putting both the leader and bowman in her vision.
“A traveler, my laird,” she replied in Gaelic, her instincts screaming for her to run.
He frowned. “What is yer name?”
“Anna,” she replied in a flat, emotionless voice. The grip on her swords belied her calm demeanor.
“English?” His voice lowered to a growl.
“No, my laird, Scots.” She took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure.
Eyeing her, he rocked back on his heels. “What clan?”
“I am sorry if I trespass, my laird. I will leave at once.” Anna swept her gaze over the group, searching for any threatening movement.
She slowly backed toward her horse. Without warning, the man still aiming at her fired his crossbow. Anna stepped slightly aside, deflecting the missile with her swords. Dropping one sword, she drew a knife from her leather bracer. Flat with no hilt, its design made for flight, it fit her palm perfectly. She spun, launching the knife at the man. The blade penetrated his shoulder deeply, sending his crossbow crashing to the ground.
“I said hold!” the leader roared, making eye contact with each of the men behind him.
Anna regained her sword, continuing to back toward Orion.
“The next man to defy the laird dies by my sword!” a deep baritone growled as it echoed across the glen, causing all to cease moving, including Anna.
A younger version of the leader drew his steed a few feet closer. “This is Kenneth MacGregor, laird of clan MacGregor.”
Bowing slightly, Anna replied in disbelief, “Am I to be your prisoner, Laird MacGregor?”
The younger man, clearly the son of the laird, dismounted. The two men exchanged a brief conversation, quietly enough she couldn’t hear a