Murdo nodded. 'There's no escape this time, Isabelle, for you or your traitorous companion.'
He drew back the bow string and the arrow flew. Nell cried out. For a brief moment she was quite still, then her body slumped and she fell, the feathered shaft buried deep in her breast. Isabelle screamed, falling to her knees.
'Nell!'
With sick horror she saw the staring glassy eyes and knew that her companion was beyond help. She looked up at Murdo.
'Murderer! Coward!'
Grief mingled with fear and she rose slowly to her feet. Murdo took another shaft from the quiver and nocked it to the string.
'Farewell, Isabelle.'
The bow creaked. Instinctively she flung herself sideways and the arrow whistled past, expending itself harmlessly in a tree. Isabelle waited for no more. Picking up her skirts she ran, heading into the cover of the wood, dodging among the trunks, her heart pounding in wild terror. Another arrow whistled past, hitting the tree ahead of her. She gasped and fled on. The slope grew steeper. Hampered by her skirts she stumbled and fell. From behind she could hear the sound of voices and hoofbeats that announced pursuit. Murdo was going to kill her as he had killed Nell. Panic crowded in. She fought it. Panic was his ally. She wasn't going to make it easy for him. Scrambling to her feet she fled on up the slope, tripping on roots and jutting rocks, ignoring the branches and twigs that slashed at her. A hundred yards further on she paused, breathing hard, the blood thumping in her head.
Another arrow thudded into the earth just ahead of her. She knew then that Murdo was playing with her. He was an excellent marksman and if he missed it was because he meant to. He intended to draw this out a little to punish her. No doubt it pleased him to see her fear. Did he hope to have her at his feet, weeping and pleading for her life before he sped her at last? The thought stirred anger and hatred anew. Never would she give him that satisfaction. Pausing for an instant to look wildly around her she saw the horsemen coming through the trees. Ahead of her on the edge of the wood was open ground. If she tried to escape that way they would have her very soon. She must keep to the trees. It was her only hope now. In her mind she saw Ban's face. He was in the village. He did not know that his wife was in mortal danger and he would not come to her rescue this time. They would never meet again in this life and she would never have the chance now to tell him how much she loved him. He would never see their child born. She swallowed hard. Behind her she heard a man shout. They had seen her. In desperation she turned and ran.
The cantering hooves came nearer and nearer. Desperate now Isabelle raced on through the trees but her luck deserted her for she ran out into a small clearing that removed all cover. Three horsemen burst out of the wood some fifty yards away, cutting off her route. She spun round to see two more barring her retreat. Up beside them came a powerful bay horse. Its rider reined to a halt. Her stomach lurched. For a moment or two Murdo surveyed her with quiet satisfaction, a faint smile curling his lips. She could only watch in helpless horror as he unslung the bow from his shoulder and drew another arrow from the quiver.
'I told you, Isabelle, that you'd never escape me.'
'You won't get away with this, Murdo.'
'No? And who will prevent it? Your noble husband?'
'He will hunt you to the ends of the earth. There will be nowhere for you hide.'
'I shall not hide,' he replied, 'and he knows well enough where to find me. All I need to do is give him the reason.' He levelled the bow.
Isabelle shivered. Still she could discern no trace of pity in his face, only a remorseless intent to kill. In horrified fascination she saw him draw back the string, heard yew creak as the bow took the tension. In vain she tried to throw herself out of its path; then cried out as the arrow buried itself in her side. She fell to her knees, one hand clutching the protruding shaft. The wood was silent all around her. Somewhere she heard a horse snort. Then she became aware of a shadow blocking out the sun and a bay horse filled her line of vision. She slumped to the ground before its hooves. The rider looked down at her for a moment, a second arrow aimed at her heart. Closing her eyes she struggled against the pain. Whatever happened she wouldn't beg. It would be over soon enough.
Murdo surveyed her closely but after that first cry of pain she made no sound. His face registered grudging admiration, silently acknowledged her courage, realising then she would not plead for her life. Slowly he slackened the tension on the bowstring.
'Death will not come quickly, Isabelle, not until the barb is drawn. Time enough for you to remember me.'
From the trees a man's voice called out. 'Riders approaching, my lord!'
He took a last look at the woman on the ground before him. 'Farewell, my lady. It is good to know that your last thoughts will be of me.' Then he turned the horse's head and spurred away. In less than a minute he and his men were lost to view.
Isabelle heard the echo of the departing hooves and then how the silence washed back after. The clearing was still. Even the birds were quiet now, as if they knew death was in their midst. Once she made to rise but the pain knifed through her body and she fell back with a gasp, her face pale as bleached linen while grass and shrub and sky lurched crazily through her line of vision. She closed her eyes again until the sensation of sickness faded a little. She was going to die here in this glade. Now that it was imminent she was not afraid of dying, only of never seeing Ban again, never feeling his arms around her or his kiss on her lips. He would never know how much she loved him. She ought to have told him when she could. Once she had thought he might die and leave her. Now, ironically, it was she who would leave him. She didn't want to but the pain was great, a burning ache in her side. Murdo had intended her to die a lingering death. It was why he had not fired the second arrow. She had not known till now how deadly hatred could be. Yet love was stronger. Somehow she must see Ban again. Pushing herself on to one elbow she tried to rise once more. Icy sweat beaded her brow as pain stabbed afresh and she cried out from the agony of it. The patch of blood on her gown grew wider. Gasping, throat parched, she sank back into the grass while sky spun and then receded, drawing away to a mere pinpoint of light before darkness closed around her.
Chapter Eighteen
Ban held his horse to a steady canter. His business in the village had been concluded to everybody's satisfaction. He just wished his own affairs might so end but there was still the matter of Castlemora to be resolved. In order to live free of threat he had to defeat Murdo. The man was like a thorn in the flesh. It festered there and would continue to do so until it was removed.
A movement on the track ahead caught his eye and then he glimpsed mounted figures making off into the trees. He did not recognise any of them and no one from Glengarron would have behaved thus on hearing their approach. It smacked of covert action, of furtiveness. He frowned, reining Firecrest to a halt. Beside him Ewan and Davy followed suit, along with the remainder of his escort.
'Who was that?' Ban demanded.
'I dinna ken, my lord,' replied Davy. 'I didna recognise them.'
'Nor I,' said Ewan. 'The trees were too dense just there.'
'Keep your eyes open and your wits about you.'
Keeping to a gentle pace they proceeded further along the path. The feeling that something was amiss grew stronger in Ban with every step. It was the stillness that was wrong, the eerie uneasy silence that preceded an ambush or followed a battle. Automatically he loosened his blade in the scabbard. His companions followed suit.
At first they did not see the body lying in the dappled shade further along the path for their eyes were looking higher, up the slope and into the trees. It was Ewan who spotted it first and alerted the rest.
'My lord, over there!'
Something in the tone sent a chill through Ban's heart. Urging the horse forwards he saw what Ewan had seen. In moments the latter had reached the spot and dismounted. He knelt beside the body a moment then looked back at the others, his face grim.
'It's Nell, my lord. She's dead.'
'Dead?' Ban swung down off his horse and hastened to join him, but one glance at the shaft and the woman's staring eyes told him the sorry truth.
'What was Nell doing out here alone?' Ewan frowned. 'She always attends on Lady Isabelle. This makes no sense.'
'Unless she was with Lady Isabelle,' replied Davy.
As soon as the words were spoken the two younger men exchanged troubled looks. A terrible suspicion began to form in Ban's mind and he paled.