My Brave Highlander(10)

Dirk stopped and turned. "Rebbie," he said low. "Someone's lurking up ahead."

Rebbie nodded. They both quietly dismounted and withdrew their swords.

"Hold the horses," Rebbie murmured to George. "But if they come out fighting, give us a hand."

George nodded. "Aye, m'laird."

With the wind blowing constantly, Dirk could hear naught above it.

"Who's there?" he called out. "I'm a MacKay, just passing through."

No response. The knave was still hiding. Might be more than one of them. Was this an ambush by highwaymen or desperate outlaws?

Gripping his sword, Dirk sneaked along the trail, trying to avoid kicking loose stones. Rebbie followed a few feet behind.

The wind picked up, whistling through the gorse branches and stinging his face. Good. This would cover any sounds they made, especially since they were downwind of whoever lay in wait between the bushes and rocks. If he could sneak up on them, he could gain the upper hand.

If they were members of the MacLeod Clan, he'd have to assure them he was a MacKay ally. He prayed there hadn't been any clan feuds since he'd last been here. His uncle hadn't mentioned any in his missive, but then his message had been brief and to the point.

Each step took Dirk closer and closer to their hiding place. He held his basket-hilt broadsword at the ready, fully aware two or more men could leap out at any moment.

At last, he reached their hidey-hole and stole around the side of the boulder. Naught but snow-covered heather and low-growing plants greeted him.

Damnation, where had they gone?

He crept forward, down an incline and around a bush. There, two forms in drab plaid huddled, one standing upright, back pressed against a giant boulder, and the other crouched.

Dirk froze, as did the two strangers.

A lass? Dark fierce eyes met his from beneath a cowl, but the face was definitely female and so was the clothing—a long arisaid. Despite her bulky and voluminous clothes, he could tell her shoulders were slender. Her eyes narrowed, and her stance was defensive. He glanced down at her hands, partially hidden in the folds of her skirts, but he did not miss the glint of a dagger clutched in one fist.

His gaze darted to the other figure. Also a woman, but a few years older.

"What the devil?" Rebbie muttered, coming up beside him.

"What are the two of you doing out in this weather?" Dirk asked in Gaelic, his tone harsher than he'd intended. Were they mad? Gloaming was approaching, and the snow and wind would only worsen.

"Leave us be," the lass said, her voice strong.

He exchanged a confused glance with Rebbie. He was surely wondering the same thing Dirk was. Why were they here, far from the nearest village, croft or castle?

"'Tis not safe for two women to be wandering about. Do you not ken of the outlaws and thieves in these parts?" At least there had been twelve years ago, and he doubted things had changed much.

"We're not troubling you, and we have no need of your help. Not much further and we'll reach our destination." The glint of her dagger taunted and irritated him. Undoubtedly, she was afraid of them.

Dirk returned his broadsword to its scabbard. "And where would that destination be? It's been a long while since we passed through a village." And even longer since they'd left the keep they'd stayed in the night before.

"'Tis none of your concern."

Ah. So the lass had an impertinent mouth on her. Even more interesting, she had the speech of the Highland aristocracy, the dialect of somewhere south of here, but Western Highlands for a certainty. He nodded. "Well, I cannot leave you out here in the elements. I'll take you and your companion to Munrick Castle. The MacLeods will help you."

"Nay," she snapped and turned about, helping her friend—or her maid—rise to her feet. "Leave us. We are well."

"We mean you no harm, m'lady." He watched for her reaction to the title.

"I thank you for the offer of assistance, but we have no need of it."

She didn't notice the title, so clearly she was used to being called lady. Aside from that, her speech spoke volumes about her social station. And her status meant he definitely couldn't leave her unprotected in a snowstorm. She would not be as accustomed to the elements as a hardier crofter maid might be. Was she some chief's daughter who'd run away?

"Which clan are you from?" he asked.

"Does that matter?"

"Aye." He always liked to know who he was dealing with. Helping her would no doubt have repercussions.

The shape of her lips and the curve of her jaw line gave Dirk a sense of déjà vu. Though he could tell her eyes were dark, he could not see the shape clearly beneath the cowl and curtain of her dark brown hair. Had he seen her somewhere before?