My Brave Highlander(34)

He'd grown up here and he well knew how cold MacKay Country was in autumn and winter. His body would tolerate chill more easily than hers.

She slid her uninjured hand around his side and rested it lightly on his upper abdomen. He helped place her injured hand, careful of her splinted finger, at his waist, then covered her hands with one of his. "Och. Your hands are like ice."

"'Tis true. The cold wind blows so hard here."

"Not much longer and we'll reach Durness." He tapped his heels against the horse's sides, increasing their pace along the trail that cut between the moor and the rock carved hills. A herd of furry black Highland cattle stood watching in the snowy field. Smoke trailed from a distant crofter's hut.

The press of Isobel's fingers against his stomach affected him more than he would've liked, sending arousal burning through him. He yearned to hold her in his arms, warm her and protect her. Damnation if he wasn't daft.

Wondering about the others in their party, he stopped, turned the horse slightly and glanced back at Rebbie. Further back, Isobel's maid rode pillion behind George.

Rebbie waved him onward.

Dirk headed the horse forward again and continued. Each step along the narrow trail that wound around lochs and between bare stone mountains was like a step back in time. Little had changed here in twelve years.

Yells erupted in the distance behind them. Isobel's maid screamed.

"Oh heavens," Isobel said.

"What the devil?" Dirk turned the horse about to glance back again. Rebbie and the two servants had dropped further behind. And now a man stood before them, a pistol in his hand. He yelled out an order.

Who was he and where had he come from? Wearing a mask and cowl over his head, he appeared to be a lone highwayman.

Could that be McMurdo? Dirk had forgotten about the bastard.

Dirk dismounted. "Move forward into the saddle and stay down," he told Isobel, handing her the reins. "He has a pistol. If he comes toward you, ride north as fast as you can. My uncle's cottage will be the first one you come to. The big one."

"I'll go too, and help Beitris." She moved as if to dismount.

"Nay," he ordered. "You'll stay right here."

"I have a dagger." She pulled the shiny weapon from the pouch suspended from her belt.

"Put that away afore you cut yourself," Dirk growled. "Keep her safe, Tulloch," he said to his horse.

Tulloch nickered and stamped his giant hoof.

"Have a care," Isobel said.

Dirk drew his sword and raced back a couple hundred feet to the others, his boots slipping over the ice and snow. He didn't realize they'd moved so far ahead of Rebbie and the servants.

His horse dancing about, Rebbie kicked out with one booted foot, knocking the gun from the outlaw's hand. The bastard then scrambled on the ground for it.

While Rebbie dismounted, Dirk rushed in upon them.

Rebbie and the outlaw rolled on the ground, tussling for the weapon. Dirk grabbed the man's brown cloak, secured at his throat, and yanked him away from his friend, who had the pistol in hand. The outlaw made choking sounds and clawed at the mantle's clasp. Once it was unhooked, he freed himself from the garment and fled toward a grove of bushes, his long gray hair flying out behind him. Before he reached cover, he made as if to circle around toward Isobel and Tulloch.

"Halt!" Dirk demanded, launching into motion and sprinting toward Isobel. Bastard! Dirk would choke him if he ever got his hands on him.

A gunshot exploded behind him. Dirk glanced back to see Rebbie with his pistol raised, still aimed at the outlaw, and a fog of black smoke being carried away by the wind. The masked man didn't go down. Instead, he changed course and bolted for the bushes again.

"Bastard!" Dirk yelled, finally reaching Isobel.

Tulloch snorted and pawed the ground.

The last time he'd seen Donald McMurdo, he'd had dark hair, but that had been many years ago. That had to be him. If the women hadn't been in their party now, he'd hunt the knave down and toss him in Dunnakeil's dungeon.

"What the devil?" Rebbie grumbled, coming up behind them and brushing the snow and debris from his clothing. "A highwayman? Out here, in the most remote country I've ever seen?"

"Aye. They're everywhere. 'Twas likely McMurdo. Back when I was a lad, my father and his men tried to capture McMurdo but he was as elusive as a ghost. Not only is he a thief, but also a murderer. Hard to believe he's still alive after all this time."

George led the other horse forward and Beitris, still quite pale, was perched upon it.

Rebbie surveyed the outlaw's pistol in his hand. "If this wasn't such a piece of rubbish, I could've shot him in the arse with his own gun."

Dirk snorted. "Let's make haste afore he returns."