‘He will not come. It would be madness and he knows it.’
The Norman glanced at Ashlynn. ‘He’ll come.’
She forced herself to meet his eye, regarding him with cold contempt. ‘He will not be so easy to kill.’
‘On the contrary, I expect it will be very easy, in the end.’ Seeing Ashlynn’s cheeks turn a shade paler, Fitzurse smiled appreciatively. His cold gaze stripped her, bringing back other memories. ‘I’ll say one thing for McAlpin. He always had good taste in women. It’s the one thing we share.’
Fraser returned the smile. ‘The one thing we’re all going to share.’
Sickened with disgust she turned away, refusing to dignify the gibe with a reply. As she did so her gaze fell on the lone horseman approaching out of the east. Her heart began to thump painfully hard. Even from a distance there could be no mistaking the dark-clad figure on the dapple grey stallion.
‘Iain,’ she murmured.
In that second she knew that she loved him, unconditionally and beyond all reason. He was her lord. There could be no other as long as she lived. In that moment of awful clarity she knew the sublime terror, the awful vulnerability of loving and all its aching need.
Following her gaze Fitzurse saw the advancing figure and his smile widened as he glanced at Fraser.
‘There we are. I told you he’d come.’
He turned then to his men and ordered them to dismount. Two of them dragged Ashlynn off her horse and hands like iron closed round her arms as they flanked her, dragging her forward to stand in clear view, while the rest ranged themselves in a semi-circle behind their leader who alone remained mounted. All eyes watched the oncoming rider.
Fitzurse spoke quietly, never turning his head. ‘Let him get closer before you shoot. There must be no mistakes. I want him alive.’
De Vardes nodded. ‘There will be no mistake, my lord.’
For the first time Ashlynn noticed the crossbow he held at his side and her throat dried as she realised the intent. When the quarry was close enough for a clear shot De Vardes would use it to cripple and bring him down. Once Iain was injured and unable to defend himself, they would take him prisoner. Then they would exact their final revenge. Panic stricken she tried to break free but the restraining grip on her arms only tightened in response, holding her still. Seeing it, Fraser laughed.
‘It’s no use, my lady. Nothing can save Glengarron now. Two hours hence his head will adorn my gates.’
Sick at heart she could only wait and watch as the man she loved rode towards his death.
* * *
Iain approached at a leisurely pace, his gaze taking in every detail of the scene ahead, undeceived by the apparently quiet demeanour of the waiting men. He mentally numbered fourteen, including Fitzurse. Three stood off to the side, holding the horses, the rest were arrayed in a semi-circle, watching him come. All their attention was focused on him. It was what he had counted on.
As he drew nearer his gaze never left the waiting Normans. He knew full well Fitzurse had no intention of meeting him in single combat; most likely the plan would be to bring him down and capture him alive. Everything depended on what happened in the next couple of minutes. Even as the thought formed itself he saw with silent satisfaction the several dark-clad figures that rose like wraiths from the heather behind the Norman force. Seconds later the three men who had been holding the horses fell silently with their throats cut, never knowing what hit them. Iain smiled grimly. Unaware of what was taking place behind, Fitzurse kept his eye fixed on the approaching horseman.
‘Get ready, De Vardes.’
The Norman raised the crossbow and took careful aim. Ashlynn screamed a warning. The bolt flew and seconds later the horseman lurched in the saddle and then slipped sideways. Fighting deadly faintness she could only stare at the spot and the riderless grey stallion now standing with trailing reins.
‘Got him.’ De Vardes was quietly exultant.
‘Excellent,’ said Fitzurse. ‘Now bring him in.’
‘Aye, my lord.’
De Vardes cast aside the bow and drew his sword. ‘You three men, come with me.’
Ashlynn watched in helpless horror. In a short time now Iain would be their prisoner and they would kill him, but not quickly, dear God not quickly.
In torment she saw De Vardes and his companions advance, but they had taken no more than half-a-dozen paces before they checked, frozen in mid-stride. Then they dropped like stones. Only then did she see the crossbow quarrels embedded between their shoulder blades. Before her brain could take it in she heard a warning cry. More thuds followed and the hold on her arms slackened as the two men on either side of her fell away with cries of pain, bolts sunk deep in their ribs. Seconds later the heath all around erupted with living forms, dark clad, their faces stained with peat as though the womb of earth had just delivered them. Taken totally by surprise the Normans had not even time to draw their weapons before the Scots were upon them with sword and dirk. What followed was brief, bloody and brutal. Ashlynn gasped, looking around in shocked bewilderment. Before her frightened eyes a savage figure seized Fraser by the hair and yanked his head back. He had time for one strangled cry before the naked dagger slit his throat from ear to ear.