‘No, lady’
Her heart sank, but she pressed on. ‘What about Inverness? Do you know it?’
‘Aye, but ‘tis a fearful long way from here.’
‘Well, you must find your way to Inverness and then on to Raigmoor. But be careful who you ask for directions. Tell its Laird, a Laird Ross, that his lady Tara is here and held against her will. Remember my name well - Tara of Raigmoor. Tell the Laird where this place is and to come for me, but beware of an ambush. And you must tell only him, no one else. It is very important. Can you do this quickly, for I fear I have little time?’
The lad stared at her, eyes, black pits in a shroud-white face. ‘I will,’ he hissed. ‘For the right reward.’
Tara tore off her wedding ring – the only thing she had left of Callum and held it out, and he reached up a pale stick of an arm and took it. ‘You may have that as a reward, boy, and as much food as you can eat for the rest of your life. I swear this.’
The clip-clop of horses hooves had Tara turning in alarm. Shouts of greeting went up from Morgan and Flynn as two figures on horseback appeared on the path to the cottage.
‘Tis the Devil,’ hissed the boy.
‘You mean, Stalker?’ said Tara.
‘No, the other one. Watch yourself.’ The boy slunk back into the ferns and became part of the forest again. Flynn rushed over to Tara and grabbed her arm. ‘Come on. Get back inside,’ he said, dragging her back to her prison. At the door, she glanced back in desperation, but there was no sign of the boy, and now the dogs were barking uncontrollably.
Gruff voices sounded through the open door of the cottage, and Tara recognised Stalker’s growl. Suddenly, the light from the fire outside was blocked by a looming, dark silhouette in the doorway, carrying a torch. Tara had to cover her eyes against its glare. A man strode in – masked and with hair as black as pitch, ending in a widow’s peak at his forehead. He was even taller than Callum and just as broad, and his flinty, dark eyes, hooded and cruel, peered over the top of the black rag covering the lower half of his face. They roamed all over her. The hand holding the torch was covered in scars, just silvery threads in the half-light. Tara kept her gaze on his hand, for she dared not look into those dead eyes.
‘You were right. She is a rare beauty,’ the man said, with not one jot of emotion. ‘I can see how you were tempted, especially given your lack of restraint.’
‘Aye, and seeing as how we don’t need her to get him to come, can we not just get rid of her already. All we have to do is send word we have her, and he will come running, right onto my sword point.’
‘No. The lass is useful.’
‘Not once we have him. Not….’
The man put up a hand, and Stalker’s words dried in his throat. ‘I put up with your appetites, Stalker, because you are loyal and ruthless, just the kind of man I need in these times. But harm one hair on this one’s bonnie, blonde head, and I will stretch you out like a deer and gut you slowly, with a blunt knife. Am I heard?’
‘Aye, as you say,’ said Stalker going red in the face and swallowing hard.
‘As I say,’ repeated the man scornfully. ‘We don’t make war on women. We take what we want and spare where we can. That is our creed. That way, we do not draw too much attention, unlike your recent excesses.’
‘It was just a common girl. Why vex yourself about….’
‘Quiet,’ said the man. He spoke calmly, with command, not anger, as if every word was carefully considered. This man was used to giving orders and having them followed without question. And Stalker was clearly afraid of him, cowering like a whimpering dog. ‘Because of your proclivities, the county has been raised to hunt us down when we could have gone about our business quietly.’
‘But now that we have taken this little jewel, Lord, every redcoat and every laird in the county is out looking for us,’ said Stalker. ‘And there is a bounty on your head.’
‘There has always been a bounty on my head,’ said the man.’ He came up to Tara and hauled her to him. Staring into the man’s eyes, so dead of emotion, was like staring into a deep, cold well. ‘It’s flattering that it is raised so high, is it not, pretty lass? It means I have wriggled under their skin, these fat, pink lords and ladies with their gentle manners and soft, grasping hands. Like maggots, all of them,’ he spat. ‘If you behave yourself, lass, I will not let this loathsome animal tear at you with his claws. But cross me, and my vengeance will be swift.’
‘Please let me go, Sir. I have done nothing to you,’ said Tara.
He shook his head with mock sadness. ‘Aye, but your irritating husband has. My men and I are hounded dusk ‘til dawn, and he has raised the other clans against us. We cannot get about our business with that bloodhound Callum Ross on our scent, for he is tireless in hunting us down. And I’ve a good deal of business with the cattle herds hereabouts that I need to press on with. So you’ll not be going anywhere until you bring me what I want.’
‘And what is that?’ squeaked Tara.
‘Your husband’s head.’
He released her, and Tara shrank back from him. She felt cold inside as if she had felt the touch of the Devil himself.
The man’s jaw worked, and he turned to Stalker. ‘She’s obedient enough and should give you no trouble. Keep her safe and hidden. If she screams for help, cut out her tongue. If she runs, break her legs. I will see her husband as a corpse if it is the last thing I do. And Stalker, if you molest her, you will be one too.’
When they had gone, Tara sank to the floor and clutched her arms about herself. She was somewhere in the vast glens of the Highlands. Callum could search for months and never find this place, and she was in the grip of a truly terrifying man, capable of great evil.
Tara wept when she thought of the pale little boy. Sending him for aid wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the only one she had. She prayed that he would make it safely to Raigmoor.