Devil of Kilmartin Read Free Page B

to stillness.
    Dougal, his face cast downward just enough to keep the moonlight from illuminating the familiar rage she knew was there, edged around to the MacLachlan warrior’s right, but the warrior engaged him, swinging his mighty claymore close enough to knock him off balance. Before he could parry, the MacLachlan was upon him, wrenching Dougal’s knife arm up behind him, then resting the sharp edge of his own blade against Dougal’s beard-covered throat.
    It was over so fast, Elena did not even have time to react.
    “Drop your dagger.”
    Dougal dropped it with a muttered oath.
    “You see, lad, you were right,” the warrior said.
    “How’s that?”
    “You said this was between you and the Devil.” The warrior paused, as if waiting for Dougal to understand his words. “I am the Devil of Kilmartin. Have you not heard of me?” The simple question belied the sharp concentration on the Devil’s face, and the promise of violence in his posture.
    Elena began to tremble. The hounds growled again, only an arm’s length away. The Devil of Kilmartin.
    She had run from one madman to another.
    She watched as Dougal started to nod, just a bare movement else he would have slashed his own neck. He stopped, chin raised.
    “Aye,” he said instead, his voice unusually low.
    “Do you wish to continue this, then?” the Devil asked.
    “Nay.”
    “ ’Tis as I thought. Give me your word you will leave the lass be and take yourself away from MacLachlan lands.”
    “You have it.”
    Shock coursed through Elena. She had never seen Dougal back down from anyone, or anything.
    “Good.” The Devil stepped back, but kept his claymore ready. A Highlander’s word should be good enough, but apparently he didn’t entirely trust Dougal. He was wiser than she would have guessed.
    “Get you gone, and your hounds with you.”
    Dougal whistled, three sharp rising notes. The hounds whimpered but reluctantly abandoned their quarry. “Youmay have her now, Devil,” Dougal said, his strangely altered voice carrying over the mist, “but you’ll not keep her long.” He raised his voice more. “You won’t find anything easier with the Devil, Elena. You belong to me!”
    Her skin prickled. The image of what she had fled scrambled through her mind. The knowledge of who had defended her terrified her. She’d be no safer with the Devil of Kilmartin than she would be with Dougal of Dunmore. She would never be safe.
    A sob escaped her and she once more forced her tired legs to a run.

chapter 2
    S ymon sheathed his claymore. The heady rush of battle fever waned rapidly. He listened for the woman, Elena. A hazy pain filled his head again, but it did not increase to the earlier pounding. It had eased in that momentary contact with her. He looked around, ready to track her himself if necessary.
    Anything would be worth even one more moment of that peace.
    A scrabbling sound told him she was getting away. Symon cut across the circle in four long running strides, then passed through the barrier of the ancient stones. Instantly sounds brightened, shadows darkened, and the forest closed around him. He stopped, gaining his bearings, listening for the telltale crashing of someone running through the black wood.
    There. He turned in the direction of the noise and tore through the bracken. In moments he had caught up to her. Another and he had her round the waist, picking her up off her feet, dodging her flying elbows, kicking feet, and scratching nails.
    “Be still!” He struggled to contain the flailing woman. “Bloody hell, cease this now!” She did not so much as flinch at his bellow, though his own head threatened to leave his shoulders.
    At last he pinned her to him, her stiff back to his chest, his arms wrapped about her middle, securing her own arms at her sides. Her chest heaved, and he thought he heard a muffled sob.
    “I’ll not hurt you, lass.”
    She said nothing. She was tall but over-thin. Her hair was a mass of tangles decorated