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Horses nickered and whinnied as everyone remounted. Around Siobhan, riders spoke in soothing tones and patted broad necks, settling their jittery mounts. Siobhan sat on Rory’s stallion as he rummaged in the saddlebags behind her. Beside her, Kendra assisted Sanjay to get into the saddle. Her relief on the discovery of only a friendship between Rory and this warrior-like woman, surprised Siobhan. Sanjay winced in pain as Kendra pushed under his uninjured shoulder to get him onto the horse. Siobhan chided herself. She should have put Sanjay’s arm in a sling and determined to do so when they stopped next.
Antony was quiet as he mounted, and he’d not said a word since the attack. This was unusual for him as he always had a comment to make. Antony’s colour had returned, and it was possible, and most likely, his silence was because he’d never seen real action as the Community Militia had.
Real action, not manoeuvres and hypotheticals.
“Ach, mustn’t have packed one.” Rory’s voice mumbled into the saddlebags behind her.
Siobhan turned as he walked to the loch-side, shedding his blood-stained shirt, stiff with dried blood, as he went. Lined with musculature, his bare back rippled as he walked. The muscles in his arms flexed and relaxed as he wrapped the shirt in his hands. Tattooed Celtic artwork covered his entire right arm up to and including his shoulder. Unbroken lines wove in and out and back upon themselves. She recognised the Endless Knot tracing a circular path as a band around his mid-upper arm covering his biceps and triceps. The triskele swirled its way on his deltoid near his shoulder. The Celtic Trinity knot was prominent on his forearm. Swirls surrounded them all, plus more intricate weavings in ink. Dried blood covered parts of it.
Rory approached the water and stooped low, wetting the clean section of his shirt and then washing the blood off his body. Fine freckles dusted his fair, almost white skin. His bandage looked more like a headband, giving him a hippie appearance.
Rory finished his wash, turned and made his way back to where she waited on his horse. Rory’s torso was a study in anatomy. Large pectorals sat below sturdy shoulder muscles. His abdomen taut, muscles pure definition. At the top if his pelvis on either side, a thin line traced its way along the muscle’s edge to his soft buckskin trousers where...
Stop Siobhan!
She shook her head.
With a sharp lift of his head, he held her gaze. She faced the other way as heat rose to her cheeks.
Had he seen her ogling him? She bit her lip.
No time for that. There were more important things to focus on!
Out of his saddle bags, Rory brought a flap jacket with large flat sections, and he shrugged into it.
“What are you wearing?”
“SAPI vest. Did nae bring a second spare shirt.”
“The way things are going you’ll need an armour-plated vest and a helmet.” She indicated to his bandaged head.
He smiled as he put his foot in the stirrup and mounted behind her. The metallic scent of blood lingered.
The day cleared further as they moved off with the loch to their left. Kendra brought her horse close.
“Haven’t seen any of the bodies we saw last time, boss.” She flicked her eyes to the other side of the loch and back again.
“Aye, been picked clean, I suspect.” Rory’s exhaled breath caught the wisps of hair on Siobhan’s neck. She let out a quiet gasp, trying to ignore the warmth and the feelings it caused.
“We still have to keep clear of anything we pass. Radioactive.” Kendra looked directly at Siobhan.
Had Kendra noticed her reaction?
“Aye, I ken,” Rory answered.
“You found the bodies?” Siobhan glanced around to Rory.
“Led us to the submarine like a trail o’ breadcrumbs.”
As Kendra rode off, Siobhan gazed far ahead to where the clearing fog revealed the river flowing out of Loch Maree. As they passed the three islands in the middle of the loch, Rory twisted in the saddle, then wheeled his stallion around for a closer look.
Only the branches of trees moved in the wind. There was no sound except the sighing of the wind through the leaves. Then an osprey circled overhead, emitting short, sharp, high-pitched whistles in quick succession at their intrusion into its territory, the irritated, angry call a reprimand to their trespass. It circled back to its nest high in the tallest pine where it now roosted, protecting its young. Rory breathed heavily behind her.
“Ach. I’m gettin’ jittery now. Humph.” He steered the horse back to the others who’d stopped as well.
“Nothing. Yet,” he said to those ahead. To her he whispered, “This day is nae over and I’m sure we’ve no’ seen the last o’ that lot. You be ready, aye?”
The old road beside the loch took them through the overgrown garden of an abandoned house. The trees of the garden were thick where they nestled by the lake.
“Right, everyone off your horses. Time for some lunch,” Rory ordered.
The group dismounted, and Kendra rummaged in the saddlebags of a packhorse and brought out bread and cheese. Angus got out his home-made book, sat on a stone and continued his study.
“I’ll be over by the water. I need to...you know.” Siobhan’s cheeks warmed as Rory gave her a blank look. “I need to relieve myself,” she said as she marched toward the loch.
The breeze blew cool off the water’s edge. Finding an old rowan tree, she glanced around to ensure no one from the group was looking at her. It was the part of camping she didn’t like.
She pulled up her pants when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned, a sharp remark ready for whoever of the group was rude enough to disturb her. A hand engulfed her mouth and gunfire began by the old house.
A stale-human smell accompanied the rough hand, and an arm came around her waist. She yelled behind it.
“Quiet,” a gruff male voice shouted in her ear as the man’s arm tightened.
“Where’s Siobhan? She went to the loch to pee. Anyone seen her?” Rory’s voice came from near the house.
Through the noise of bullets, no one answered him. Apart from the pounding in her temples, the loudest noise was the heavy breathing of the smelly man who held her. With his hand clamped over her mouth, getting air was difficult. She pulled short, sharp inhalations, trying to stave the panic rising within her. She freed a hand and dug her nails into the man’s hand over her mouth. Horses whinnied and shrieked while the men she travelled with yelled, but Rory hadn’t spoken for a while.
Had they shot him? Was he okay?
An electric shock of alarm ran along her spine.
The man who held her grunted and his arm around her jolted, then thrust her away. She ran into the garden’s overgrown shrubbery. He didn’t pursue her. She hid behind the foliage and glanced back at the grunts and noises of effort coming from the direction she’d just fled.
Rory tussled with her ex-captor. He had the man’s arm in a hold which brought him close in, with Rory’s back to him. He was holding the man’s hand in both of his, in a lock, trying to remove the hunting knife the man held.
Siobhan swallowed. A hunting knife. Its sharp blade glinted dully.
Rory kept his hold on the man’s arm. The man punched at Rory’s back with his free fist. Rory grimaced and grunted with every pounding to his back and shoulder, the muscles in his forearms stood out with the strain.
The knife soon dropped, and Rory kicked it away. He elbowed the man in the stomach then spun. The man had doubled over but now thrust himself forward, pushing Rory onto the ground. Rory landed flat on his back with the man on top of him, grabbing for his throat. Siobhan’s lungs burned as she held her breath.
Rory kicked and spun his legs, lifting his body by arching his back. The man above him lifted off the ground as Rory flipped him over onto his back. It happened so quickly. Rory was now on top of the man, punching him in the face. Siobhan let out a wordless cry.
Rory’s arms lifted high, one at a time, and landed with force onto the man’s face. The man grunted at first, then was silent. Siobhan’s stomach wrenched at the sight of Rory’s blood-covered knuckles.
“Rory, stop! He’s unconscious.” Siobhan ran from the ancient shrubs and stood beside Rory as he straddled the man. Her gut twisted as she viewed the man’s bloodied, broken face.
Rory stepped off the man, chest heaving from his exertion.
“You okay?” His brow knotted. “Did he hurt you? Did he stab you?”
“No.” She glanced at herself.
No blood.
“Check yourself. Sometimes when people get stabbed, they don’t know it at first. Dinnae feel it till later when the numbness wears off.” He ran his hands over her arms and back then hesitated. “Ah, you can check the front.”
“I’m okay, Rory. Are you? Your hands are bleeding.”
“What was that all aboot!” Callum ran through the trees. “The others have gone. What did you do to this guy, Rory?”
“He had Siobhan.”
“Siobhan. Are you all right?” Antony followed Callum through the trees, his expression full of concern.
Too much concern.
“What happened?” Antony asked. “Why were you over here on your own?”
Siobhan tightened her mouth. Antony looked sincere, but he wasn’t. She’d enough experience of Antony to know the difference. Why was he being so fake? And why did he not truly care that the bandit had attacked her?
She looked from Antony to Rory. Rory held her gaze, with a look that said he also recognised the falseness of Antony’s reaction.
“Ooh, what are we going to do about this guy?” Antony pointed to the injured attacker.
“Leave him. His pals will find him when we go. Hopefully it will hold them up a bit. Although, it didn’t stop them for long last time.” Rory stormed to the loch and washed his hands.
Siobhan followed. His knuckles were raw from his bare-fisted fighting.
“I’ll get the first aid kit to—”
“No, lass, I’ll be okay.”
“Thank you, Rory.”
He nodded and glanced up from the water’s edge.
“How well do you know that man?” His voice was quiet as he pointed his chin toward Antony tramping back to the horses.
What did he mean? There was animosity between Rory and Antony, but was he accusing him of something?
“I have known him all my life. I grew up with him.”
Rory stood and faced her.
“That does nae answer ma question.” He strode toward the horses.
Siobhan walked beside him but stopped at the unconscious man with the battered, bloody face. Rory stepped ahead a pace and paused when she stopped. She couldn’t help her expression as she stared at her attacker—disgust and accusation would cross her face. Rory’s vehemence and aggression had surprised her.
“Siobhan.” His voice was low. His stare intense. More intense than it had ever been so far. “He had you. And he had a knife. No question as far as I’m concerned.” He gave a short nod, turned, and continued to the horses.
After eating, the group remounted and resumed their journey by the loch. They soon passed it by to their left. Siobhan sat in front of Rory, the silence a thick wall between two people sitting so close. She glanced at his skinned knuckles.
He’d do that for her?
Severely hurt another to prevent her harm? He was a physically powerful man, but she’d never had cause to fear him.
She still did not.
The small seaside town of Poolewe came into view ahead of them. White houses with grey roofs dotted the coast, and as the sun shone stronger, brilliant blue water lay enticingly ahead.
Idyllic.
If only her circumstances were different. How she’d love to go for a swim or a sail. Not that she could do either, but she’d try. She jiggled in the saddle. It wasn’t only the danger they’d already faced that made her jittery, but she desired to be at the loch and see the ocean close up. She barely remembered what the beach was like.
A vague recollection of a seaside holiday at St Andrews when she was very young, flitted into her mind. A strong wind blew off the water and across the wide, long beach. Her mother stayed by the sandcastle they’d made, her hat-strap tightening under her chin as her broad-brimmed sunhat strained against the breeze coming straight in off the North Sea. Siobhan ran along the sands at full pelt, the ruined cathedral on the cliffs ahead of her. She pretended to be Eric Liddell and the other runners in that movie. What was it called? Her father was young and fit but allowed her to overtake him and win the race.
As fathers do.
The horse nickered and pranced.
“What are you doing, woman?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re kicking ma horse. I’m in control of this animal, remember? You’re confusing him.”
With her daydream, and her desire to be at the loch and see the ocean close once more, she had jiggled her feet. Her growing impatience added to her edginess. She willed herself to calm down and focus. They’d be there soon, and they had an important job to do.
Important!
Understatement.
If they failed, they would all die and most of Scotland with them. She glanced at Rory’s hand holding the reins. What would become of him?
The afternoon passed and the sapphire-blue water glistened in the brilliant summer sunshine. The sun warmed her front and Rory warmed her back.
They passed the inlet where people moored small sail boats and larger boats. The tide was out and boats near the shore on wet sand lay tilted to one side, appearing abandoned and helpless. The tides. The phases of the moon. These were phenomena she had only read of in her early science studies.
Sometimes this whole expedition was overload.
Rory tensed behind her at the sound of gunfire. Bullets whizzed past them.
“Move!” he shouted as he kicked the stallion into a gallop.
On either side, Rory’s crew urged their horses in behind him. Siobhan held tight to the pommel of the saddle as they rode hard through the small village; close-packed houses flashed by her. At a gravel lane just after the town, Rory turned Boy sharply and led them behind a single storey stone-building, an old dilapidated garage.
“We’ll make our stand here,” Rory yelled to the others.
He slid from the saddle, reached up to her, and dragged her down. “Stay low,” he commanded. Siobhan squatted against the wall.
Callum flew off his horse. “There’s about half a dozen of them,” he shouted to Rory from the corner of the building and then peered around the side of the garage again.
Kendra jumped off her horse, lifted her bow off her shoulder, and notched an arrow. Her quiver full of them hung at her waist as she joined Callum at the far end of the building where the sound of gunfire was loudest.
Siobhan glanced around the laneway. Antony had a handgun and made his way to the end of the lane with Angus and Geoff, Sanjay and Sundeep were with him as well. Antony paused, then stepped out.
“Antony,” her whisper was hoarse. “What are you doing?”
Gunfire blazed from the opposite direction, where Callum and Kendra defended, whizzing bullets close by. Rory pressed Siobhan to the ground, lying her flat, face down. The gravel grazed her face and stung. Rory lay on top of her, covering her head with his head and arms.
“Don’t move,” he said into her ear, his weight heavy on her.
The volley of gunfire from the bandits slowed. Callum’s returning fire petered out. Kendra panted by the corner of the building.
Then the clatter of horses’ hooves filled the lane. Rory lifted his head off Siobhan and turned. Still laying over her, he fired his submachine gun. His body vibrated as the thud, thud, thuds rocked through him, knocking Siobhan’s back with each release of a bullet. Siobhan’s ears rang with the noise.
The lane filled with the crack of returning gunfire as horses screamed.
“Get her!” An unfamiliar voice yelled amongst a cry of pain.
Rory fired again, the snap of his gunfire matching a bang from Callum’s handgun.
“Oh, shite!” A deep voice cried as a body thudded on the gravel of the lane.
The acrid scent of propellant hung low in the air, stinging Siobhan’s nose.
“Stop. Stop!” An unfamiliar and weak male voice came from the end of the lane.
The weight of Rory lifted from Siobhan. A bandit raised his arms in the air as he threw his gun to the ground; it clattered in front of him. The bodies of three of his comrades lay in distorted positions to his left. A groan came from one, then not another sound. At the other end of the lane, two more lay dead. Next to them, Antony stood, along with the rest of the team except Sundeep, who lay immobile near the one remaining horse who hadn’t fled.
Siobhan ran to Sundeep. Bullet holes had ripped through his jacket and he groaned as she turned him over to face them. Sanjay crawled closer, silent. He placed a hand on his brother’s arm, then after a short time, closed his brother’s eyes.
Xian tied the hands of the surrendered bandit. Callum and Kendra kicked the legs of the immobile or prostrate bandits, ensuring they were in fact dead. Angus and Geoff peered around the corners of the building to make sure there were no more.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” the bandit shouted, anguish in his voice.
Rory spun. “Wasn’t meant to be like what?” Rory followed the bandit’s stare. It led to Antony.
Rory made his way to Antony who stood fidgeting with his gun.
Antony had an expression Siobhan recognised—a tell. A thing only someone who had been as close as a lover could see. She should have noticed it earlier. He was jealous of Rory.
Hated him.
For his robustness, his leadership talents, and the love his people had for him—everything Antony desired, but lacked. And she was certain his fidgeting hand holding the gun wouldn’t stop.
“No, Antony!” Siobhan ran and stood in front of Rory. “Put the gun down!”
Rory’s hand was on her shoulder, his strong fingers digging deep into the muscles near her collarbone, shoving her away behind him.
“Coward!” The shout came from the bandit at the other end of the lane, who directed his accusation at Antony.
Xian flew out from behind the building near where Antony stood. Legs extended, he kicked the gun from Antony’s hand. He held the drawn Katana to Antony’s throat. Antony raised his hands, his eyes narrow and mouth a thin line. Callum raced forward with a rope and yanked Antony’s hands behind his back, tying them securely. Antony never flinched, his eyes remained staring ahead, focussed on no one.
“I’ll get the horses that ran. They’ve got the equipment we need.” Angus left the lane.
Rory stood silently staring at Antony, nodding slowly.
“I knew there was something about you,” he growled. “But we dinnae have time for this at present. We need to collect our gear, prepare our dead for transportation,” he pointed to Sundeep, “and get to the sub. Then we’ll hear the whole story.” He took his gaze from Antony and addressed the bandit. “Can we expect any more surprises?”
The bandit shook his head, his long, matted, greying hair falling around his face and his torn leather jacket.
Siobhan walked to Antony, his arms now firmly tied behind his back. She faced him full on, her disgust and anger burning in her throat.
How could he?
“Consider yourself under the arrest of both authorities. Government and Community,” she snarled.
“Your wild-boy there has clouded your mind, Siobhan.” Antony pointed to Rory with his chin, his expression full of disdain.
She held her open palm to his face. “Not now!”
He opened his sneering mouth to speak.
“Save it for later. You will give a full account of yourself and your actions.” She turned and walked back toward Rory.
Rory watched her approach him, blue eyes never leaving hers. She made to walk past him, but he reached for her upper arm and held it with a gentle, warm grip and drew her close.
“What was that all about?” he whispered so low, only she could hear.
“He’s been up to something, that’s for sure.”
“No, not him. You?” He shook her arm softly, his blue gaze riveted to hers.
Words of explanation didn’t come. What was she doing? Why had she stood in front of Rory when she expected Antony would shoot him? Then, a sudden thump in her soul as a revelation hit her.
She would protect Rory with her life if that was needed.
His stare remained on her, and the slow shaking of his head began once more.
“Never do that to me again, Siobhan,” he whispered.
The clip clop of a horse’s hooves and a whinny with a nudge at his back broke the moment.
“Aye, Boy, I ken you always come back.” Rory reached behind and grabbed the stallion’s reins.
