He couldn’t believe what cowards they were. “Come back, you bastards!” Keegan yelled. He wanted to finish the three of them off.

Once they’d disappeared from sight like terrified rabbits, he glanced back toward where Dirk and the other men were fighting.

Despite his injury, Dirk was still slashing and thrusting.

His blade sliced McMurdo’s shoulder and the older man jumped back. Then he fled.

Twenty feet away, he turned back and yelled for the other men to retreat. He obviously knew the outlaws were on the losing side of the skirmish now, even with the reinforcements they’d found along the way.

Rebbie chased after McMurdo, but the old man was quicker than he looked. A few of the other brigands fled to the left, down an embankment and through the bushes.

“Is Dirk hurt?” Isobel demanded, sidling up to him.

Since the outlaws were gone, he could reveal the truth. Still, he grabbed her arm so she wouldn’t go running out there too soon. “An arrow struck his calf.”

“What? Oh good lord!” She tried to jerk away from him. “Unhand me, Keegan.”

Dirk limped in their direction, his face red, eyes wild and jaw clenched.

Keegan released Isobel. Making sure Seona was beside him for her own safety, he moved toward Dirk. Isobel fussed over him, crying.

“Calm yourself, Isobel. ’Tis naught to worry over. Merely a flesh wound,” Dirk said, his voice rough. He was obviously trying to hide his pain.

“How do you feel?” Keegan asked him.

“I’ll live.”

“How will we remove it?” Isobel asked.

“Rebbie will do it. Go over there with the ladies so you don’t have to watch. I don’t want you to pass out.”

“Are you mad? I’ll not be passing out.”

“Keegan, make her stay with Lady Seona.”

“Lady Isobel.” Keegan motioned toward the boulders.

“Don’t make the man have to carry you, Isobel,” Dirk said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ve had far worse injuries than this.”

She huffed, her eyes glistening with tears, then proceeded back toward the boulder with Seona.

Keegan followed. “He will be well, I’m certain.”

“But he could get infection and fever,” she said, trying to suppress her sobs.

Behind them, Dirk growled and Isobel turned to run back toward him. Keegan caught her arm and ushered her once again toward Seona. “Removing the arrow will be painful, no doubt,” Keegan said. He’d never been shot with an arrow so couldn’t say from experience, but it had to hurt something awful. He glanced back to see Dirk lying on the rocky ground and Rebbie knelt over him, working on his leg. The two had fought battles on the continent together and had been treating each other’s wounds for years.

“I want to kill Haldane and his damnable archer,” Isobel muttered, striding forward, a glower on her face.

“As do I,” Keegan said.

Isobel and Seona sat together on one of the rocks beside the wide-eyed and pale Lady Patience, while Keegan and the other guards kept watch for returning outlaws. Several men stood around Dirk, mostly blocking Isobel’s view of his bloody leg. He could certainly understand Dirk’s need to keep her shielded from most of it, although she had never seemed squeamish to him.

He was glad to see she took some comfort from having Seona by her side as she watched the proceedings from a distance. Seona was also a bit pale. Her worried gaze met his.

“He will recover quickly,” Keegan said. How could he not? He was one of the strongest and most resilient men Keegan knew.

“Aye, he will,” Seona said, putting an arm around Isobel’s shoulders and comforting her. “All will be well.”

A quarter hour later, Dirk’s calf was bound in linen cloths, most likely someone’s clean shirt that had been ripped up, and most of the bleeding had stopped. Rebbie had poured whisky on it along with some powdered healing herbs he carried with him. Dirk pushed himself to his feet, though his face was ashen.

Isobel ran to him and slipped an arm around his waist. “Lean on me. Don’t put any weight on your right leg.”

“Don’t fash yourself. I am well.” He limped forward, gritting his teeth.

“You are lying,” Isobel accused.

“Naught a wee dram of whisky won’t cure.”

“You’re in luck. I have some,” Keegan said, digging into one of the packs on his horse.

After Dirk had two generous swigs of whisky, he hoisted himself into the saddle using his uninjured leg. Everyone else followed suit.

Keegan helped Seona mount again and they were on their way.

He divided his attention between Seona, Dirk and the surrounding cliffs. He had to make sure Seona was safe, but at the same time, his concern for Dirk grew. Riding the horse had to be jarring his injured leg and causing severe pain. His skin remained pale and his jaw clenched. He couldn’t drink enough whisky to kill the pain and stay in the saddle at the same time.

Isobel was right to worry about the infection and fever. ’Twould be the worst part to get through.

***

After riding a couple of hours, they reached Ullapool, a wee village on the bay of Loch Broom.

“Is there an inn here?” Keegan asked.

“Nay.” Dirk was sweating and pale when he dismounted, which concerned Keegan a great deal. And ’twas clear he was holding his breath half the time. “One of Isobel’s distant cousins, Linden MacKenzie, owns that manor house, there.” Dirk pointed at a thatched-roof, whitewashed structure, much larger than a cottage, yet not as large as a castle. “He has a shipping business, transporting goods from the ports down south out to the islands.”

“You need to lie down, cousin,” Keegan told him.

“Aye. And a half-pint of whisky wouldn’t hurt either.”

Keegan sent one of the guards to purchase more whisky while Dirk, Isobel, Rebbie and a few of the others went to speak to her cousin about their party staying the night.

Rebbie returned, reporting that Isobel’s cousin had welcomed them to stay and had four empty rooms with beds for their use.

The women disappeared inside the manor house, as did Dirk and Rebbie. MacMillan carried Lady Patience inside because of her wrenched ankle.

Keegan and most of the other men waited outside, on the lookout for Haldane or any of his party who might have followed. Since Keegan didn’t know the new men Haldane had enlisted, ’twas even harder to spot the knaves. He simply didn’t allow anyone near the house. The five-foot stone wall around it might deter petty thieves, but it was too low to provide much defense. The wooden gate was sturdy but open. Hopefully, it would be locked at night. If someone wanted to attack, ’twould be too easy to take over the house. Their guards would have to take shifts tonight, securing the perimeter.

The door of the manor house opened. MacMillan exited and approached him, a frown contorting his dark brows. “Lady Isobel wishes to see you inside.”

Saints. Was Dirk worse?

“You and the other guards need to secure the perimeter of the house,” Keegan said.

“Aye, we’ll be on the lookout for the bastards.”

Keegan strode toward the entry, and a servant opened the door.

Isobel awaited him, just inside. She was pale, her brown eyes too large. “Dirk wishes to speak with you upstairs.”

“Very well.” Cold dread weighed heavily in Keegan’s chest. “Is something wrong?”

“Nay. He is the same but wanted to talk to you.”

She walked with him up the straight stone staircase, opened the door to the bedchamber, then left.

Keegan entered the room, lit by the late evening sunrays that sliced through the clouds, to find Dirk reclining in a large bed, his leg propped on pillows and several more behind his back.

“How are you feeling?” Keegan asked, moving forward.

“Like my leg is shot full of holes. ’Tis hard to believe there is only one through it.” Dirk took a sip of whisky from a small goblet. “Have a seat.” He motioned to a straight wooden chair by the bed, then poured Keegan a dram of whisky in another goblet.