Free The Rogue by Sandy Blair

rogues.”
    “Rogues?”
    “Aye, shiftless men who rob and plunder.”
    “Ah.”
    He nodded. It was enough she understood some of the danger. He hadn’t wanted to discuss the possibility of rape. He touched the scar of her right wrist and she immediately pulled her hand beneath the velvet. “How did ye come by the injury, lass?”
    She looked away. “What means sheet? ”
    Hearing her mimic his accent as he’d cursed, he gaped at her, heat infusing his face. “Umm...’tis not a word a lady uses, Birdi.”
    “Why not? Ye did.”
    True, he had said shit, and on more than one occasion but... “‘Tis a curse, lass. I wasna thinking clearly when I said it.”
    She frowned, then pointed to the raised and clenched fist and motto embroidered on his chest. “What means this?”
    Accepting her reluctance to confide in him, he looked down to where Birdi pointed. “ Vincere aut mori. It means ‘to win or die.’”
    “Oh.” Birdi wobbled.
    He steadied her and she managed a smile of thanks that didn’t reach her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. Had he been in her position he’d have wobbled too. Poor lass.
    He rose and checked their clothing. Finding the top layers reasonably dry, he turned them.
    His stomach growled, he opened his sporran and pulled out his fishing string with weighted bobber. “I’m going to try and catch more fish. Will ye be alright?”
    She squinted at his hands. “Aye. Be careful ye dinna fall in.”
    He laughed for the first time since meeting Birdalane Shame. “Ye are a wonder.”
    She grinned in lopsided fashion. “Ye dinna ken the half.”
    Suspecting she might be correct, he ambled toward the outcropping of rock at the base of the waterfall. In short time he caught three small fish, cleaned them, and brought them back to the fire. As the fish roasted, juices dripped onto the flames and he eyed the straight column of smoke marking their exact location. Deciding they’d be wiser eating half-cooked fish, he stood and kicked sand into the flames.
    “What are ye doing?”
    “Now that ye’re warm and dry there’s nay need to call undue attention to ourselves. ‘Tis not safe when we’re not among friends.”
    Just as the fire snuffed out, Rampage whinnied in warning. Angus spun. Three riders were rounding the river’s bend, riding hard in their direction.
    The fine-tempered steel of his claymore sang as he pulled his broadsword from its sheath and yanked Birdi to her feet. “Hide, lass. Back to the boulders with ye. Now!”
    “But—”
    “Now, damn it. Run!”
    Christ’s blood. He stood alone with a half-naked woman at his back. A woman any one of these men would gladly hie off with given half a chance.
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    S word in hand, Angus assessed the three riders as they charged toward him.
    The youngest, a youth of about five-and-ten years, small boned and well dressed, was nay doubt Fraiser’s heir and of little threat. The men flanking him, however, were a different matter entirely. The elder of the two was of Angus’s own height, bearded, a bit heavier and thankfully a good bit older than himself. From the man’s dress Angus took him to be a Fraiser captain. The younger, also a big man, wore Fraiser plaid but no jeweled broach, no marks of distinction other than a nasty-looking battle scar across one cheek. He was simply a skilled warrior.
    As they came to a prancing halt before him on shaggy ponies, the eldest guard demanded, “Who be ye and what business have ye on Fraiser land?”
    Angus looked each in the eye. “I’m Angus MacDougall and have no business with the Fraisers. I’m just passing through on my way to Beal.”
    “More like eating yer way through,” the younger of the two guards grumbled, pointing to the discarded fish. “And ye have nay doubt neglected to pay Fraiser the Plaque-mail.”
    As they eyed him warily, Angus mentally cursed. The fines levied by some Highland chieftains for safe passage through their lands could be backbreaking. Would