Free The Border Hostage by Virginia Henley Page B

water of the stream was a potent lure; finally he gave in to the temptation. He unbuckled his sword and laid it on the ground, then he removed his clothes and dropped them atop the weapon. He waded into the water, which came to his knees. It wasn't deep enough for him to swim, but he knelt down and dipped his head in, then let the refreshing water trickle down his body. It felt so good, Heath repeated the motion, but this time when he lifted his head from the water, he was stunned to see four dark, burly Borderers staring at him. Their ugly faces were sickeningly familiar.
    Their look of disbelief was accompanied by muttered exchanges. “Christ almighty, Mangey's gone tae collect the money!”
    “Don't panic. We'll kill 'im now. Same difference.”
    Heath cursed himself for a careless fool. Never had his instincts let him down so badly before. The quartet stood between him and his clothes. He decided there would be no more attempts to drown him, so he stood up to his full height. The water cascaded down his limbs, leaving his dark skin glistening as he walked warily from the stream.
    “So, Douglas, ye escaped a watery grave.”
    “The name is Kennedy. I assume yours is Armstrong!”
    They exchanged uncomfortable glances.
    “Where is Mangey Armstrong?” Heath asked, seemingly oblivious of his naked, dripping-wet state.
    One of the outlaws grimaced with glee. “He's sellingsome of your firkin' mares at Kelso horse fair. We'll save you for 'im.”
    “Tae lowest hell wi' Mangey,” another Armstrong said. “That pleasure is mine, 'ere and now.” The shaggy-headed brute drew his lips back to expose rotting teeth. “What's more, I'm gonna kill him wi' his own knife!”

C HAPTER 6
    S eemingly, Heath stood mesmerized as the outlaw drew the long knife from his belt, but in truth his rippling muscles were tensing in readiness for the onslaught.
    The brute eyed Heath's cock and balls. “I think I'll do a wee bit o' trimmin' before I finish him off. Let's have some fun.”
    Heath knew that all he had was a split second before three of them grabbed him and held him down. He rushed at them and rolled to the ground within reach of his discarded clothing. Not quick enough to escape a slash from the knife, but at least the cut was across his shoulder and not his groin.
    As Heath grabbed his sword from beneath his pile of clothes, his lust for revenge returned with a rush. His first target was the lout who was in possession of his own knife. Heath blocked the brute's plunging arm with his own solid forearm, then thrust the sword into the Borderer's gut and withdrew it quickly. He raised the bloody sword over hishead, swinging it in a deadly circle to keep the other three at bay. The trio had no weapons; Heath's knife, which lay beside the dying man, was out of their reach.
    They backed off slightly from the naked, sword-wielding figure, but it was apparent they still believed that three could take him. Heath concluded they hadn't the brains of lice. He selected a target and lunged swiftly, taking his enemy in the throat. He swung about and grabbed another by his leather vest, holding the point of his sword beneath the man's chin. The third man took to his heels as if the Grim Reaper were after him.
    “Who ordered you to murder Lord Ramsay Douglas?” Heath demanded.
    “I dinna ken … Mangey knows.”
    Heath shoved the point of his sword into the man's gullet, just deep enough to draw a trickle of blood. “You said he had gone for the money. Did he go to Bewcastle? Was it Dacre?”
    “Dacre?” the reiver repeated slowly, as if such a possibility had never occurred to him until now. “Nay, he went north to Kelso. Mangey's our leader, he's the only one who knows. He does the negotiatin' an' handles the money.”
    Heath ordered, “On your knees, with your arms behind you.” When the thickset marauder obliged, Heath took the leather thong from his tied-back hair and tightly bound the man's wrists. He stepped over to the two men