Free Night Visitor by Melanie Jackson Page A

axeman staggering. Her second and third went into Malcolm’s nearest guards, wounding though not killing them. The next would have been sent into the breast of the woman responsible for Malcolm’s torment, but she had already fled into a doorway below the now familiar and hated banner. Taffy had to content herself with clearing a path for the piper’s escape.
    She pumped the lever rapidly and brass shellshot fell to the ground nearby with tiny pings. She aimed for those nearest the castle gate who were in the best position to interfere with Malcolm’s escape. The piper had felled two more guards, she was pleased to see, but there werestill several more between him and freedom. Fortunately, they were now focused on the outlying threat to the castle and did not perceive the danger behind them.
    The gun snicked without firing, telling her that she was out of ammunition and needed to reload. She dropped behind a large boulder and began to thumb shells into her rifle. The barrel was burning hot to the touch.
    “Bloody hell!” she swore, as a new threat in the form of an arrow splintered against the boulder that shielded her. Another struck, quivering angrily in the ground, to her left. Pounding footsteps heralded Malcolm’s approach—directly into the path of the archer’s fire.
    Taffy rolled to her knees, moving some distance to the right and began scanning for the archer. She had him in an instant, an arrogant silhouette with a crossbow standing against the reddening sky. He crumpled nicely when she put a bullet in his thigh.
    All at once, there was a crash and then a rustle, as if tree limbs had been smashed violently together. Before she could bring her rifle around to defend herself, a battle-enraged Campbell was standing over her, slashing down with a gleaming claymore.
    She had no time even to scream, for in an instant Malcolm was there, and the Campbell was swallowed by the nearby shrubbery, an axe buriedin his chest. His wicked sword clattered to the ground beside her, slicing deeply into her skirt.
    “Come wi’ me,” Malcolm ordered, jerking her to her feet with a single tug of his bound hands. He headed into the heart of the thicket where, miraculously, the seemingly solid wall of plants gave way for them.
    “The claymore!” she suggested. But he did not bother to retrieve the sword.
    “Never mind it! We’ve no time for a stirrup-cup.”
    A hound bayed loudly from within the castle walls, calling to Taffy’s mind the tales of how Campbells had hunted down their enemies, letting their animals rip their victims to pieces when they had them cornered in the glen.
    With that image in her head, Taffy didn’t argue. Hearing the sounds of pursuit behind her, she put the Winchester over her shoulder and discharged a round in the general direction of the castle, hoping to temporarily deter their enemies.
    For her pains, she caught a stray limb in her hair, which tugged painfully until Malcolm pulled her free.
    “Dinnae bother, lass. They’ll be skedaddled in the woods.” Then Malcolm set his leather bonds to his lips where he bit down with hard, whiteteeth. In a flash, the binding was shed from his wrists and flung violently away.
    The now free hand that towed Taffy also guided her, which was a fortunate thing as her hair was again loose and falling over her eyes. Through that golden veil, she thought she saw a wall of brambles fold apart and then, as she turned her head to stare in disbelief, weave itself together behind her. She had the uneasy impression that the very greensward around them was being rearranged as they passed through it, becoming denser behind, but she could not see clearly enough through her hair to know if it was true.
    Presently, all noise behind them ceased, and Malcolm slowed their pace, which was fortunate as fatigue and sickness were finally overtaking her. Whatever battle-rage it was that had guided her into setting the bloody ambush was departing quickly, leaving a sort of