Demon Sword

'I appreciate the offer, but why you and not me?'

Hamish mumbled inaudibly. Then he said, 'I didn't like the squirmy way she looked at you!'

A man could make a funny response to that, but the kid was obviously serious. 'It was like she was thinking of buying you!'

That was the exact impression Toby had. 'Perhaps she has some heavy boxes to move.'

Hamish pouted at the mockery. 'Do you think she'll take no for an answer?'

'I doubt she would.' The lady looked as if she had never been denied anything in her life.

'Don't go into the castle tonight, Toby. Please?'

'I have to see Steward Bryce.'

'Then let's go slow, so we get there too late to get in!'

'We will anyway.'

By the time they arrived, the sky was almost dark, and the moon hung over the shoulder of Ben Challum. As they started down the final slope, they heard the drum tattoo that meant the gates were being closed. No Highlander would be admitted before tomorrow's dawn. The last of the day workers were already disappearing down the road in twos and threes. A lantern glinted in the shadows, revealing the two sentries at the gate.

Toby carried on along the road, heading for the bend through the rocks.

'The postern's still open!' Hamish said. 'We could ask.'

'Not a hope.'

'They may have left it open because they know we haven't been paid, and—'

'Dreamer!'

'Cynic! Why do you suppose it's open, then?'

'If certain persons weren't always in such a rush to be first out of there every night, they would know that the postern's usually left open for an hour or two. The laird may be out riding, or men have gone fishing, or something. A blanket wearer like you would have to fight his way in.'

'Blanket wearer?' Hamish said in outrage. 'Blanket wearer?' he screeched. 'Is that what they call us?'

'Haven't you heard them? It's no worse than—' But Toby was already running.

Someone had cried out in the shadows ahead where the road bent. He could not see what was there, but he had heard enough — a deep voice angry, a shriller one being cut off suddenly… His feet pounded on the dirt. It might just be two boys telling each other dirty stories, in which case he would just look foolish and no harm done. Or it might be dirty deeds, in which case the quicker the better.

Fast as he ran, his mind raced faster. Everything was sharp and clear. It was not going to be boys telling stories. It was going to be rape and it was going to be a Sassenach doing it. Even as he came around the corner, the man forced the woman to her knees. Her efforts to scream were muffled by his hand over her mouth. He had his back to Toby, but was starting to turn to see who was coming. Moonlight flashed on his helmet.

How did an unarmed man fight a soldier? Those doublets were so thickly padded they were virtually armor. Even Toby could punch at that until his knuckles fell off and not damage his opponent much. Fusiliers' helmets lacked face pieces, so there would be a chin to aim at, but that would be about all.

How did an unarmed man fight a soldier? One thing he did not do was argue. Give the man a moment and he could draw his pistol or his dagger or his sword, and that would be the end of it. Toby did not have as much as a stick, but he could put his fist through a plank door. He must knock the man down with his first punch and hope to run off into the night with the woman. It was not a very noble prospect, but a safe flight into the darkness was the best he could hope for.

The soldier was still partly stooped over her, but his head was coming around and Toby knew him. He also knew he outweighed Fusilier Godwin Forrester considerably. He shot a straight left to the jaw.

It didn't work as planned.

Meg screamed, 'Toby! Get him, Toby darling!'

Meg? He half-turned to her voice. Forrester ducked his head to offer his helmet. Toby pulled the punch before he smashed his knuckles. He careened into his opponent like a runaway wagon. They went down together. Although Toby was on top, he was winded more than his victim, landing on powder horn, pistol, bandolier — innumerable hard and sharp things stabbing at his chest. From helmet to breeches, Forrester was well padded. He was also a veteran fighter. His free hand clawed at Toby's face, fingers reaching for eyes. That tactic was not in the rules recognized by the glen.

To save his sight, Toby had to bring up his hands. Forrester butted them with the metal brim of his helmet and jerked up his knee — a move that would have disabled a smaller man completely. Fortunately he misjudged and struck Toby's hipbone instead. One moment Toby had been on top and the aggressor, half a second later, he was rolling free, struggling to defend himself. He was a boxer, not a wrestler.

Forrester lunged to his feet, his sword screeching out of its scabbard. Toby scrambled to rise, and his hand touched the musket lying on the grass. Before he was upright, the blade flashed at his head. He ducked under the stroke and sprang up holding the matchlock by its barrel. To fire it was out of the question — he did not know how, he had no powder and shot, he lacked the time. All the same, it was a usable weapon, a massive club of wood and steel longer than the saber. He parried the second slash: clang! The soldier had not expected that. The impact must have jarred his arm just enough to throw him off balance. Using his greater reach, Toby rammed the butt into the man's chest. The Sassenach went over like a weed.

Forrester's limbs thrashed, but even flat on his back he could aim a slash at Toby's legs. Fortunately, it was slow and clumsy. Toby dodged it. His only hope now was to stun his opponent, grab the woman, and run like demons.

The soldier rolled over, began to rise. Toby aimed at the helmet, swung with all his strength. At the last moment, pulling his legs under him, Forrester bent his head. The butt struck his neck with an impact that jarred Toby's teeth. Had he been using an ax, he would have cut the man's head clean off and buried the blade in the turf — but his victim would have died no faster.

Evil had come to the glen. He had gotten into a fight, and terrible things were going to happen.

PART TWO A Night to Remember

CHAPTER ONE

'Rapist!' Meg screamed, kicking furiously at the corpse. 'Coward! Pick on a woman, would you, but you won't get up and fight with a man?' Kick, kick, kick… 'Get up and fight!'

Hamish stood like an icicle, his arms wrapped around himself and his face a white glimmer in the gloom. Hamish knew that Forrester's neck was smashed.

'Meg!' Toby said.

Meg went on yelling and kicking. There wasn't much of Meg Tanner, but she had a temper as big as Ben More. She could be louder than thunder at times, and this was one of those times. Her bonnet had fallen off, her two long braids swung like whips around her head as she kicked. 'Tell him to get up, Toby! Pick him up and hit him! Show him!'

Men were shouting in the distance. This bend in the road was not a blind spot for watchers in the castle, for it lay almost directly under the battlements. There was light enough yet, and the moon sailed in and out of the clouds. Then a bugle… The fight had been heard and seen, and the Royal Fusiliers would be here in minutes.

Toby Strangerson had killed a Sassenach and terrible things would happen. He did not care. Let them happen! Filthy rapists! He had arrived in time, saved the woman. The toad had not had time to drop his breeches and Meg still had her clothes on, although her dress had been ripped open to the waist.

Not a woman at all, just Meg Tanner, Vik's sister, only a kid. How could that putrid louse have tried to force