The Return of Black Douglas by Elaine Coffman Page A

something behind him.
    He sheathed the mighty sword to the hilt in its scabbard and swore. Women?
    He blinked to clear his vision, but there they were. Two women near a field of battle. One of them was almost naked, with her bare arms and shapely legs gleaming, slender and pale, in the morning light, while the other wore what looked like a man’s light blue chausses. Why were they dressed so strangely? Where did they come from? Where were they going? Who were they?
    More importantly, what were the Mackinnons going to do about them? They couldn’t very well ride off and leave the women to the mercy of the Macleans. From the looks of things, the fighting was over. Alysandir glanced at his brothers, and without so much as a nod, the three of them spurred their mounts and rushed the Macleans, waving their swords and shouting the Mackinnon battle cry. The Macleans didn’t wait around to see what they would do next, but quickly turned their horses around and fled back up the hill and into the trees.
    Alysandir watched them leave. His victorious mood quickly turned to irritation. What was he going to do with two strumpets? He couldn’t ride off and leave them to a fate that could easily end with their deaths. He looked them over, trying to decide what to do. He was bothered in a way he did not like, especially by the half-naked one with little inhibition and even fewer clothes. Who or what was she?
    He had not a glimmer of an idea what to do about them. Where there was a woman, danger was not far behind. And near-naked ones were worse than slings and arrows. A near-naked woman spread the wildfires of desire, and when it came to lust, Alysandir had learned that unsatisfied was best.
    As he turned his horse away, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing again toward the delicate white flesh and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He set his spurs to his horse and wished thoughts of the near-naked lass away. Women were better left to his dreams, for the real ones were nothing but a sea of trouble.

Chapter 10
    An idea, like a ghost,
    must be spoken to a little
    before it will explain itself.
    —Charles Dickens (1812–1870)
English novelist
    The image of the Black Douglas began to fade away gradually, leaving the echo of his last words ringing in their ears.
    “Fear na ye.”
    “Please, don’t go!” Isobella turned to Elisabeth. “How can he leave us here like this?”
    “With easy abandon, I’d say.”
    Isobella gave her sister a glaring look of disapproval, thinking that nobody, not even a ghost, could be that heartless. “Wait! Come back! What if we need you? What if we’re in danger? You won’t be able to come back to help us, will you? We could die out here!”
    Elisabeth was already turning away from the place where Douglas had been. “You might as well give up. I think he is a couple of centuries away by now.”
    “Damn and double damn!” Isobella kicked a rock and paced back and forth a few times. They were completely alone and defenseless against the wilds of this primitive place.
    Elisabeth was staring stupidly at something behind her, so Isobella turned to have a look and saw that where the meadow curved into a small cove, a group of men with drawn swords were staring in their direction. They appeared to have been engaged in a battle of cracking heads and running each other through.
    Only now, the men were stiff as statues. Swords still drawn, they ignored the bodies strewn about as they stared directly at the women, as if frozen in time. Isobella let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank God, they are not English.”
    Elisabeth gave her a look that needed no interpretation. “Oh well, it is such a tremendous relief to know that if I am killed, it will not be by the bloody English. Dead is dead in any language, time period, or nationality.”
    Isobella wasn’t listening. “Do you think they saw us suddenly appear out of nowhere?”
    “Does peanut butter stick to the roof of your mouth? Of course, they