Heart of the Highlands: The Beast (Protectors of the Crown Book 1) (23 page)

“Tis a shame my old friend that things had to turn out the way they had. But the truth is, ye needed me more than I needed ye,” Thomas whispered.

They were the last words Magnus Sinclair would ever hear.

Chapter 29

Standing atop the cliff, Ian looked down the long expanse of the ravine below. It took him nearly an hour to climb the steep face to the summit but he knew it would allow him to see the landscape below for miles. The moment he saw the smoke rise from the trees, he knew for certain that was where they held his bride.

Had Ian not journeyed up the mountain, he might have missed it as their camp was nestled between hills in a deep valley with no visibility beyond the mountain that encircled it. His enemies likely never thought he would make such a climb, for it was no easy feat, but Ian was full of madness today. And he would go to any length to find Keira, his heart ached for her.    

The grade of the vertical summit was nearly straight up. Without rope or a harness, fueled by adrenaline, he made the journey alone. Once he reached the top and could survey the land, he would make his way back down and return to where his men waited below.

The location of the smoke was not going to be easy to get to on horseback, but it wasn’t impossible either. Ian had ridden his horse in worse conditions. He didn’t name her Storm Fighter for nothing. She was a tough and spirited horse who had earned her name.

Making his way back down the incline he rejoined his men.

“What did ye see?” Leland asked.

“I saw the camp where they are holding her, but it is no’ easy to get to. Tis on the other side of the mountain nestled deep in the ravine. We will have to follow the river to get there,” Ian advised.

With his men loyal by his side, Ian rode ahead following the shallow, meandering river that weaved around the hilly terrain. The smell of burning wood grew stronger. They were close.

Ian drew his claymore strapped to his back as he approached the trees. As they climbed the hill they were met by nearly a dozen warriors standing on the top of the incline, each one armed with a loaded rifle in his hand.

Ian’s heart pounded thunderously. The last time he saw weapons like those was during a brief journey to France. He had seen firsthand their capability and deadly potential. They were not a Scotsmen’s choice of weaponry as Highlanders lived by their sword, but the firearm, known as an arquebus, had the ability to shoot at great distances, and gave the bearer the advantage. And now, Ian stood staring at a dozen barrels pointing directly at him. Twelve to one odds were not in his favor.

Ian kept his eye trained on the twelve warriors that were about to engage. Though they had the upper hand, he could sense the fear in their eyes as Ian’s men approached. He could see their hands tremble as their fingers hovered over their triggers. These men did not show signs of being seasoned warriors and clearly were even afraid of their own weapons. An advantage Ian would be happy to exploit. They were, however, Scotsmen, so he knew they would be relentless.

So focused on their weapons was he, Ian never noticed the red and green color of their kilts until now.
Red and Green
. Ian repeated the colors in his head. Why had he not realized that until now? These were not the blue and green colors of Sutherland men. They were Chisholms! Scanning the area and the men who would soon meet their deaths, he spotted Thomas Chisholm at the far end of the encampment. Rage burned in his blood like boiling water. He knew the man who claimed to be Chisholm at trial was a fake. He knew catching him would never have been that easy. Chisholm had successfully planned his own death, but it was all for naught, Ian thought, as he imagined he would enjoy taking the man’s life.

Gripping the hilt of his sword, Ian charged forward as ear-piercing shots fired around him. He felt the wind on his face as he drove his horse forward breaking their line, causing the men to scatter. As they reloaded their weapons, the momentary relief gave Ian the opportunity needed to strike.

Raising his sword high, he turned his horse around for his second wave of attack. His men fought aside him, knocking several of their enemies to the ground. Ian could hear the swooshing of his blade slice through the air as he impaled his sword deep in one of the men.

As metal clashed and the wind howled, a feminine voice penetrated above the noise.

“Ian!”

Ian spun the horse around, his eyes searching frantically until they locked onto Keira standing on the far end of the encampment. One guard held her back from running toward him. Ian was about to charge when a close range, low sounding boom from an arquebus abruptly immobilized him. He did not feel the pain at first as it came in waves and grew intense with each beat of his pulse. Ian’s sword clattered to the ground as he wrapped his arm over his stomach and pressed his hand firmly against his side. He was bleeding freely though he was unable to detect how deep the bullet had gone. His eyes stayed fixed to Keira’s as he fell from the horse. For a moment, time stood still. 

~*~

At the sound of thunder unlike anything she had ever heard, Keira bolted from the tent but was quickly stopped but a guard standing watch near the canopy. From across the field she could see Ian and his men charging toward the armed guards, their swords raised in the air.

After another ear-piercing blast, Keira’s breath caught in her throat when she saw Ian fall from his horse after being shot by one of the assailants. The blast from the rifle was deafening as if a lightning bolt had struck the ground around her. The noise startled her as bright light accompanied the sound. Her chest squeezed tight as if she had suffered the blow herself.

Her mind and pulse raced faster than horses. She could see the blood spewing out from his side. The lead needed to be removed, and he needed to be bandaged; and quick. If he lost too much blood, she worried he would blackout and never wake.

Struggling to break free from the guard who held her arm, she watched as Ian’s men circled around him, fighting off Chisholm’s guards. They were holding the line of warriors back but she did not believe Ian was going to be able to last much longer.

Keira looked up at the tall giant holding her captive and was reminded of Brodie and the story of David and Goliath.

The bigger they are the harder they fall
, she said to herself.

Keira angled herself to face him. Lifting her leg back, bending at the knee, she kicked him as hard as she could on his shin. The man yelped in pain, releasing his hold on Keira’s arm and dropped his hands to his shin.

“Ye bitch!” he shrieked, after letting out a mass of curses.

Scooping the air with his hands, he tried to grab her but was unsuccessful as Keira ducked. Momentarily, she glanced back at Ian. It was her intention to run toward him but to do so would be absurd. Men circled around him like a ring of fire. She would never make it.

Time seemed to slow as if the last grain of sand had gently fallen from the top half of an hour glass. The thunderous clamor of battle seized, and the only sound she heard was the sound of her own hard breaths. 

Keira had to think fast. She had to have faith in Ian’s men that they would save him. She had to have faith in Ian. He would not allow death to take him so effortlessly. In all things, she knew that God had a plan for her and she refused to believe that that plan did not include Ian. She could not picture a world with him no longer in it. Simply put, she was meant to be with him.

Keira looked away from the fight out toward the trees. To run would not be cowardly but staying would only put her in unnecessary risk. She had no weapons to fend off an attack, nor did she have the strength to run into battle. The only way to save Ian was to save herself. Once Ian’s men managed to fight off the warriors, she trusted they would help him; keeping him safe from further harm.

She began to run toward the trees, her long muscled legs pumping fast in an effort to flee her assailant. He was gaining on her but she was smaller and more agile, dodging the trees and shrubs, weaving in and out like a wee banshee. She had no idea the direction she ran. All she knew was she was heading in the opposite direction of Chisholm’s men. Tripping and stumbling over exposed tree roots and forest debris, fear boosted her adrenaline.

Keira came to a wall of rock at the base of the mountain. Looking up, she felt like an ant beneath a tree. Offering up a prayer, she accepted the challenge and started to climb. Using the cracks in the wall and bits of rock that unnaturally stuck out, she scaled the mountainside. As she was nearly twenty feet from the ground, her assailant started to climb, but his weight and large feet prevented him from getting good footing, and he slipped back down to the ground.

Keira continued her ascent until she reached a flat outcropping of rock. Looking down, she was relieved to see that the Chisholm guard had given up, as he was nowhere in sight. She rested for a few moments until she continued her way up the tall incline. She estimated that it would take at least a quarter past an hour until she reached the top.

The wind blew strong at this height, which worked against her. It was a good thing she did not have a fear of heights for if she had; she would have never attempted this grueling climb.

Once she reached the top of the hill, Keira was able to see the entire expanse of the landscape from the cliff. She would find refuge here and wait until she saw Ian and his men.

~*~

The pain radiating in his side burned like the fires of Hades. With his men shielding him, Ian carefully ripped off his shirt and tied it tightly around his waist. It would stop the bleeding but do little for the pain.

Relief rained down on him when he saw Keira run off into the woods. She was away from the fight but still in danger with one of the guards chasing her.

Seeing his sword lying on the ground only a few feet away, Ian leaned toward it and picked it up with his left hand. The sword felt heavier in his non-dominant hand as he gripped the handle but not so that it would render him useless. Pushing himself to a standing position, he rejoined the fight. 

Men scattered, swords clashed and his men fought victoriously. It would be a story told for generations. As his men slayed many of the Chisholm warriors, others fled in fear.

Thomas, however, stood his ground; refusing to withdraw. Ian walked toward him, sword in hand. He wanted that man’s head on a stake; James wanted him alive. At least long enough to kill the man himself.

Charging toward Ian, Thomas swung his sword in the air. He fought with rage but not with his head. He swung wildly, missing his mark. Ian’s sword met his, the clang of metal colliding, the force of the collision vibrating down his arm. Thomas circled Ian, swinging his fist and making contact to Ian’s wound, causing Ian to stagger in pain, dropping his sword.

God damn bloody hell
!

Thomas held an appalling, sinister look then tossed his sword to the ground as well. Raising his fists, he waited for Ian to make the next move. There was nothing rawer, more elemental than fighting in hand to hand combat. To kill a man with only their bare hands offered a certain kind of dignity and power no sword could ever provide. It was savage but exactly how a true warrior would want it. It was a more honorable way to die. But death would not come for Ian this day.

Ian tackled the man to the ground. Fists swung, blood spilled, and moans and grunts echoed around them. Like two wild dogs, they fought to the death. He felt yet another blow from Chisholm and barely held on to consciousness as his vision blurred, but thoughts of Keira renewed his strength. He drew back his arm and with all the energy that he could muster he swung a mighty blow to the bastard’s head. Feeling Chisholm’s body go limp beneath him, he knew victory was his, at last.

Covered with blood, grime and sweat, Ian collapsed to the ground, next to the corpse of Thomas Chisholm. His hands were bloody and swollen, his ribs and side ached like the devil, and a swollen right eye nearly blinded him. He heard shouts and noises as they came near, but could not make out the words. The world above him spun as darkness pulled him under. He fell into a peaceful sleep as he dreamt of bathing in a vat of whiskey. He must be dead and
this
must be heaven!

~*~

Keira’s heart sank deep in her chest when she spotted Leland and the others ride toward her. She searched their faces but there was no sign of Ian. Their mournful expressions stole her breath. Keira’s head lowered as she focused on her breathing, feeling faint. Her knees trembled violently. Her husband was dead.  

Leland rode to her side, Ian’s body draped over the back of the horse behind him. She ran to him and placed her hand gently on his cheek. It was still warm under her touch.

“Is he…”

“Nay! No’ yet but he sleeps harder than a rock,” Leland assured her.

“I was afraid of that. I must tend to his wounds.”

“It’ll have to wait, my Lady. Chisholm’s men are still verra near. We are no’ prepared fer another attack.”

Keira assessed Ian as best as she could. His skin had paled.

“He cannae wait, Leland,” she whispered. “I need enough time to stop the bleeding.”

Leland let out an annoyed sigh.

“Alright, do what ye must but be quick about it.”

Leland and two of the guards helped lay Ian down on the ground. The shirt he had tied to his waist was soaked in blood. Carefully, she removed it, exposing the open wound. Thank God, the projectile had gone clear through. She wouldn’t have to dig in his side to get it out. Fever and bleeding were the only risks, and they were grave.