Highlander Unchained (32 page)

The danger he faced set her heart racing. But despite the odds against him, Lachlan appeared completely in control—almost eerily calm and more dangerous than she’d ever seen him. He looked like a man who’d spent a lifetime on a battlefield.
He had,
she realized. But until now she hadn’t understood what that meant, of what it must have been like. Her admiration only increased. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face death constantly.

His skills were dominating. He dispatched two of his attackers with relative ease, purposefully making his way toward her.

The odds were improving. It was perhaps only eight to four now. Plus the two men who guarded her, she realized.

“Come, my lady,” Aonghus said. “It’s not safe for you here, we must leave.”

“But I can’t…” Flora hesitated, looking back at Lachlan. She couldn’t leave him. Or, more accurately, she didn’t want to leave him.

Cormac must have read her hesitation, because he pushed her toward Aonghus. “Take her, I’ll take care of Coll.” He drew his sword from the baldric at his back. The deadly blade sent a shiver rippling through her. She sensed this man was a threat.

Aonghus tried to lead her off, but she jerked out of his hold. Though the brutality of battle horrified her, she couldn’t turn away. Not while Lachlan was in danger. Her heart rose in her throat as the brute who’d captured her attacked Lachlan.

She felt the force of every heavy strike reverberate through her bones as the two men exchanged blows. How could they stand it? Even the sound was horrible.

Out of the corner of her eye, Flora saw one of Lachlan’s men cut down. A strangled sound emerged from her throat, and from the fury in his gaze, she realized that Lachlan had seen it, too. He struck harder against his opponent, lowering the sword with such force, it would have cut Cormac in two had he not blocked it.

Though her brother’s man didn’t have the strength or skill of Lachlan, he was an able warrior—with surprising agility for a man of his size and weight—which was considerable. The brute continued to block stroke after stroke and didn’t seem to be tiring.

Lachlan’s arms and torso flexed with his exertions; she didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep it up. The relentless attacking had surely sapped his strength—not that you would know it from looking at him. He barely seemed to be breathing hard.

She chanced a glance at the others. Her hand covered her mouth. Murdoch was in trouble—he was being forced back against the trees with nowhere to go. Lachlan’s remaining guardsman tried to get to him to help but was set upon by three of her brother’s men.

With his men in danger, something came over Lachlan. He moved with cold purpose. Not frenzied, but strong and sure. Cormac sensed it as well. He tried to swing his blade, but Lachlan nearly plucked it from his hand with a hard twist of his wrist. The moment of surprise was all the opening he needed. He plunged his dirk into Cormac’s gut, and Flora looked away.

Aonghus swore. The death of the other man had clearly rattled him. He kept shooting furtive glances toward the trees. Flora had the horrible suspicion that he was waiting for reinforcements. No longer content to watch the battle unfold before them, he urged her away with renewed vigor. Though not much taller than she, he was wiry and strong.

“Let go of me,” Flora said, ripping her arm from his hold. “I’ll not leave—”

“Forgive me, my lady, but I’m afraid I must insist.” He took hold of her and forcibly pulled her toward the waiting horse. She wanted to shout to Lachlan for help, but he’d gone to Murdoch’s aid and was engaged with three of her brother’s men—she dared not risk the distraction. Instead, she used all her strength to resist him, all the time keeping her eyes pinned on the fight.

She muffled a cry, seeing Lachlan surrounded. He warded off blow after blow, but they kept closing in on him.
Dear God, they were going to cut him to shreds.
At least Murdoch was holding his own now that one of the men pinning him back had turned to Lachlan. The remaining guardsman from Coll—a man she recognized as one of Murdoch’s friends—was trying to stave off two others, but he stumbled on a root. Flora sucked in her breath and turned her head, unable to watch as one of her brother’s men plunged a dirk into his heart. She knew he was dead when the two men he’d been fighting joined the others against Lachlan.

Panic rose in the back of her throat. He was fighting five men. He would not be able to hold them back forever, no matter how superior his fighting skills. Her fears were soon realized. A scream strangled in her throat when one of her brother’s men slashed high across Lachlan’s arm. The gash that tore through his shirt was horrifying. Bile rose in her throat as blood flooded the white sleeve crimson.

Aonghus was still dragging her from behind toward the horse, and she stomped down as hard as she could on his foot, as she’d done with Lachlan, and twisted out of his arms. Then she ran toward Lachlan.

In that moment, nothing had ever been clearer. She didn’t want to go with her brother’s men; she didn’t want to leave Lachlan.

She loved him.

The intense initial attraction she’d felt for him had grown stronger as she came to know him. Behind the implacable façade, she’d discovered a man of surprising tenderness. With him she felt safe, protected—and, most of all, wanted. She’d been lost after the death of her mother, and he’d given her a home with a family. He was a rough and brutal Highland chief, but pure of heart and honorable. He was a survivor. A man who’d had to fight for his heritage and his clan not only with brute strength, but with cunning.

He was the first man not to be intimidated by her in some way, whether by her wealth, her supposed beauty, her connections, or her so-called willfulness—which Flora simply considered confidence. Lachlan challenged her and didn’t back down. And she respected him enough to heed the warning. She admired his fortitude, his calm under pressure, and his physical strength.

She loved him more than she’d ever dreamed possible. If only she’d realized it sooner. Not now, when it might be too late.

She raced toward him. But with so many men surrounding him, she’d temporarily lost sight of him.

She searched frantically through the circle of tall, imposing men, to no avail. Hearing the heavy breath of Aonghus as he closed in behind her, she ran faster. A branch snagged her cheek, but she was barely aware of the stinging pain. One of the men surrounding Lachlan fell, and she caught a glimpse of him before the circle around him closed again. The sight of him at that moment would stay with her forever. Swinging his sword with deadly grace, fending off blows from all around, standing proud and strong, as confident as if he faced only one man and not four. No matter his rough ways and his lack of schooling, she would be proud to have this man stand beside her. She would be proud to call him husband.

Thankfully, Murdoch had managed to get the best of his attacker and had moved to help his chief—engaging the man closest to him. Though there were now only three men left, she could see that Lachlan was tiring, his movements slower and more laborious. Sweat poured off his forehead, and blood now soaked his entire sleeve and part of his chest. It was his sword arm, she realized, and blood was running down his arm, soaking his hand.

Holding off five men had taken its toll. She experienced a fleeting moment of hope when another of the men surrounding him fell. Now numb to the horror, she did not turn away. Her primal instincts for survival—his survival—had flared. She knew it wouldn’t be over until the last man fell.

What happened next seemed to pass in slow motion. Lachlan’s blade flashed above his head as he blocked a blow from his right. He then moved his hands to block a nearly simultaneous blow from the left, but the sword landed with a resounding thump on his head. Lachlan dropped to the ground like a rock, and a scream tore from her throat.
“No!”
she cried. He couldn’t die.

Felling their enemy had stunned the two men for a moment and stopped the fight between Murdoch and his attacker. Hector’s men recovered quickly, and one lifted his sword for the death blow across Lachlan’s still body. She didn’t think, just threw herself on top of him.

“No!” She glared up at the men through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t touch him.” She peered up at them with her arms around Lachlan, relieved to feel the beat of his heart.

Aonghus was right behind her. “Get out of the way, my lady.”

The look she gave him could have started a fire. “I’ll not leave him.”

Murdoch had moved to stand behind them. “The lady said she wanted to be left alone,” he said.

Her brother’s men were clearly at an impasse. She could see the indecision on their faces as they grappled with her surprising resistance.

“Come, my lady,” the man tried to persuade her. “Your brother only wishes for your safety.”

“Tell him that I appreciate his help, but I’m perfectly safe and content where I am.”

Lachlan regained consciousness, feeling as if his head had shattered into a thousand pieces. But he was also aware of the sweetly soft body pressing against his.

When he heard her words, proclaiming before her brother’s men that she wanted to stay with him, he thought his heart would explode as well as his head. Relief, happiness, and amazement crashed over him.

“Are you sure, lass?”

He felt her startle, and then those beautiful blue eyes locked on his. What he saw there answered his question, even as her words confirmed it. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

The conviction in her voice was like a song from the gods.

His gaze darted to Murdoch, and reading Lachlan’s intent, the lad moved around to stand between him and Hector’s men. Ignoring the pain in his head and arm, he sprang to his feet, hauling Flora up after him.

He addressed their leader, an old warrior he recognized—they’d crossed paths before. “You heard the lady, Aonghus. She does not wish to leave.”

“I have my orders.”

Lachlan caught the other man’s glance toward the trees. Guessing the direction of his thoughts, he said, “The rest of your men won’t be coming back.” He shifted Flora behind him and lifted his sword, which thankfully was still in his blood-soaked hand. “There has been enough death for today. Leave now or the next will be your own.”

“You speak boldly for a man with one arm and a lad against three.”

He heard Murdoch’s grumble of outrage and quieted him with his hand.

He wouldn’t need more, but pointing it out would only force Duart’s men to fight to defend their honor. So instead he said, “Aye, but I have good reason to fight.” He gave a meaningful glance toward Flora. “Can you say the same?” He paused, giving them time to realize he was right. “Return to your chief and tell him the lass refused his…gracious invitation. She is happy where she is.”

Aonghus held his gaze for a long beat before turning to Flora. “If you change your mind—”

“She won’t,” Lachlan said with cool finality.

Aonghus looked as though he wanted to say more. Instead, he nodded to his men and they moved to the clearing, where they gathered the horses of the fallen men and rode away.

But Lachlan knew they would be back—for their dead, and for the battle that was brewing between him and Hector.

Flora was in his arms before the others had faded from view. It was as if a dam had broken free and the deluge of emotion poured from her body, racking her shoulders with violent sobs. Silently, she sought comfort from him, and he gave it to her. He’d never seen her cry before, and it left him feeling strangely helpless.

Murdoch had moved away to give them privacy and see to the dead. Allan, he knew, would return soon with reinforcements, but instead they would carry home their dead. Though it was the plight of a warrior, the pain of losing men never lessened. He took each loss personally. These men would be honored for their valor and sacrifice.

Flora emitted another sob. She didn’t seem to mind that his sleeve was staining her gown, though he couldn’t release her even if he wanted to. Just holding her was a balm to his soul. The heat of battle still roared through his blood, but with such softness pressed against his body, calm descended over him.

He’d never realized before what had been missing. His life up to this point had been one battle after another. Never had there been someone special to hold on to. Someone to care for. Someone to…love.

I love her.

Of course. It was what he’d known for some time but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Perhaps he’d realized how much it would hurt not to have his feelings returned. But she wanted to stay with him. He’d heard it for himself, but he still couldn’t believe what she’d said.

He’d thought himself immune to such emotion—he was wrong. From the first, she’d been different. She was the only woman who’d ever been able to get under his skin. The only woman ever to make him think of his own needs—needs that had nothing to do with his duty to his clan.

He loved her spirit and the streak of wildness in the proper lady that left him wondering what she’d do next. He loved her strength and confidence, as well as the vulnerability she sought to hide. He loved the way she made him feel.

He tipped her chin and looked into her watery eyes, strikingly blue from her tears. “What’s this, lass?” he asked, wiping her tears with his thumb and noticing the scratch on her cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just that…” She sniffled and hiccupped. “I thought you were dead. When I saw the sword hit your head…” She shivered, and a wave of fresh tears sprang from her eyes.

“And the thought of my death distresses you?”

She thumped him hard on the chest—a surprisingly hard blow for such a wee lass. “Of course it did, you foolish man. How could you think it would not?”

“Maybe it has something to do with your refusal of my offer of marriage?”

She bit her lip. “Oh yes, about that. I didn’t realize then…”

He stilled, seeing in her face his heart’s desire. What he wanted with a soul-wrenching intensity that squeezed like a vise around his heart. “Realize what?” he asked carefully.