Highlander Unmasked (43 page)

The MacLeods’ strength would be significantly divided, but they would have the element of surprise. It would be enough.

Alex scanned the sea again. It was near dark, but he could just make out the white of a sail in the distance. He ordered his men to wait for his signal. He kept his gaze focused on the castle. Waiting. Any minute…

The sea-gate to Stornoway Castle opened.

Every inch of his body was trained on the small stretch of land between the castle and the harbor, where the sixty or so men had begun to descend the stairs of the sea-gate and march toward the four waiting galleys. There wasn’t much time; Alex and his men had to attack before the Lowlanders could embark in their ships. He raised his claymore, ready to give the signal that would send his men galloping down the hill toward the unsuspecting soldiers.

This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for was upon him. It was time to put his demons where they belonged, in the past. And win the day for the MacLeods of Lewis.

The sound of stomping hooves from behind stilled his hand. He was just about to proceed anyway and lower his hand when a voice rang out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Alex recognized the voice and then the face that halted not twenty feet behind him. Dougal MacDonald. The rush of hatred hit him hard, but he would not allow it to interfere with the task at hand. He cast his gaze down to the soldiers making their way toward the boat. Nothing looked amiss. But he knew Dougal well enough to know that he was up to something. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t work. Alex was no longer a boy of eighteen.

He would not be defeated. Perhaps it was fitting that his nemesis should arrive to witness this moment.

Dougal led a dozen or so of his men through the clearing, forming a semicircle around them.

Alex’s eyes narrowed at the implied threat, but he felt a vague inkling of trouble. “Don’t interfere, MacDonald. You’re outnumbered.” He indicated his own score of warriors, waiting for his signal to careen down the hill. “Surrender now and you won’t have to die.”

Something in Dougal’s expression bothered him. He looked too confident, like a man holding an unbeatable hand. Alex’s uneasiness spread. Dougal wouldn’t challenge him like this unless he was damn sure of the outcome.

“It’s not I who will be surrendering, MacLeod. You see, I need but one person to defeat you.”

Alex stilled.
No. He couldn’t…

Dougal turned, motioning for someone to step forward.

Out of the darkness from behind the trees, the tiny familiar form broke into view. Meg. Spitting-fire angry with a knife pressed to her throat by one of Dougal’s men. Vaguely, he was aware of Jamie and the other men behind her, bound, their wrists tied with rope.

The ground shifted under his feet as the memories collided with the present.
Not again.

“Alex, don’t listen to him. He won’t kill me, it’s just a trick—”

“Shut up!” Dougal shouted, striking her hard across her cheek with the back of his hand. Meg’s head rolled with the blow.

Alex let out a strangled sound and leapt forward to attack—stopping only when he saw MacDonald’s man press the knife deeper against Meg’s neck.

A red haze clouded his vision. He forced himself to breathe, forced his pulse to slow. He needed his mind to clear, he had to think. His gaze fixed on Meg, but out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed that Jamie and Robbie had also leapt to Meg’s defense.

“Stay out of this, Campbell,” Dougal warned.

Alex couldn’t speak. Icy fear gripped his throat. He was staring at the knife.

“Well? It’s your decision,” Dougal said, gloating.

Just like four years ago,
Alex thought. Dougal had recreated the scene for maximum effect. Would it be Meg who was gulleted before him this time?

Alex was trained to lead. To make decisions. To make the hard decisions.

Just not this decision.

Could he surrender, saving her life, knowing that in doing so, he’d be forced to sacrifice so many others who were depending on him?

Alex eyed the castle guardsmen on shore who were fast approaching their boats. There wasn’t much time. If they reached the boats, he’d fail. Patrick and the two
birlinns
of his men would be too far outnumbered in a battle on water with both the men from the castle and the new recruits. The Lowlanders would return to the castle with reinforcements, and Neil would be storming into a death trap.

He made his decision.

He lifted his claymore and swung it in a wide circle, the signal for his men on land and at sea to attack. They obeyed, their trust in him absolute. With a fierce battle cry of “Hold fast!” the men surrounding him rode off, thundering down on the unsuspecting castle guardsmen loading onto the boats. Leaving Alex alone to fight Dougal and his dozen warriors.

The battle to take Stornoway Castle had begun. Without Alex.

Meg dared not breathe.

As the piercing scream of the MacLeod war cry rang in her ears, she knew that any breath might well be her last. Not that she was ready to die. She prayed that Alex had a few more tricks up his sleeve.

She was so proud of him. She knew what this decision had cost him, but it also proved the man he had become. A leader willing to do what was necessary for the protection of his people, no matter the personal cost. Never had she been more certain that this was the man she wanted to help lead her clan.

Dougal’s stunned expression indicated that Alex’s defiance had surprised him.

“Apparently, I overestimated the chit’s worth to you,” Dougal snapped.

“It’s not her you want,” Alex replied calmly. “It’s me. I’ll surrender, but not until I am assured that Mistress Mackinnon is safe. Allow Campbell to take her away and I’ll go with you.”

“No!” Meg gasped, understanding exactly what he was doing. Dougal wouldn’t take him anywhere. Alex was bargaining his life for Meg’s.

“Fine,” Dougal agreed. “Release the lass. Campbell, take her.”

The nameless MacDonald clansman released his deadly hold on Meg’s neck and then, using the knife he’d just lowered, sliced through Jamie’s bonds.

Meg tried to pull away, wanting to run to Alex, but Jamie reached out to stop her.

“Don’t, Meg,” he said under his breath. “You can’t help him.”

She didn’t care. “Alex, don’t. It’s a trap—” Despite his words, she knew that Dougal had no intention of letting them go. The moment Alex was dead, they would be hunted. Alex was giving his life for nothing.

“Enough,” Alex cut her off harshly, refusing to look at her. “Jamie, do as he says, get her out of here.” He slid off his horse and divested himself of his weapons. One by one, they fell to the rocky ground.

He glanced down toward the shore, where his men battled the castle guards. Despite their smaller numbers, the MacLeods appeared to be holding the advantage. A rider galloped back and forth along the beach with a torch. She followed his gaze as two
birlinns
headed out to sea. His mouth curved with satisfaction. Meg understood. His plan was succeeding, so far. But they needed him. By giving himself up to Dougal, he was risking everything he’d fought for—and failure. It was the ultimate proof of his love, but never would she have wished for such a noble sacrifice.

Jamie tried to lead her away, but her legs wouldn’t move. Not until…Finally, their eyes met. His face was a mask of strength and resolve. Her heart squeezed.
Oh

God.
He knew. He knew that Dougal would never take him prisoner, would never let him live. But he wanted to give her a chance, no matter how slim. He was giving his life for her.

A hot ball caught in her throat. She couldn’t stand this. “Please,” she choked. “Please, don’t do this—”
I

don’t want you to die. Not for me.
Her voice broke. “Don’t make me leave you.”

He looked back to Jamie. “Take care of her, Campbell. I love her,” Alex said softly.

I love her.
The words rang in her ears. Pain and happiness gripped her heart as he so simply spoke the words she’d been longing to hear. Tears spilled from her eyes. What should be the happiest moment of her life was instead one of utter desolation and anguish. How could this be happening? He’d given her the greatest gift of her life, his love—but at the cost of his life.

“Alex,” she cried softly. He heard the soft plea in her voice and met her gaze, but only for a second. Long enough to glimpse the intensity of emotion tempered by regret. Then he turned away.

“Get her out of here,” he said to Jamie. “Now.” Alex and Jamie exchanged a look, and Meg could see the vestiges of the longtime friendship they once had shared pass between them. Jamie nodded in understanding, took her arm, and forcibly dragged her away.

Her mind was going in a thousand directions as something close to hysteria descended over her. This couldn’t be happening, there had to be something they could do. She couldn’t just leave him to die. Unarmed. Slaughtered at the hand of a coward.

I just found him. Please don’t take him from me.

I need him.

“Touching. Not that it matters,” Dougal taunted. “Not where you are going.”

She froze, knowing well what he meant. A sudden burst of strength enabled her to break free from Jamie. She spun around, just in time to see Dougal pull out his dirk.

“No!”
A guttural cry tore from the depths of her soul.

What happened next took mere seconds, though it seemed to unfold in horrifically slow motion.

Meg didn’t think. She ran straight toward Alex as Dougal’s arm began its downward stroke.
Not enough time,
she thought as she leapt, intending to knock the dirk from Dougal’s hand. But she missed.

Unable to stop the pendulum of his swing, Dougal plunged his dirk into flesh.

Her flesh.

She felt the sear of the blade, the sharp knife of pain, and then…nothing.

Surrounded by Dougal and his men, unarmed, and with his own men already down the hill, Alex knew there was a good chance he was going to die. But he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Dougal’s eyes were bright with excitement. He raised his dirk high above his head, and the silvery blade caught a beam of moonlight and flickered like a silvery reaper.

He prayed he could hold Dougal off long enough to give Meg a chance to escape. He heard a scream and knew that his prayers had gone unanswered. But he could not look away from the glittering blade.

Grab his hand,
he thought as the dirk began to fall.

A movement from the corner of his eye distracted him. When he realized what she was doing, it was already too late. Meg had jumped in front of him. Alex had managed to knock his arm but couldn’t get hold of Dougal’s hand.
The blade. Oh God. The blade.

Not Meg. Take me, goddamn you! It’s supposed to be me.

She collapsed into a puddle at his feet, Dougal’s blade protruding from her side.

A sound of rage tore from him.

His first instinct was to drop to his knees and gather her in his arms. His next was to kill. He knew he could not help her until Dougal was dispensed with, so he reached for the nearest MacDonald clansman, wrapped his arm around his neck, and snapped it while relieving him of his blade. Dougal’s face had gone white as he stared in horrified awe at the sight of Meg slumped on the ground, but he’d recovered long enough to pull his claymore from his back, intending to finish the job on Alex.

It was already too late.

In one continuous motion, Alex plunged the dirk deep into Dougal’s heart. Almost without thought. After years of waiting for revenge, the moment of Dougal’s death was remarkably anticlimactic. And insignificant given the magnitude of what vengeance might have just cost him.

He couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Not until he could help her. And to help her, he had to take control of the situation.

He tossed a blade to Jamie, who released the others. And in a matter of minutes, with three more MacDonalds dead, the rest of Dougal’s men surrendered.

But Alex was already kneeling at Meg’s side. Her eyes were closed and her face pale, but the worst part was how still she was. Terrifyingly still, like a little crumpled doll. This couldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t allow himself to consider the possibility.

He gathered her in his arms, pulling her against his chest and pressing his mouth against her brow. The faint scent of roses still lingered in her hair. “Oh, Meg—” His voice cracked. “Why?” Despair, incomparable grief engulfed him; weighing on his chest like a stone.

It took him a moment to realize that her velvety skin was warm, blissfully warm, and her even breathing tickled softly against his cheek. Relief swept over him. He buried his head deep in the warmth of her hair. Thank God. She lived.

Carefully, he laid her down to better examine the wound. A small circle of blood surrounded the dirk, enough to make his blood run cold, but not as much as he’d feared. The blade did not look deeply embedded. His attempt to deflect the blow had likely saved her life. Hands shaking, he slid the blade from her side. She continued to bleed, but the removal of the knife had not increased the flow of blood. Not realizing he’d been holding his breath, he exhaled.

“Campbell, find me something to stanch the bleeding.”

Jamie hurried to do his bidding. Until he returned, Alex did the best he could with his plaid. The wound didn’t appear life threatening, but he would take no chances. He’d ministered many battle injuries over the past few years, but none with such personal significance.

Robbie had returned after securing the MacDonalds, and Alex ordered him to find Ruaidri, one of his older soldiers. He wasn’t a healer, but he was the best they had until Alex could get Meg to the village. A quick glance down the hill told him that his men were holding their own. So far, the plan was unfolding as they’d intended. For his part, he couldn’t leave Meg. Not until she was safe.

Jamie was at his side in seconds with a remarkably clean-looking drying cloth. Alex quickly fashioned a pad and secured it with a piece of linen torn from his
leine.

“Is she going to be all right?” Jamie asked.