RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER

by Preston, Rebecca

  “Correct your error. Tell the villagers that we don’t consort with demons. Tell them we keep them safe from the Unseelie Fae, as we have for centuries. Confess to them, Father,” Donal said, his eyes glinting. “Confess what you have done, what these mercenaries were truly after, and ask their forgiveness. If they give it to you, you will be a free man, under our protection.”

  “Thank you,” Caleb whispered.

  “Now, go.” Donal jerked his head, and Brendan moved forward to cut the man’s bindings free from his hands. The priest stared around at them for a long, shocked moment — then bolted from the hall as fast as his legs would carry him. Anna fought down the urge to laugh, again. “Send a guard after him,” he said to Brendan, flicking his eyes after the priest. “Make sure he doesn’t break his leg on his walk back to the village.”

  A guard went out, calling after the priest as he wanted. A good idea, Anna thought, chuckling to herself — the guards on the wall might think something very different was going on if they saw one of their recently-captured prisoners bolting for the gate.

  “As for you, Galen,” Donal said, his voice low and deadly. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

  Anna realized — too late — why Galen and Cam had been so silent during the conversation with the priest. They’d been working together. The torturing tools were still on Galen’s belt, though the guards had taken his sword — Cam had rubbed the blade against his bindings, then once freed, quietly used the sharp edge to cut free Galen, too. The other men had similarly been freed. They were waiting — ready to pounce. Anna yelled — it was all she could do, she couldn’t even pause long enough to find words. Just a wordless cry of warning, as Galen lunged toward the nearest guard and seized his sword from his belt. At the same time, Cam feinted to the other side, seizing Brendan by the shoulders and smashing their foreheads together. Brendan went down in a groaning heap, and Cam seized his sword.

  There was a flurry of activity, and Anna felt herself shoved back as Donal drew his sword and lunged into the fray. The guards — those that hadn’t had their weapons stolen — all drew, but the mercenaries quickly lunged at them, grappling furiously with them in the hall. Donal had roared with anger when Cam knocked Brendan down, but Galen stepped in the way, his stolen blade raised and a look of absolute rage on his face.

  “Should have paid us off when you had the chance,” he hissed, his hideous face twisting. “Now I’m going to kill you — and your whore, too,” he added, jerking his head at Anna.

  Time felt like it slowed down. This was what she did — this was what she’d been trained for. She had a single weapon, a short blade meant for close quarter fighting than the swords wielded by her enemies would allow for. She had an ally down — Brendan, whose groans meant he wasn’t completely out for the count. Donal was pinned down by Galen. The men were circling each other — in a breath, they lunged at each other, blades clashing. Galen lacked finesse, but he was an experienced fighter — you didn’t get to your thirties as a mercenary without having some skill, and a whole lot of luck. Donal had his hands full with the older man. But she trusted him.

  “Get that bitch,” Galen snarled to Cam, and the man nodded, advancing toward her. He hadn’t needed to have been told — she could tell by the ugly look in his eye that he was the kind of man who liked beating up women. Well, he was in for a surprise, that was for sure. Anna backed up, reaching into her clothing for the iron knife and wishing furiously that she’d thought to visit the armory the night before, the instant that Donal had said it was okay.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked Cam as he approached her. “Scared to fight a girl?”

  “Just deciding whether I’m going to kill you or fuck you first,” Cam growled, his voice a low rumble as he lifted his stolen sword.

  “Like you could get it up, you old fool,” she snapped. The barb landed — he went black in the eyes with rage. Attacks on manhood were always effective on men, she thought. So predictable. He lunged at her, no finesse, and she easily dodged out of the way, striking him hard as she went in just the right spot to unbalance him further. He hit the ground, howling with rage, and she danced back to where Brendan was struggling to his feet. She yanked him up by the elbow, hauling him effortlessly to his feet, and he blinked at her in shock.

  “Alright?”

  “Alright,” he said blearily — but he didn’t look good. The skin on his forehead had split where Cam had struck him, and he was bleeding. No time for that, though — Cam was dragging himself to his feet, full of rage.

  But all three of them froze at the sound of a terrible roar from Donal. The Laird’s sword was lifted high — Galen had lost his footing momentarily, and Donal had struck. The blade dropped with the full force of the man’s body behind it, and Anna couldn’t help but take a sharp breath at the wet, damp crunching of the blade splitting through Galen’s neck. For as long as she lived, Anna would never forget the wet thump of Galen’s decapitated head hitting the stones of the Dining Hall.

  Cam roared, a guttural, primal sound — but his focus was still on Anna, not on the Laird. Donal spun, sizing up the situation in a second, clearly running the same calculations as Anna was. He was too far to intercept Cam in time, and both Brendan and Anna were unarmed. What could be done? Anna saw Donal’s eyes widen as he thought of a plan.

  “Anna!” he shouted, desperate — and hurled his sword at her.

  Chapter 59

  It was adrenaline and training that caught the sword, not Anna. She came to and found it in her hand, its blade still gory with Galen’s blood — and the instant she recognized it, almost before she could feel the weight of it in her hand, she was spinning it around to point at Cam. She saw his dark, piggy eyes widen as he realized, too late, that he was heading for disaster — but the momentum of his body was impossible to arrest. She helped, by driving the blade forward, but most of what killed Cam was his own inertia — the sword split through his chest and impaled him completely, half a foot of the blade jutting out through his spine. She released the blade, breathing hard as he dropped to his knees then rolled over, the same furious expression frozen on his face.

  He was dead. It was over.

  The guards roared in ragged triumph — they’d finished off the mercenaries, who after all hadn’t put up much of a fight and witnessed the last gory moments of the battle against Cam and Galen. Anna stared around the hall, looking for more enemies — then felt Brendan’s arm around her, shaking her.

  “That was amazing!” he was yelling, over the rabble of the guards. More men and women were pouring into the Hall, now, drawn by the sounds of fighting — she heard a few screams, realizing belatedly how horrific the scene must look. Cam’s blood had sprayed out at her, covering her clothing — she took a few steps back, repulsed.

  And then all she could see was Donal — Donal, similarly soaked in gore, breathing hard, his blonde hair matted to his head with the exertion of the fight. But it was the look on his face that knocked her down — pure admiration, pure joy. She ran to him, not caring who saw, not caring where they were or that either of them were covered in blood and hurled herself into his arms. There was another roar of celebration from the assembled folk in the hall, and she laughed breathlessly as Donal spun her around and around.

  “My warrior queen,” he kept saying, over and over, until she was dizzy — then, gently, he put her back on the ground.

  She staggered. “We both need a bath,” she said bluntly — and a roar of laughter went up from guards. An odd instinct, to laugh in the wake of horrible violence… it relieved tension, reminded you that it was good to be alive, after all.

  Donal was giving orders, designating various people to cleanup duty, others to help Brendan off to a healer to have his injuries looked at. Then he took her by the hand and led her out of the dining hall.

  We did it, she thought dizzily. We’re safe. Now all that was left was to clean up the dining hall. Disoriented as she was, a part of her alm
ost felt like it was her responsibility to help clean the blood — only Donal’s hand in hers as he led her up to his quarters stopped her from turning around and going to find some materials to help scrub the floors clean. It felt wrong, somehow, for all that blood to be pooled on the floor of the hall where they ate. She felt affronted, somehow. As though a sacred place had been invaded and despoiled.

  “What are you thinking about?” Donal murmured.

  He’d grabbed a servant on their way up, and politely asked the girl to fetch them some hot water to bathe in — she’d stared at the blood-soaked Laird in mute horror, nodding furiously. The water had been brought up in record time… and, Anna was willing to bet, rumors about Anna and Donal were probably flying thick and fast. Ah, let them. At the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care much about what people said about them.

  “Just don’t like the hall being all bloody,” she mumbled, stripping her clothes off with a practiced ease once she’d realized there was nobody left filling the enormous tub in the bathroom. Thankfully, most of the blood she’d caught was on her clothes — once that pile was discarded in the corner of the room (it would probably need to be burned, she thought, wrinkling her nose — but then again, Blair was something of a wizard with stains, it was said) and she sank her body into the hot bath with a groan of contentment.

  “Move over,” Donal said, grinning down at her — his lean, muscular physique on full display as he padded across the floor toward the tub. She admired the view as long as she could, felt her body responding to the sight of him despite her exhaustion. He climbed into the tub, settled down behind her — it was a little cramped, but felt utterly perfect.

  “Witch hunters dealt with,” she murmured. “What’s next?”

  “Burn the bodies,” Donal said dismissively. “Scrub the floor. Meet with the village elders, give them a sharp telling off.”

  “Visit Maggie, thank her for all her help,” Anna pointed out, remembering the sudden turn of weather — and of course, the efforts of the Loch Ness Monster, who she understood to be a kind of bonded pet of Maggie’s.

  “Aye, true, mustn’t forget Maggie.”

  “How on earth did you ever get by without me?” Anna challenged him.

  He laughed. “I don’t know, lass. And I’d rather not go back to it, if it’s all the same to you.”

  She took a deep breath. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? His body tensed up behind her, just a little, and she turned her head to meet his eyes.

  “I meant it,” he said softly. “When I said I wanted ye for my own. What do you say?”

  “Your own,” she said thoughtfully, mulling the words over. “Hmm. Like a sword, or a horse? Your own… possession?”

  “Of course not,” he said irritably. “Don’t be daft, woman. I could no more keep you than I could keep the wind in my hands, you’ve made that damn clear. I don’t even know why I bother —”

  She cut him off with a kiss, laughing into his mouth as he responded with unbridled enthusiasm to her kiss. Then, of course, they got somewhat carried away… and if the servants who came in the morning to find the entire floor of the room soaking wet had anything to say about it, they kept it to themselves.

  After all, who could begrudge two young lovers celebrating the end of a threat to their happiness?

  Chapter 60

  Anna urged her horse on, grinning over her shoulder as the wind whipped her hair back and forth. Donal was in her dust, well and truly. The horse beneath her extended its stride, the wind in its mane, its breath huffing out of its lungs in clouds. It was a cold Autumn morning, and the weather had well and truly turned… and this time, Maggie had nothing to do with it. They’d sent her a huge basket of fruit in thanks for all her assistance with the witch hunters. Of course, she’d played it innocent — said she’d spent the whole afternoon tucked up in her bed knitting and had no idea what bad weather they were even talking about, but she took the fruit nevertheless, her little eyes gleaming with delight. Anna got into the habit of visiting her at least once a week — she had some fantastic stories about the Feywild, and always a pot of some kind of delicious herbal concoction on the stove to share with a guest or two.

  Her social life was rather full, these days — and her working calendar was beginning to expand somewhat, too. Since the altercation with the witch hunters — was it truly only a month ago? It felt like much longer — Anna had been in high demand not only among the servants in the castle, but among the women in the village, who’d heard the tales of her defeating the hideous Cam in one-on-one combat. Naturally, they all wanted to learn to defend themselves. Danger hadn’t come to their sleepy little village for a long time, thanks mostly to the brave men and women of the Sept, but now that they’d had a taste, they all wanted to arm themselves with skill and training in case the danger returned.

  And Anna was more than happy to oblige — with Donal’s full support, too. So a few times a week, she’d ride into the village and spend a few happy hours teaching the women of the village (and even a few men who were able to choke down their pride long enough to learn something from a woman) how to beat the hell out of a would-be attacker. Progress was slow, and there was a great deal of laughter… but after all, that was the best way to learn. And there was no immediate threat looming to prepare for. They could afford to take it slow. Kaitlyn was always front and center at these lessons, her hair tied fiercely back and her blue eyes shining with enthusiasm. She was Anna’s star pupil, always ready to learn a new form, and from what the villagers said she was a regular sight in the fields, practicing. Anna was hoping to get permission from her mother Rhona to start teaching her how to use a sword sometime soon… but she was giving it a bit of time first. Rhona had been deeply worried about her daughter’s absence when the witch hunters had been with them — she’d all but given her daughter up for lost before the girl had come traipsing merrily home, full of stories of war and bloodshed.

  It had been a strange, somber day, the day after the witch hunters’ defeat. She and Donal had spent a passionate night together, celebrating — but in the morning, there had been bodies to deal with. They’d erected a somber funeral pyre in the courtyard, and everyone in the castle had gathered to watch the corpses burn. It seemed odd, to mark the deaths of foes with such reverence, but when Anna mentioned it to Maeve, she had glanced down at her, confused.

  “They were men, like any other. Men who’d lost their way, but men, nevertheless. They deserve to be put to rest.”

  Anna refrained from mentioning the twenty or so men who had been lost in the midst of the lake. What kind of peace could they hope to find, digesting in a sea monster’s stomach? She shuddered a little. Some questions didn’t need answers.

  Things had still been tense with the villagers for a good while. Donal had ridden into town alone a few days later — Anna had offered to go with him, but he’d put her off, saying this was a meeting he needed to have by himself. When he rode back, his face looked lighter. From what he reported, the meeting with the elders had gone well. They’d apologized immediately for doubting the Sept — not only in the immediate past, but stretching back further, too. It seemed that the witch hunters had been a menacing presence, and many of the villagers had felt their only option was to side with them… but at the same time, Donal said, the rumors of Nessie having eaten a third of the mercenary forces had spread quickly, too. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of a creature like that.

  Father Caleb had been an unexpected boon to the village, too. To Anna’s surprise, the young priest had flourished when he found a home in the village to stay in. He spent his days tending his garden, something he had a surprising flair for, and discussing the Lord with any villagers who chose to stop by. Though there was still some distrust there, he was fast making an impression on the villagers, who were even beginning to take an interest in the sermons he insisted on delivering in the town square once a week. Last time Anna had seen him visiting the castle, he’d informed her, with a
face shining with pride, that no less than four villagers had turned up to his most recent sermon. An unqualified success, it seemed. She was glad he was happy, anyway. His life had taken a rather dark detour with the mercenaries, and he was lucky to be alive, let alone living a happy little life like this one.

  But then again — so was she. Incredibly lucky to have survived — not only her first twenty-five years, but these last few weeks, too. And her life was so full of delight she could just about burst. She and Donal were committed to one another — as good as engaged, if she understood the meaning right, and they were looking forward to a simple wedding ceremony once the weather got warmer. She didn’t want to get married in the freezing cold. It was strange — until she’d met Donal, she’d never wanted to get married at all. Now the thought of pledging her life to him filled her with peace and joy. Every day, he found a new way to prove how wonderful he was — how strong, how clever, how sensitive. He listened to her, learned from her, asked her endless questions about her life back in the future (which was already beginning to feel like some strange dream she’d woken up from.)

  And he was teaching her things. They sparred regularly — she could feel her body getting stronger, her sword fighting skills sharpening up as he trained her. She was still a few inches away from besting him in a fight, but she could tell the moment would come. He could, too — she often caught him training by himself, furtively, desperately trying to hang on to his edge on her. She’d beat him one day, she knew. Malcolm had taken to sparring with her in secret, too, and so had Brendan — they were both desperately keen to see their Laird defeated. It was a nice way to get to know these two men, men who were basically like her brothers-in-law.

  And he’d taught her to ride. She’d known the basics of horse riding, but he’d given her a few more pointers, developed her confidence — and, because they were both deeply competitive people, they raced everywhere they went. This beautiful Autumn morning, they were headed for Father Caleb’s house. He’d received a letter he needed their advice on, so he said.