Trapped Under his Highland Spell: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance (Tales Of Highland Might Book 4)

by Ava McArthur

  Amid the chaos, she tried to see the opposing commander, but her vision was clouded by a sea of bodies. They seemed to be everywhere, like rats swarming over sacks of food. Her muscles ached from swinging her sword, and sweat poured down the side of her face and underneath her clothes. Every step took her farther from the keep. She glanced back and saw one enemy rushing towards it. Ainsly snarled and sprinted back, her feet thudding on the ground. She screamed to get the man’s attention. He turned, and his lip curled as he swung his sword. Ainsly was moving so fast that she could not stop easily. As it came slashing through the air, she threw herself to the ground and rolled by his feet. He stomped on the ground, trying to crush her head. She managed to evade his heavy boots. Her stomach turned as she saw entrails hanging off the soles of his boots.

  She pressed her hands to the ground and kicked up with her legs, angling her body to kick him. Her lithe leg hit him in the chest and gave her an opportunity to rise to her feet. As she did so, her enemy had regained his balance and struck as soon as she was upright. Twisting her body, Ainsly managed to evade the blow and thrust her sword forward, catching his shoulder. He growled in pain, but it only seemed to drive him on. She danced around him, searching for an opening, and finally, she found one. As he lifted his arm to strike, she lunged forward and thrust it into the side of his body, dragging it down to open up his guts. He looked down in horror at what she had done to him, and then keeled over.

  Ainsly gasped for breath as she turned in fear that others would be storming the keep. Her heart sank as she saw her men retreating. Some of them were carrying others. Most of them were limping.

  “What are ye daeing? Stand and fight!” she cried.

  Calum came to her. Blood streaked his arm, and his clothes were torn to shreds. His eyes were wild with panic; he clutched her arm with whatever strength he had left. “There’s nae use, Ainsly. They’re tae strong. We…we’ve done all we can. We hae tae retreat tae the keep. If we dinnae, we’ll all die.”

  Calum had advised her on so many matters since her father’s death. She trusted him perhaps more than any man that had ever lived, but it was so hard to trust him in this matter. Yet what choice did she have? She could order them to fight, but then they would just spill their blood over the ground. There would be nobody left to protect those left in the keep. With a heavy heart, Ainsly nodded.

  “Retreat!” she cried, and brandished her sword, pointing it towards the keep. The men shuffled away just as the dark shadow of the enemy came up behind them, as inexorable as death itself. Ainsly dared not look behind her as she didn’t want to think of the fate that awaited them, or the men she had to leave on the battlefield. Her only hope now was that the walls and doors of the keep held strong, although she had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before they gave way. As she held the doors open and ushered her wounded men through, she spared a thought for her father.

  I’m sorry I failed ye Da. Perhaps a son would hae been able tae hold the keep.

  As the last of her men came through the doors, she closed them, with the help of Calum, and slid a heavy wooden beam behind him. Then, she turned into the keep’s shadowed halls and strode back towards her throne room, awaiting the enemy in there. If they wanted the throne then they were going to have to take it from her directly.

  Chapter 1

  It was always meant to be like this. The glory of battle was unmatched. Ian Grierson was never as alive as he was in battle. His blood burned, and the air was sweet. The world was vivid and vibrant. Yes, this was how life was meant to be lived, always with the danger of death around him; otherwise, how else was he able to appreciate the gift of life? The air was thick with blood, and he enjoyed the cries and howls of horror of his enemy. His lips curled into a smile. His hair was on the lighter side of red and reached his shoulders. His eyes were turquoise, and they looked at everything with a discerning gaze. His shoulders were broad, his muscles thick, and his hands were meant to have a sword in them. In his thirty-one years, he had known much frustration, but finally, he would find his people a home.

  “I didnae think it would be this easy,” Calan remarked. “Ye may nae hae tae fight at all.”

  “Oh, the fight is nae over yet. The hard part is yet tae come,” Ian said with reverence, anticipating the moment when he would join the fray. “I’ll let the rest of them hae their fun first.” He looked out to the battlefield. The day was a glorious one, bright and sunny. The heavens were certainly looking upon him with a blessing. He was currently standing in a small copse of trees at the entrance to the valley. The thunder of his men charging past him had faded from his mind, and now the area was peaceful. Before him, though, things were quite the opposite. The attack had gone just as he had planned. His men were fierce and powerful, and the opposing force was not enough to resist. The ground was drenched with blood, and bodies littered the fields around them. It was a feast of blood, and the crows were already circling overhead. He closed his eyes, and he breathed in, reverent at the sounds of the clashing steel. His heart swelled; he felt as though he had finally claimed his destiny.

  He had found his clan a home.

  His hand twitched by his side, itching to rush into battle, but it was not time yet. One of the difficult things about being laird was to restrain himself, but it was something he had gotten used to over the years.

  “It’s a fine keep, isnae it?” Calan remarked. He was of an age with Ian and more like a brother than a friend. His hair was the color of sand, and he had brown eyes. They were both dressed in old, rough clothes that had been patched together from a few different outfits.

  “Aye, it is. It’ll make a good home for us.”

  “Part of me is gaeing tae miss roaming around the Highlands,” Calan remarked.

  “I’m nae,” Ian said, his tone as cold as ice.

  He watched the battle unfold in front of him and was satisfied that it was going as he had foreseen. The attack had not been expected. It seemed as though the advantage of surprise was making a telling difference. It would not be long now until he could stride into the keep and make his claim on this new home.

  His gaze drifted towards the castle. It was high, nestled into the valley. The stone was old and weathered. Its dark windows held the mystery of what awaited him. In fact, the entire place was something of a mystery. The McLallen clan did not make themselves known around the Highlands. Their presence was not a strong one. They had no major alliances of note and in some ways it was as though they did not exist at all, as though they were a ghost. Sadly, Ian knew something of how that felt. It made them a prime target for an attack as they could not count on anyone else to defend them. The only thing that was known was that they were led by a spirited lass by the accounts he had heard, but a lass nonetheless. And there was one thing Ian knew for certain: a clan needed a strong man to lead it as laird. It was only a matter of time before this clan was conquered, so he thought it might as well be him to do the conquering.

  “What’s that?” Calan gasped, the words leaving him in a rush of air. He pointed far into the distance, near the keep itself. From their vantage point, they had a grand view of the battlefield as there was a slight slope to the ground, which allowed them to look over it as the gods looked over the world. Ian followed the direction of Calan’s gaze and saw what had caught his attention. There was a figure dancing around with a flame swinging behind her.

  “That must be her,” Ian said, impressed by the way she could swing a sword. It remained to be seen whether she was beautiful. He waited a few moments longer before he decided that it was time for the final charge. He drew his sword and strode out onto the battlefield; his muscles swelled as he bellowed out a command to his clan.

  “Tae the keep! This battle has gone on long enough! It’s time for us tae take what we came here for!”

  As soon as the order was given, his men started fighting more fiercely, gathering their strength together, and fighting towards the keep. Calan was by his side, and the two men fought th
eir hardest. There were still some straggling remnants of the defenders who had been separated from their main forces. Some of them were foolish enough to fight Ian, and they paid for it with their lives. His greatsword crashed through them and sent them flying back. He roared with every stroke, feeling the rush of blood and anger pulsing through his body.

  Ah, yes. It was a good day.

  He was greeted by the moans of those who were wounded as he walked through the river of death. They could be dealt with later. For now, his eyes were on the keep.

  He joined his men as they approached the keep, sheathing his sword. The doors had been shut, but they had come this far and nothing was going to stop them now. As he strode through the crowd, Ian clapped his soldiers on the back and congratulated them on a battle well fought.

  “We’ll hae a good feast taenight! The gods will hear our song, and nae warrior’s name shall be forgotten!” Ian cried. His words were met with an uproarious cheer.

  He stood before the heavy wooden doors and placed his hands upon them. He beat his fist to test their resolve, and heard only a thud. He smirked and exhaled deeply, holding out his hand. Calan placed a double-bladed ax in his palm. Ian felt the hefty weight and then gestured for his men to stand back. He tensed his muscles and pulled his arms back, sending the blade of the ax crashing against the doors. A deep gash cut into the wood. Ian bought it back again and again, slamming into the same place. Sweat poured down the side of his face, and his muscles were soon glistening. The wood cracked and splintered. A door like this might have had a strong resolve, but it was only a matter of time before it was broken down. The sun beat upon him as he beat upon the door, and eventually, he managed to crush the wood before him.

  As soon as he did so, other men joined in and started to hack away at the door. Ian stepped back and tilted his head to either side, feeling the pleasant cracking sensation. He handed the ax back to Calan and stretched out his arms. The dull ache in his muscles was pleasing. The fire that burned within was just waiting to be stoked. He was so close to everything he wanted, he could almost taste it. Delight danced in his eyes as an opening big enough to walk through was finally made. The door was in pieces. Broken wood was strewn around his feet, just like the bodies on the battlefield. He took one breath before he stepped into his new home.

  The hallway of the keep was dark and shadowed, especially compared to the brightness from outside. Ian was the first man in. He had not yet drawn his sword. There was a faint echo as his feet stepped against the cold stone floor. He breathed in the air. He could smell fear.

  He followed the hallway around and strained his ears to listen for noise. Then he noticed something dripped down the walls. Blood. It had been smeared as the defenders had retreated. When he looked down at the ground, he saw the sticky shadows, so he followed the trail to the throne room. The doors creaked as he opened them, and he walked through alone, although Calan and the other men were only a few strides behind. The room was a large hall, filled with the wounded warriors. They looked the worse for wear, and as his gaze passed over them, he could see they had felt defeated. Fear lurked in most of their eyes, although in a few there was the hint of resistance. They were sitting on benches that had been positioned around the edge of the room. Sunlight came in through shafts of windows. Weapons and shields hung on the walls, but Ian didn’t have time to look at anything like that now. His attention was drawn to one thing and one thing only—the woman sitting on the throne.

  He smirked as he walked into the middle of the hall and made a mocking bow to her.

  “Laird McLallen, it’s an honor tae meet ye,” he said.

  She leaned forward. Her sword rested over her lap. The throne was a stone chair, ancient and huge. She looked small in it, as though it was not a good fit. As the sunlight fell upon her, Ian could see that she was a magnificent woman. She was strong and had been forged into a warrior, unlike any of the other women Ian had known. Most who grew up in castles were simple, fragile things who broke under the slightest show of force.

  “Ye hae nae honor at all. Who dae ye think ye are tae attack us like this, completely unprovoked! What right dae ye hae tae assault my home?”

  “I have all the right this gives me.” Ian drew his sword. Its blade was thick and heavy. There was an awed hush from her clan. “This land is made for the strong. I have proven myself stronger than ye, sae now I am taking this keep as my own, and yer clan along with it.”

  The female laird sighed. Her head fell forward, and as it did so, her ponytail draped over her shoulder.

  “There is more than one type of strength,” she said quietly, before lifting her gaze to look at him directly. He was struck by the color and intensity in her eyes. Something profound filled him, although he wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it. “And what is the name of the man who haes committed this dastardly act? I want ye tae speak true sae the gods can witness what ye hae done taeday.”

  “I hae nae problem with telling ye my name, for I know I am blessed by the gods. My name is Ian Grierson,” Ian puffed out his chest as he spoke his name, and his powerful voice filled the entire hall. Laird McLallen rose from her throne and stepped down from the dais. She held her sword in her hand as she came towards him. Her hips swayed in a pleasing, mesmerizing manner, and Ian had to blink to focus himself.

  “Well, Ian, I am Laird Ainsly McLallen, and ye may hae won the battle outside, but ye hae nae won the keep yet. Ye hae nae proven yerself stronger than me!” As she shrieked this she charged, moving as quickly as a demon, and Ian had to defend himself.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Some of the characters are real historical figures, but the others exist only in the imagination of the author. All events in this book are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.