Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six

by Knight, Stella

  “Remember when ye fight tomorrow, ’tis not just for me, but for yer rights, yer clan. And when we have our victory, I will be a fair laird and chieftain; I will never forget that I once toiled like each of ye have. As yer leader, I will always fight for ye.”

  His men let out a chorus of grateful cries and shouts of agreement. He met Evelyn’s eyes in the crowd; she stood at the edge of it next to Diana, giving him a smile tinged with pride.

  He approached her as his men dispersed. Diana left them alone to approach Artair, and he pulled Evelyn close.

  “I want tae spend the night before battle with ye, my lioness,” he whispered, pressing his head against her forehead.

  “And I you,” she whispered.

  He smiled and took her hand, walking with her back to the cottage.

  “My laird.”

  He halted in his tracks, stiffening in surprise as Horas approached, grasping the arm of a hooded man. When they drew near, Horas threw back the man’s hood, revealing a dark-haired man with angular features. Next to him, Evelyn let out an audible gasp.

  “Neacal,” she breathed.

  Neacal gave her a brief nod, his gaze sliding to Latharn.

  “Hello, cousin,” he said calmly.

  * * *

  “I didnae want tae believe that my brother was as cruel—crueler—than our father,” Neacal said darkly.

  They were now back in the cottage; Latharn sat opposite Neacal while Horas hovered next to him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Evelyn, Artair, Diana, Gormal and Crisdean all stood behind Latharn; he could feel their eyes trained on Neacal.

  “But I’ve seen what he’s become,” Neacal continued, expelling a sigh. He turned to glance at Evelyn before his focus returned to Latharn. “I didnae ken my brother had imprisoned Eibhlin; I was away and would have stopped him. He imprisons not just suspected spies but anyone who challenges him. Raising the rents for the sake of his greed. Assaulting the female servants and encouraging his men tae do the same. Inciting other clans tae battle. With him as laird and chief, Clan MacUisdean will only suffer bloodshed. ’Tis why I fought him for the lairdship—not because I wanted it, but because I saw what Padraig was becoming. Many of the clan nobles donnae respect him—they fear him. From what I’ve heard of ye, Latharn, ye would be a better leader. The clan would have peace. Ye are the true leader; I’m ashamed of what my father did. I willnae fight my brother on the battlefield, but I will try tae get him tae see reason one last time—tae cede his claim tae ye tae save his life, though I ken he will refuse.”

  A torn look flickered across his face, and though Latharn tried to keep his heart hardened—this was the son of the man who killed his father—empathy coursed through him. Given his love for his own brothers, he could understand Neacal’s turmoil.

  “What can ye tell us that will help?” Gormal asked.

  “Padraig kens ye’re coming, but ye already ken that. He’s making the common folk fight, and he’s putting them on the front lines—he believes their lives donnae have much worth,” he said, his mouth twisting with disgust. “Ye should focus on the men at the rear of his lines—that is where his strongest fighters are.” Neacal turned to Latharn. “I hope ye have victory tomorrow, and if ye do, I hope ye’ll consider sparing my brother.”

  “Would he have spared me?” Latharn asked, arching a skeptical brow.

  “No,” Neacal replied honestly. “But I still ask ye tae consider giving him the chance tae surrender. If he doesnae . . . " Neacal swallowed, his eyes filling with pain. “Then I understand that ye’ll do what ye must.”

  Neacal got to his feet. Horas looked at Latharn, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, but Latharn gestured for him to stand back.

  “Ye’re going back?” Evelyn asked, stepping forward.

  “I must try tae get my brother tae see reason,” Neacal replied.

  “What if he kills ye?” she asked, and jealousy prickled at Latharn’s chest at the concern in her voice; though she was right. From what he’d heard of Padraig, it wouldn't surprise him if he imprisoned his own brother and sentenced him to death.

  “I donnae believe he will. But if he does,” Neacal continued, expelling a breath. “Then it shall be done. I should have stopped my brother before.”

  He started toward the door, but not before turning to give Latharn one last look.

  “I’ll pray for yer victory tomorrow, cousin. If ye succeed, I’ll help convince the others that ye are the rightful leader.”

  “I thank ye,” Latharn said, giving his cousin a nod.

  “Do ye trust him?” Artair asked, after Neacal left the cottage.

  “Aye,” Latharn said. He’d seen nothing but sincerity in Neacal’s eyes; he could now see the honor in Neacal that the others had spoken of. He’d thought it impossible that his murderous uncle could have fathered a son who didn't share his cruelty, but now he saw that he was wrong.

  When the others dispersed, he took Evelyn’s hand, and they entered his room.

  “That took great courage, listening to him,” Evelyn said when they were alone. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Ye were right about him,” he said. “I should have listened tae ye sooner.”

  He moved close to her, no longer wanting to discuss Neacal or tomorrow’s battle. If he did fall tomorrow, he wanted to savor this last night with his lioness.

  “I love ye, Evelyn,” he breathed. Her eyes filled with joy and desire as he reached out to undo the bun she’d tied her hair up in, allowing it to spill over his fingers like silken threads.

  He pressed his lips to hers as he lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he lowered her to the bed, slowly undressing her and drinking in the sight of her nude body.

  “I love yer fierceness,” he whispered, disrobing before he captured a rosy nipple in his mouth and suckled. “Yer strength. Yer beauty. Yer bravery. Yer kindness. Even yer stubbornness, my lioness.”

  He punctuated each word with a kiss on a different part of her body: her breasts, her abdomen, her throat.

  “Latharn,” she whispered, her eyes glistening. “I love you so.”

  His heart soared at the words; would he ever tire of hearing it? Never, he thought. I'll never tire of hearing it.

  “Say it again,” he rasped, entering her in one smooth thrust.

  She threw her head back in a moan but obliged, whispering that she loved him as he began to thrust, grasping her buttocks to hold her as close to him as possible. Her words became a litany as they lost themselves in each other, until they reached their mutual climax.

  He shuddered, burying his face in her neck, wanting to breathe in the very essence of her, his love—the woman he would always love, even after she vanished through time.

  * * *

  A light rain fell over the glen as Latharn led his men south, his sword clutched in his hand.

  It was just past dawn the next morning; he’d learned from his scouts that Padraig’s men were approaching from the south. He’d taken Neacal’s advice and ordered his men to focus on Padraig’s strongest men at the rear of his lines, while Horas, Crisdean and a group of his most loyal men would flank Latharn as he made his way toward Padraig to fight him one-on-one.

  Latharn’s heart thundered in his chest as he moved. Around him, there was only the sound of footfalls on wet grass, heavy breathing and the patter of raindrops against the ground. A group of archers trailed them on the east, ready to cover them when the battle began.

  Latharn allowed himself to enjoy a brief memory of Evelyn: her soft skin against his, her words of love, before he tucked away the memory in the most private place in his heart.

  A sudden roar rose in the distance—it was the sound of horse hooves and men’s cries as they charged into battle. His heart picked up its pace as he turned, shouting at his men to charge.

  They obliged as Padraig’s men materialized in the distance, racing toward them with battle cries. Latharn took in the front lines. Neacal had spoken the truth;
the men who charged toward them looked lowborn with their old, tattered clothing and simple weapons.

  Latharn’s men followed his orders and focused their attention on moving toward the rear of the attacking men, where Padraig’s strongest warriors fought. Latharn expertly fought off the men who approached him, flanked by Horas and Crisdean.

  His heart leapt into his throat as he heard more shouts, and he whirled. More of Padraig’s men descended upon them from the west. His men weren’t prepared, and he heard startled grunts and cries as they were overtaken.

  His archers sprang into action, and a flurry of arrows showered down onto Padraig’s charging men.

  “Forward!” Latharn cried amid the din. “Charge forward!”

  But it was chaos, with his men now acting in defense rather than offense, struggling to fight off Padraig’s encroaching men. He could see Artair through the din of bodies urging his men forward.

  He whirled, searching through the mass of fighting bodies until he spotted Padraig at the rear of his men, flanked by half a dozen guards. Fury raced through him at the sight of the snake, and he let out a snarl and charged forward, only to be stopped by a large, burly man whose sword clashed with his. As they fought, Crisdean ran to his side.

  “Go!” his brother shouted. “I’ll hold him off!”

  Latharn obliged, charging forward, fighting off attacking men as he did. Once he drew closer to Padraig, his cousin met his eyes and stiffened.

  “Kill him!” Padraig ordered his guards.

  Did the coward not want to take him on himself? Latharn growled as Padraig’s guards charged; Horas and Latharn's other men darted forward to help him fight them off. He knocked out two with the hilt of his sword and stabbed another straight through before darting toward his cousin.

  As soon as he reached Padraig, their swords clashed in midair. Despite his cowardice, Padraig was as good a fighter as Latharn, and their swords met blow for blow, until Padraig reached out with a snarl, knocking him backward with his foot. Latharn lost his footing, slipping on the ground which had become muddy with rain, his back hitting the ground with a painful thud as Padraig lunged forward, lifting his sword to land the killing blow.

  But an arrow sailed through the air, nearly piercing Padraig in the neck. Padraig dodged, avoiding it, which gave Latharn enough time to shoot to his feet.

  Moving as fast as his body would allow, he reached for his sword, kicking at Padraig’s knees and sending him sprawling to the ground. Padraig reached for his sword, but Latharn caught it, clutching both swords as he glowered down at his cousin, pressing his foot to his throat.

  “I give ye this one chance, cousin,” he shouted, over the din of battle around them. “Cede yer claim. Order yer men tae lay down their weapons. And I’ll let ye live.”

  “Never!” Padraig roared, his eyes flashing with hatred.

  Latharn gritted his teeth, lifting his sword to deal the death blow, but Padraig moved fast, twisting away. He shoved Latharn to the ground with his leg, and Latharn was once again on his back, the impact so sharp that the world spun around him.

  Padraig grabbed one of the fallen swords, straddling Latharn as he lowered the blade toward his chest—

  But Latharn wrapped his hand around the blade, ignoring the pain in his hand as it bled, using all his strength to keep it from piercing his heart.

  “Ye should be dead already!” Padraig roared, his face turning red with effort as he worked to press the blade down. “Ye shouldnae have survived! My father left the clan tae me!”

  At the mention of his uncle, the man who had killed both his father and the father of the woman he loved, Latharn’s rage swelled, giving him a surge of strength. Using his free hand, he reached down to grab his dagger, still in its sheath at his side, jutting it upward and into Padraig’s throat.

  Padraig’s eyes filled with fury, then surprise, then pain, as his body jerked, and blood spurted from his wound. And then he went still, his body slumping forward onto Latharn, his eyes wide—and unseeing.

  Chapter 27

  Evelyn stood on the edge of camp, watching as the sea of men returned from the battlefield. She waited with bated breath, her heart a battering ram against her chest, praying that Latharn had survived.

  Diana stood at her side, her face pale; Evelyn knew she was just as terrified for Artair. She'd wanted to help turn the tide of battle for Latharn's men with her magic, but Artair had insisted that she stay behind.

  Swallowing hard, Evelyn reached for Diana's hand, and they stood in tense silence, two time travelers on the edge of a fourteenth-century battlefield, waiting for the men they loved to return.

  Please, Evelyn prayed, watching as the men drew closer. Please let him be alive. Please.

  She noticed that the men’s faces were weary—but triumphant—as they returned. But she couldn’t find Latharn in the crowd, and her panic swelled . . . until she spotted his familiar form.

  He and Artair walked side by side, their clothes soaked with rain and blood. Artair was limping while Latharn was clutching his injured hand, but they were both alive.

  A strangled cry erupted from Evelyn's lips. She didn’t care who was watching; she darted forward, throwing her arms around Latharn and pressing her lips to his. Latharn returned her kiss, holding her close.

  Latharn would later tell her that after he killed Padraig on the battlefield, many of his men, especially the peasants who’d only fought for him out of fear, had defected, turning the tide of battle in his favor.

  But for now, Evelyn only wanted to focus on the fact that Latharn had survived the battle and was here in her arms.

  "I love you," she whispered, tightening her hold on the man she loved, never wanting to let him go.

  * * *

  In the battle's aftermath, Latharn took up residency in MacUisdean Castle. The nobles of the clan swore fealty to him, with Neacal’s support. Padraig's top nobles were imprisoned when they refused to swear their loyalty; but most seemed happy to see Padraig gone, confessing that they’d only served Steaphan and then Padraig out of fear.

  Latharn had kept to his word and convinced Modan to allow his other daughter Sofie to wed Crisdean, who'd become quite taken with her during their stay at Modan's castle. Modan had also allowed Ros to wed the man she loved, the son of his castle's groomer. Modan seemed pleased with this arrangement; it was an attractive prospect to have one of his daughters wed to the brother of the new laird. But that meant that the clan nobles were now vying to have Latharn wed their daughters, sisters or nieces.

  Artair and Diana left the next day, but not before Diana asked to take a walk with Evelyn around the courtyard.

  "When do ye plan to return to Tairseach?" she asked.

  "Tomorrow," Evelyn said, an ache piercing her heart at the thought. "Latharn will officially be made chief and laird at a celebratory gathering tomorrow, and then I'll have Horas escort me south."

  Diana studied her closely.

  "Is that what you want?"

  "It's the only choice I have. You know what this time is like; the rules are different. Latharn's just become laird, he needs to marry someone acceptable.”

  "I'm pregnant."

  Evelyn stilled. While she was happy for Diana, she didn't know why she'd chosen to share such news at this moment.

  "I'm happy for you," Evelyn said, giving her a smile. "Congratulations."

  "It's why Artair didn't want me to help on the battlefield. The reason I tell you this now is because I was like you once—uncertain of my place with Artair. I knew I wanted to stay with him, more than anything, but fear held me back. Had I left and returned to my time . . . " Diana's face tightened with anguish. "I can't imagine my life without him."

  "Artair was already a laird by the time you met him," Evelyn reminded her. "My situation with Latharn is different."

  "We’re both women who traveled back in time and fell in love with sexy Highlanders," Diana returned, giving her a wry smile. "I don't think our situation is too different. Ju
st . . . think about what I've said, all right? If returning to the future is what you truly want, then make sure it's with an open heart."

  Diana's words echoed in her mind as she returned to her chamber. She knew she wouldn't return to her own time with an open heart; she'd be leaving behind the man she loved. But she'd already heard the other nobles suggest highborn brides to Latharn, proving her point that he needed to marry someone suitable, not a time traveler from the twenty-first century.

  She entered the castle, stiffening as she noticed Gormal approaching her. She expelled a breath; he was likely going to ask her to leave the castle now that Latharn was laird, and her services were no longer needed.

  "I'm leaving after the gathering tomorrow," she said stiffly, once he reached her. "There's no need tae tell me tae leave."

  Gormal looked at her with surprise and shook his head.

  “I wasnae going tae ask ye tae leave. I wanted tae apologize,” he said gruffly. “For how I've treated ye. I kent yer father, and I respected him; I'd have angered him had he kent how I treated his daughter.”

  Evelyn just looked at him in silent astonishment, not believing that he was actually apologizing. He gave her a rueful look.

  “Ye’re not the only one I’ve offered my apologizes tae. I also apologized tae Latharn for my imperiousness. I was so determined tae see him become laird, and I kent what a good leader he’d be. When ye came around, I feared he’d lose focus. But ye only seemed tae help him focus.”

  “I thank ye," she said, offering him a smile. "And I accept yer words of apology."

  Gormal relaxed, returning her smile. It was odd to see the older man, who'd spent the last few weeks glowering at her, give her a genuine smile.

  “I also came tae see ye because the laird wanted me tae summon ye. There's someone who wishes tae see ye in the great hall.”

  Evelyn trailed him into the great hall, freezing in surprise at the sight of Aimil standing before Latharn, her head bowed low. Latharn gestured for her to come forward and she obliged, facing Aimil.