by Barbara Bard
Jory took another long moment to judge and weigh his options. The man may have been loyal to Lord Henry of Sanford—but he failed to fully comprehend the will and might of the Scottish Highlander standing before him.
He shrugged. “Do what you think you must do, you graceless whore.”
Isla was done with the man’s retorts, more eager now to see him suffer than she did to elicit answers. “Finlay Baird,” she said in an officious tone.
Finlay tilted his chin up, his eyes still level on Jory. “Aye, me Lady?”
“Get whatever answers you can from this man,” she said as she left the tent. “And then break his neck for me.”
Finlay flexed his fingers and advanced on Jory. “With pleasure, my Lady.”
Jory, his nerves on edge as Finlay grabbed him by his tattered and dirtied tunic, said: “You do not scare me, Highlander.”
Finlay shook his head. “I dae nae care.” He then grabbed Jory, picked him up off the ground like a pile of soiled clothing, craned back his head, and smashed his crown square into the man’s nose. Jory’s nose snapped, blood trickling down and discombobulating him before he was thrown back onto the ground. A sickly gasp evacuated his lungs as Finlay stood back, pivoted, and kicked the man in his ribs repeatedly.
“Tell me,” Finlay said, reserved and in control. “Tell me where the encampment is.”
Jory, on the verge of tears, continued to shake his head. “Go to hell, Highlander!”
Finlay curled his fingers into a fist and caught the man in his jaw, cracking it and further weakening him—it was only a matter of a few more punches before Jory, messenger and scout for Lord Henry of Sanford, would finally depart from his mortal coil.
Isla could hear the beating occurring from just outside the tent. Denholm stood not far from her, somewhat reveling in the fact of what was happening, though he kept a composed demeanor so that no one would know.
They waited for several minutes outside the tent, the groans and protests of Jory increasing as Finlay continued with his “inquiry.” After a shriek, mumbled voices were heard inside the tent. More composed. Less resistance. Denholm, his curiosity getting the better of him, moved closer to the flap to eavesdrop.
“Verra good,” he heard Finlay say to Jory. “Take pleasure in knowing that ye died doing the right thing.”
“No!” Jory offered up in reply. “Please, no—”
The unmistakable sound of bones breaking echoed through the tent and sent a shudder up Denholm’ spine. He turned away from the tent, stopped at his sister’s side, and said: “It is done.”
Isla, still composed, gave a single nod.
Moments later, Finlay emerged from the tent, a slack look on his face, as he wiped his hands with a piece of cloth he took from inside. Isla turned and faced him, eager to learn what he had learned.
“The dead man,” Finlay said, “said that Lord Henry of Sanford possesses an army of over 200 men.”
Isla closed her eyes. 200, she thought with a grim feeling overcoming her. We dae nae stand a chance against 200…
Denholm sighed. “I dae nae wish to cause add tae our growing burdens,” he said, “but 200 men are impossible odds.”
“Then we get more men,” Isla said.
“How?” Denholm said. “Most of our allies have been slaughtered by the Sassenach.”
“Maist, nae all. Scotland is still ripe with Scotsmen. It is only a matter of finding them.”
Denholm took a step forward. “We must flee, me Lady. We must leave this place.” He looked at Finlay. “Did that bastard Sassenach messenger boy tell ye how far the encampment was?”
Finlay nodded. “Two days ride.” He stepped toward Isla. “Yer brother is right—we must move.”
Isla closed her eyes. “Our supplies are dwindling. The clan requires rest. Scran.”
“Then we will find it.”
“How?”
Finlay, wanting to embrace Isla but not wanting Denholm to know of his newfound relationship with his sister, looked her deep in the eyes. “As ye say—we will find a way. We must. We have tae.”
Moments later, Gavina rushed toward her siblings. “Denholm! Isla!” she shouted with glee. “I helped Sean fix his arrows! I’m a blacksmith now! Blacksmith Gavina of the Reilly Clan. A fair name, dae ye think?”
Isla could not help but fall to one knee, embrace her sister, and momentarily forget about the overwhelming odds her and her people were now facing. “A fair name it is, Gavina,” Isla said, brushing a loose strand of her sister’s hair out of her face. “A fair name indeed.”
Gavina, sensing the tension brewing between the adults, said: “Is all well with ye, sister? Everyone looks like they hae to relieve themselves.”
Finlay smiled. Denholm stifled a laugh. Isla allowed one to slip through her lips. “We are quite all right, me dear. Go now. See if Sean still requires more of your assistance.”
“Aye!” Gavina bid Isla as she slipped away, quickly hugging Denholm on his leg like she was hugging a tree before retreating.
Isla stood, her sister reminding her of why they fight as she said to Denholm and Finlay. “We will find more men,” she said. “We will do whatever needs tae be done to win this fight.”
Dutiful nods were exchanged by both of the men.
“Come now,” Isla said. “We must form a plan.” She looked at Gavina. “Dispose of the messenger’s body in the meantime—burn it. I want his countrymen to smell the cooking of his flesh for miles to come.”
Chapter 12
Night had once again fallen. Denholm, following through with his Lady’s orders, burned Jory’s body after removing it from the tent with Sean, as soon as they were certain that no prying eyes were paying witness. The body burned, the smoke spiraling into the sky with a putrid aroma that only a putrid man like Jory could produce.
Once the body was burned, the clan gathered together by a fire, made smaller and in a confined and concealed setting per Isla’s request so that they didn’t flag themselves down to any possible Sassenach lingering in the distance. The group was more intimate this time, with only five men including Denholm and Finlay sitting around the fire in a council-like setting. Every person here was a member of the clan that was trusted; decision makers who had assisted in the clan’s survival for longer than Isla could remember.
“I hae asked aw of ye here,” Isla began, addressing every with the tone and presence of the Lady of the clan, “to discuss our possible options in our plight to be free of the Sassenach…” The pensive gazes remained fixated on Isla—ready to do her bidding. “Today,” she continued, “we dispatched of a Sassenach scout and messenger who served Lord Henry of Sanford.” Grunts and groans were passed around. Isla held up her hand to stave off any more reactions. “Before he was rightfully executed, he informed us that Lord Henry has the control of over 200 men.”
The group fell silent, everyone exchanging the same nervous tension upon hearing the numbers that the brutal Sassenach Lord possessed.
Isla looked at Finlay to continue disseminating what he had learned from Jory. “The scout,” Finlay said, “also claimed that Lord Henry of Sanford is holding up at an encampment two days ride from here. They are close, closer than we wish them tae be.”
The raven-haired man with the large gut to the right of Finlay, Lukas, held up his hands in protest. “We cannae handle 200 Sassenach,” he said. “With aw of the able bodied men we hae on hand, it only amounts to shy of 50. Those are odds we cannae handle.”
“I agree with Lukas,” James said, a thin man with a head of hair the color of fire, brother of the man next to him that helped Denholm burned the body, Sean. “In fact, I think we aw can agree that these odds are impossible tae handle.”
“Not if we find more men,” Finlay said.
A laugh from Sean. “And how dae we gae about acquiring them? The Hackett clan, the Donovan clan—those were our allies. Noo they are aw dead by the hand of the Sassenach. They were our only friends in the Highlands.”
; Isla chimed in, “Every Scotsman in the Highlands is our ally while the Sassenach pillage our lands. Our friends our oot there. We simply have tae find them.”
The group fell silent for a moment as everyone thought of their options.
“What about weapons?” Lukas asked. “Even if we find men, we still require steel tae gae up against Lord Henry of Sanford.”
An idea crept into Finlay’s mind. “I ken,” he said. “I ken of a man. I ken of a place we can gae. A blacksmith who was a frien’ of me father. It is three days ride from here.”
Lukas said: “The Sassenach are close. They will close in on us before we hae a chance to get there.”
“If we leaving as soon as the sun arises,” Denholm said, “and not rest for two days, it is possible tae reach the place that Finlay Baird is proposing.”
Heads shook. Looks were exchanged. “Ye dae understand how depleted the clan will be if we ride fer two days straight?”
“Then we work in shifts. We dae we needs tae be done.” Denholm then leveled his gaze at each man in the circle in succession. “We dae nae have the luxury of allowing ourselves any level of comfort in our current predicament. This moment, right now, is our last stand. Dae ye understand? Dae ye understand that this is the moment that requires every last shred of our collective energy tae ensure our survival?”
Silent affirmations were passed around. The men in the circle knew deep down that there was no other choice. That there was no other way. From this moment forward, history would be made, and the outcome of the clan, though unclear, would soon come to pass.
Isla drew a breath. “We need tae chart a course.” She looked at Finlay. “I believe ye ken of the best route to do so?”
He nodded. “Aye, me Lady.”
“Then ye and I will discuss this matter in private.” She looked at her men. “The rest of ye will go aboot breaking down the camp and preparing for our departure from here in two hours’ time. I dinnae care about how tired the people may be. Let them ken of the urgency.”
“Aye, me Lady,” everyone then said, one after the other.
“Good.” She stood. “Then set about making it happen. And please, all of ye…Ken that I am proud to have you all serving at my side. Each and every one of ye has served me with steadfast dedication…I cannae think of any other Scotsmen I would be proud to call family.”
Though no one displayed it, feelings of love began to swirl inside the chests of all that were in attendance.
Isla gestured around her. “Gae. Noo. Let’s bring our people to the promise of salvation we hae been striving fer.”
The men dispersed with only Finlay and Isla remaining. “I pray that I am making the right choices, Finlay Baird.”
He nodded. “Ye are, me Lady. Ye are.”
She looked deep into eyes. “Come with me,” she said softly. “Show me this place that ye speak of.”
The map of the Highlands that Isla’s father had drawn was flattened against the small wooden table in Isla’s tent. “Here,” Finlay said, his finger tracing a route in an S-shape along the terrain. “This is the route that we must take. It is a rough terrain. It will prove to be a challenge for many of the elders in your clan. But the terrain also serves as an advantage. The Sassenach and their forces wouldnae be able tae follow us. If they did, it would be a fairer fight. But we must move soon, as ye said to yer men outside a moment ago.”
Isla nodded, her eyes following the course that Finlay traced with his finger. “We are short on water rations. Be there burns along this route?”
A nod. “Aye, me Lady. Plenty of them. I would even request that ye send a couple of the men to gae noo to set about fishing in the burns. It will assist greatly with the scran rations.”
“And our final destination? Where might that be?”
“Here,” Finlay said, pointing to the furthest corner of the map. “It is unsettled territory. It has been abandoned since a fever broke out in that area over fifty years ago. I am of the mind that it is safe noo, and quite habitable. Either way, it is our only option. The word that has been passed around the Highlands is that a strong number of our fellow Scotsmen has retreated to this area. I imagine we will find the reinforcements we need along the way.”
Isla allowed herself a moment to go over Finlay’s plan in her mind. When she was done and satisfied with the plan, she delicately grazed his hand with her finger, prodding at him gently like a delicate creature of the wild looking for solace. “I should thank ye,” she said.
He intertwined her fingers with his. “Fer what?”
“Fer helping me people. We would nae be able tae go through this without the help ye have given.”
Finlay shook his head, heavy. “Nae…Nae, ye were plenty capable on yer own before I came along. Ye are Lady Isla. Yer father was nae fool when he designated rule over to ye.”
Then stepping closer, Finlay leaning down as the two gently pressed their foreheads together. Love passed through them in silent waves akin to osmosis as they stood there. Their breathing was heavy, weary, exhausted. They wanted nothing more than to spend whatever time they had left in the night to be in one another’s company.
“If I asked ye to kiss me,” Isla said softly, her mouth turning up and pouting with and eager and pleading manner to Finlay, “what would ye say to the proposition?”
Finlay said nothing—he simply leaned in and kissed her. They became locked in a powerful embrace; almost more potent than the first kiss they shared. It was hard for them to not acknowledge the feeling that whatever fire had been kindle between them was growing more vibrant as the grains fell from the hourglass.
The kiss started simple yet passionate, but as they moved their heads and coiled their arms around on another it started to become intensified. Finlay’s hand slowly cupped her face, bringing Isla closer as she felt the desire for every part of her body to simply melt into his arms.
Isla’s hands rested on Finlay’s round and thick shoulders, Isla still amazed at the rock-hard quality about them as her fingers then stroked downward from his neckline to his waist where Isla felt muscles that she never before knew existed.
And then she gasped as Finlay secured a firm grip on her thighs, lifted her up, and wrapped her around his waist. Isla moaned, her eyes fluttering as Finlay’s lips explored her tender and warm neckline, each delicate kiss he planted sending a tremor through her body and making her feel as if she would scream from the excitement at any moment. When Finlay finally entered her, Isla did just as such.
Isla covered her mouth with her hand, shocked at how loud she was and concerned that someone outside the tent had overheard. Finlay let out a laugh, the two of them sharing a moment of humor before slowing their pace and locking lips once more. They kissed—delicate, passionate, and slow, in no rush as Finlay brought Isla over to her cot, gently laid her on her back, and began to thrust.
“Go slow…” Isla whispered, wanting to take their time and hold onto every precious second as long as possible. In their current predicament, outside the tent and amongst the tyranny of the Sassenach, they knew that every second lived was a gift. In their intimate moment, locked around each other and moaning from the sheer and utter enjoyment of it all, the two of them were one, their faces pressed together and bodies gyrating in unison as the crackle of the dying fire just outside the tent offered them concealment for their noise they were making.
Eventually, both of them sat up, Isla on Finlay’s lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. Finlay used his hands to guide her waist, the two of them feeling sensations that felt even more potent and thrilling than the first night they were together.
“Aye,” Isla said, nodding her head as she tilted her head back, a free hand running through her hair and adding to the ecstasy as the rhythm picked up, the climax reared its head, and the two of them completed their physically journey together before collapsing onto their backs.
They took a moment to breath, nothing but sheer fire in their lungs and perspiration coating their bodies a
s Isla draped her arm across Finlay’s chest and felt it rise-and-fall with his breathing. They sat there, limbs entwined, grins wide. Not a word was passed between them as they slowly drifted off to sleep.
There was no need.
Chapter 13
Lord Henry had sent for one of his men to fetch a woman, any woman, from wherever they could find her and as quickly as possible.
His lust for Isla was starting to take over his more rational mind, his foolish, selfish, and vile intentions polluting every decision he made and driving him madder as the days came and went.