by Barbara Bard
“We both know,” he said assuredly, “that you did not walk in here without some kind of ulterior motive at play. You will tell me what that is, or I will drag your sister back in here and murder her in front of you, my dear Scottish lady.”
Isla shrugged. “Dae what ye must, me lord, because I will never, ever, bend tae yer will.”
Lord Henry could see the intention in Isla’s eyes, the defiance, the will to do, like she said, never give into his will.
“So be it,” he said. “Stephen! Bring that little runt back in here. It is time we made Lady Isla pay for the price of her insolence.”
Stephen returned moments later with a crying and depleted Gavina, thrown down in front of Isla as Lord Henry then ordered Stephen to hand over his sword. Gripping the steel in one hand, Lord Henry made it a point to shake the weapon in front of Isla’s face.
“This is what happens when you defy me,” he said, raising the sword high over his head and preparing to take of Isla’s head—and then a roaring cacophony of several men screaming in pain rang out from outside the tent.
“Bloody hell,” Lord Henry said, lowering his sword. “What was that?”
“My Lord!” someone shrieked from outside. “The Highlanders are attacking!”
Stephen, waiting for no orders, fled outside of the tent, Lord Henry temporarily distracted as Isla then pulled a dagger from her belt and shoved the tip into Lord Henry’s belly.
“Run, Gavina!” she shouted. “Run! Now!”
Lord Henry sported an incredulous look of fear as he looked down at the blade buried in his stomach, a thin ribbon of ruby trickling from the wound as his already pasty skin took on an ashy shade of white. Isla, preparing to carve him from waist to sternum, was kicked back swiftly by Lord Henry’s booted foot, the wind knocked out of her as he stumbled out of the tent and blended in with the river of men converging onto the area.
“Isla!” Gavina cried out. “Isla! Help!”
Recouping her senses and pounding a fist in the dirt from failing to kill Lord Henry, collected her bearings and ran out of the tent. She found herself lost in a sea of fifty-some-odd men rushing with weapons in hand toward the northern part of the camp where Finlay, Riley, and thirty-some-odd riders were engaged in all-out warfare on Lord Henry’s men—and it appeared as though they were winning.
Quickly casting a look over her shoulder, she saw Lord Henry, crouched over and coughing, running to his man Stephen who then aided him in mounting his horse. Isla, ready to finish the job she had started, was shaken out of her rage-induced frenzy as Gavina called out from the left: “Isla! Help!”
Isla turned and saw Gavina being held back by both arms by one of Lord Henry’s clearly confused and befuddled men. Searching for a quick solution, Isla saw another one of Lord Henry’s knights—his body, at the least—lying face down with a series of arrows in his back and a hatchet clutched in his cold dead grip. Isla fetched the hatchet, recalled what her late brother Denholm had taught her, and threw the weapon with an overhand toss toward the man holding Gavina. The blade buried itself in the man’s skull, his grip on Gavina slackening and releasing her before she ran into Isla’s arms.
“Isla!” Gavina cried. “Isla! I dinnae want tae be here!”
Isla kissed her cheek, pulling her away from the mass of men fighting in a circle around the mounted Highlanders spilling through the campgrounds like a flood. She then quickly spotted several Highlander archers positioned in elevated positions around the camp and striking down dozens of Lord Henry’s men with expert precision.
“Quick, Gavina,” she said, rushing her toward the rear end of the camp where there was less violence occurring. “Come with me.”
***
Finlay and Riley, both of them battling several men on top of their horses, clanked their steel against that of the Sassenach. As soon as Isla’s scream had hollered out and gave them the signal, they had taken their riders and stormed the camp. Riley had given the order for half of the thirty riders to flank left toward Lord Henry’s quarters.
The other half approached from the right, converging onto the confused mass of Lord Henry’s legion and corralling them into a huddle and allowed for them to dispense of the men attacking them with slight ease.
Riley laughed from on top of his steed, raising his sword high and screaming: “God smiles today upon the Highlander, Finlay Baird.”
Finlay was too worked up into a frenzy to reply as three men charged at him. Each were taken down by a barrage of arrows from the archers that had been positioned around the camp, paving the way for him to strike down several more men as Lord Henry’s forces began to attack and some retreated in waves.
Around the time that Gavina was snatched up and saved by Isla, Finlay dismounted his horse and found himself standing face-to-face with a large, towering Sassenach knight who stood his ground and taunted at Finlay to engage him. Finlay positioned his feet and allowed the man to take the first few blows, Finlay parrying the strikes and recalling the lesson his father had imparted to him about allowing the enemy to wear himself down.
The two men exchanged several blows, one of them nearly taking off Finlay’s head and exposing his torso and in turn allowing Finlay to bury his blade deep into the man’s chest.
“Isla!” Finlay screamed. “Where are ye?”
“Finlay!” Riley called out. “The forces are retreating. We must take leave!”
Finlay knew he needed to find Isla first, and found her cowering near the edge near a collection of wooden barrels as two knights closed in on her and Gavina with their swords at the ready.
“Come here, lassies,” one of them taunted. “Time to meet your maker!”
As both men moved to strike, with Isla holding onto the weeping Gavina for dear life, Finlay rushed in, knocked one of the men into the barrels, killed the other with his sword, and then put down the one he had knocked over with a quick and lethal stomping of his boot to the man’s neck.
Finlay held out his hand, Gavina and Isla looking upon him like the savior that he indeed was.
“Come,” he said. “It is time tae gae.”
Chapter 27
The remainder of Lord Henry’s troops retreated in waves, several more of them cut down by strikes from the swords of the riders and several more from the arrows of the archers.
The group of riders that had been assembled by Finlay and Riley were now gathered on the outskirts of the camp, Gavina clutching onto Isla for dear life as they mounted a horse and watched the remainder of Lord Henry’s men flee into the wilderness.
“Look at them,” Riley said. “They scatter like roaches into the distance.”
Finlay looked to Isla. “Yer plan worked, me lady. I was fearful it would nae.”
Isla said nothing to Finlay as she whispered reassurances to Gavina.
“Where is Lord Henry?” Riley inquired, searching the terrain. “Has he been dispatched of?”
Isla shook her head. “Naw. I wounded him but he appears tae hae fled with his right-hand man.”
Finlay gritted his teeth. “This cannae stand. We must hunt him down.”
“Let the men flee,” Riley said. “Look! They have gifted us their camp fer our disposal.”
“Is it wise to stay here?”
“Aye. I dinnae believe that they will return tae these parts any time soon. They flee tae lick their wounds. A single fortnight spent here will nae provide us any trouble, I am sure. We should rally and take account of our men. We should pursue the Sassenach in the morra.”
And so, it was gospel. The collective group of riders and archers set up camp in the remains of what were once Lord Henry’s grounds. A fire had been set, supplies and food had been salvaged from the refuse, and the Highlander heroes gathered around the fire and allowed themselves a moment of reprieve to drink, eat, and sing joyously while several watchful eyes kept a close gaze on the terrain for any signs of the Sassenach.
Gavina, asleep on Isla’s shoulder, did not leave her side the entire time.
Eventually, once darkness had fallen and several of the riders were asleep, Isla pulled Finlay aside and embrace him like she never had before.
“We came so close tae perishing,” she said. “I dinnae ken what would hae happened had ye not arrived in time.”
Finlay kissed her delicately on the cheek. “All is well, Isla. We are safe noo. Lord Henry, even if he is nae dead, will surely be so soon.”
“Is it foolish tae pursue him? Should we cut our losses and retreat tae our salvation in the Highlands?”
“Naw. As long as there is a chance that Lord Henry has a breath in his body, we must pursue him. We must end this on certainties, nae hope.”
“Finlay,” Riley called out from near the fire. “We must speak. Ye and Lady Isla.”
Isla and Finlay congregated with Riley by the fire, only the three of them in attendance as Gavina slept a few feet away, close enough that Isla could keep a close eye on her.
Riley poked at the fire with a poker he had retrieved from the supplies that had been raided in Lord Henry’s camp, a pensive look on his face as he drew a long and exhausted breath.
“We must discuss the obvious,” he said. “Aboot what our next strategy should be.”
“We hunt down Lord Henry,” Finlay said. “It is nae even a question.”
Riley held up a finger. “Luck was in our favor today, Finlay Baird. Dinnae question it.”
“I agree,” Finlay said. “But Lord Henry is wounded. Isolated. We ken well of his disfavor with his Sassenach masters. Based on the terrain and how fae he could hae fled, it is in our best interest to put him down. Fer good.”
Riley sighed. “Did ye father ever impart tae ye aboot cutting yer losses?”
“I ken what ye are implying.”
“We fought well today. We can safely declare this a victory.” He nodded to Gavina. “The lass has been rescued, Isla is nae harmed. We hae won. Let us quit while we hae the advantage.”
Isla shook her head in defiance. “Naw,” she said. “We must finish Lord Henry off fer good. Riley, I will nae ask ye tae follow us if ye dinnae wish. Ye and yer people hae done enough as it is.”
Riley stood, ready to rest for the night as he said: “I will hae tae sleep on it, my lady. The potential risks that we will take in seeing this through are quite great.”
“I understand,” Isla replied as Riley retreated a few feet away and set about slumbering.
Finlay, clutching his side, looked at his hand and saw a few stains of blood on his palm.
“It appears I dinnae walk away unscathed.”
Isla pulled up his tunic and saw a neat gash just above his pectoral muscle.
“Finlay,” she gasped. “We maist clean this. Come! There are some supplies in Lord Henry’s tent.”
“What of Gavina?”
“I shall watch her,” one of the woman riders said quietly. “Gae. All is well.”
Finlay was escorted by Isla into Lord Henry’s tent as Gavina slept peacefully for the first time in a long while, exhausted by the day’s events and ever grateful to her sister and Finlay from rescuing her from the clutches of Lord Henry.
Riley, finding it harder to sleep than he had initially imagined, heeded Isla’s words and knew deep down in his soul that the only way they would ever truly be free was if they dispatched of Lord Henry and the rest of his denizens for good. He knew that war was coming. He knew that the final battle for their salvation was just a short while away.
***
Finlay stripped off his tunic, a neat river of red having flowed from the wound in his pectoral muscle that was just on the mend toward healing. Fetching a bowl with water, fresh bandages, and a variety of oils and ointments at her disposal, Isla ordered Finlay to lay back on Lord Henry’s cot as she went about cleaning his wounds.
“Dae ye ken what ye are doing?” Finlay asked.
Isla huffed. “I learned all about tending tae wounds fae me mother. Denholm had endured his fair share of scrapes when we were children.”
The mentioning of her brother saddened her, reminding her that he was no longer among the living.
Finlay could see the dismay in Isla’s face and slowly rested his hand on top of hers.
“I am so sorry, Isla,” he cooed. “I am so sorry about Denholm.”
She shook her head. “I am grateful. He fought until his last breath. Ye ken, in a way, Denholm always ken that his fate would come about in such a way.”
“Naw man or woman should hae tae live that way.”
“We hae been through this before,” Isla said as she dabbed at Finlay’s wounds with a soaked rag. “Naw longer will anyone hae tae suffer like this again, which is why I will pursue Lord Henry of Sanford tae the ends of the earth tae see that prospect through.”
“Should we nay heed Riley’s words? Is it nae a smart tactic tae now retreat to our new home in the Highlands?”
She shook her head, cleaning away the blood and dabbing it with healing ointments that made Finlay wince from the sting.
“Ye cannae possibly think that we will be free from Lord Henry unless we are certain that he is dead.”
Finlay sat up against Isla’s insistence that he lay back as he took her face into his palms.
“I worry aboot yer fate, me love. Riley is correct in stating that luck or God favored us this day. I worry aboot not having a second chance should we gae after Lord Henry.”
Isla was comforted by his touch but nonetheless unmoved from her goal of taking Lord Henry’s life.
“We must,” she insisted. “We must end this.”
“There will be other Sassenach lords that will follow, me love. Men like Lord Henry are but weeds—two more will sprout up upon his removal.”
“But we will send a message to the Sassenach, one that will state that Lady Isla and her clan will never bow to the Sassenach rule. This is my intention, me love. I will not stray fae the course.”
Finlay smiled, inspired by Isla’s strength as she finished cleaning and bandaging the cut on his chest. He sat up fully, taking her hands into his as he gently pressed his forehead against hers.
“Ye are a warrior,” he said. “I hae never met a women like ye in me life.”
Isla smiled. “Ye flatter me, Finlay Baird.”
“Naw. Ye flatter me. I am grateful fer every moment that ye are in my presence.”
Isla couldn’t help herself from blushing, that fluttering in her chest that she felt when she was around Finlay now resurging and causing her to cast a glance to the opening of Lord Henry’s tent.
“What is it, me lady?” Finlay inquired.
Isla stood, walked over, and closed the flap to the tent. With a somewhat devious look in her eye, she hustled back over to Finlay, pressed him onto his back gently, and sat on top of him.
“Dinnae move,” she said. “Ye are hurt. We dinnae want to aggravate your wounds...”
Finlay smiled as Isla ran her bare hands in a delicate fashion down his chest, the sensation against her palms making her feel like she was running her hands down a collection of polished, warm stones. She then rested on top of Finlay, pressing her lips against his flesh and kissing him from his neck down to his waist.
Finlay attempted to sit up but was once more pressed down onto his back. Isla removed her garb, took Finlay’s hands, and cupped her breasts with them, biting her lip at how good it felt as Finlay shut his eyes and allowed pleasure to soothe his wounds.
The two went from using words to communicate to soft groans and moans. Isla, grabbing Finlay by his manhood, delicately slipped him inside of her and pressed her palms against his abdomen for balance. She then moved slowly, gently, taking her time and making sure the noise was kept to a minimum. Isla took complete control of the situation and created a wave of sensations that put both of them at ease.
Finlay ran his hands all over every curve of her body, squeezing her buttocks and causing Isla to gasp with pleasure. She then pressed her lips against his, the two of them holding a kiss that felt like it lasted for a lifeti
me.
The night passed and the two remained joined as one as the sun in the east slowly began to peak over the horizon. Though both of them had sought pleasure successfully with one another before, the fact that they had given over to love had offered a newfound enhancement to their physical relationship.
Their hearts felt as if the were now beating in sync, the two of them unable from keeping their gazes connected and limbs intertwined as the night turned into day and nothing mattered in the world to them now but each other.
Eventually, once the physical exertion had gotten the best of them, they laid side-by-side on the cot and stared deeply into each other’s eyes before catching a brief few hours of sleep.