Fate of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  "This is the place," one of them said. "Angus said they were eating around the fire when the lady approached." He knelt and examined the ground, holding the torch high. "These footprints must belong to Angus and his men. See the size of them? But here's a set of smaller ones." The man straightened and began following the line of footprints to where they led out of the clearing. "Look, they're as clear as day. Lucky we've not had any rain to wash them away, eh?"

  "Aye," his companion grunted. "Lucky us. Being sent on a fool’s errand in the middle of the night. What more could we ask for?”

  "Ye are just sore ye've not been able to visit yer whore tonight. She'll still be waiting when ye get back."

  The second man scowled. "Aye, and the sooner we finish this mission the sooner I can get back to her."

  The first man glanced at the ground, then at the map. "The tracks lead south west, just like Lord Stewart said they might. Towards Brigid's Hollow."

  The second man whistled under his breath and made the sign against evil. “Right. Can we go home now?”

  "Ye heard what Lord Stewart said," the other man replied. "He wants us to track the lass’s trail and find out where she came from. Her trail leads towards Brigid’s Hollow but that doesnae mean it doesn’t branch off and go some place else. Do ye want to return to Lord Stewart and tell him we didnae follow the trail to the end? I never took ye for a superstitious bastard." He grinned. "Dinna worry, I'll protect ye from the fairies."

  "And I'll wipe that grin from yer face if ye dinna shut yer hole," growled the other.

  They returned to their horses and, leading the beasts this time, began heading south. Finn watched them go, biting his lip. He longed to follow them but it was no longer safe for Eleanor at Stewart's manor. He had to get her out before those two returned to make their report. He counted to a hundred slowly to give the men plenty of time to get away and then edged carefully out of his hiding place and towards the campsite. His eyes scanned the ground, the moonlight giving enough light to see by. Eleanor’s prints were clear, as were those of Angus and his men. Something glinted in the grass by his feet. Puzzled, Finn crouched for a closer look. It appeared to be a small, flat silver box with glass covering one side. Carefully Finlay reached out and picked it up. It was very light and the glass on one side had cracked, probably when it was dropped.

  Turning the thing over in his hands, he frowned. He’d never seen anything like it. What was it? And how did it get here? Was it something of Eleanor’s?

  He tucked the strange device into his saddle bag, climbed into the saddle and set his heels to the horse's flanks. Despite the danger of galloping in the dark, he sent the beast thundering along the trail.

  He had to get back to Eleanor before it was too late.

  ELEANOR SLEPT THE SLEEP of the exhausted and woke early the next morning with a heavy feeling in her limbs. As she opened her eyes to the pale morning light, she felt restored, invigorated. The light coming through the windows seemed a little brighter, the air smelled a little cleaner and Eleanor felt...alive.

  Finn’s face flashed into her mind, a handsome face with dark, sparkling eyes and a crooked smile. Then hot on the heels of this, she remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the soft warmth of his kiss, the heat of his breath, the touch of his hands on her skin...

  She wanted more of it. She longed for his smile, his touch. In Finn’s presence, the world seemed full of endless possibilities.

  What is happening to me? she thought. I have no idea. But I like it.

  Eager to start her day, Eleanor climbed out of bed, went through her morning ablutions and attempted to dress. God in Heaven, how women in this century managed this every day was beyond her. Give her a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt and a stout pair of boots any day of the week! But the difficulties of dressing couldn't dampen her mood and she found herself humming— humming!—as she brushed her hair and tied it back in a plait.

  There was a knock on the door and Eleanor jumped to her feet, her stomach doing a little somersault, expecting Finn. But it wasn't Finn who stuck his head around the door, it was Donald.

  The lad shuffled his feet awkwardly. "If it please ye, my lady," he muttered. "I've brought yer breakfast."

  Eleanor craned her head to look behind him. "Thanks. Where’s Finlay?"

  Donald carried a tray into the room and placed it on the bed. "He went out on a mission last night. He isnae back yet."

  A jolt of alarm went through Eleanor. Finn had gone on patrol? In the middle of the night? Towards enemy forces? Oh god. What if... what if...

  He will be fine, she told herself. He knows what he’s doing.

  She forced a smile onto her face. "Thank you, Donald. You've been most helpful. I'll be sure to tell Finlay when he gets back."

  Donald blushed to his hairline and then gave an awkward bow before backing out of the room. Eleanor turned to her breakfast but found that she had little appetite. Her thoughts turned to Finlay. Where was he? Would he be all right out there on his own? If anything should happen to him...

  She swallowed thickly. Damn it. With a cry of frustration she dropped her spoon onto the breakfast tray and pushed it aside. This wouldn't do. Standing, she strode to the door, yanked it open, and hurried out. Donald, who'd been leaning against the wall, came alert with a startled yelp and hurried to catch up.

  "Where are ye going, my lady?" he stammered. "Finlay told us we weren't to let ye leave—"

  He cut off as Eleanor rounded on him and fixed him with a glare. "Let me leave?"

  The boy swallowed. "That is...um...we are to ensure ye dinna come to any harm while he's away. He thought it best if ye remain inside today."

  "Did he? How kind of him. Unfortunately, my patients don't have the luxury of waiting around until Finn decides it’s safe for me to see them. I'm going down to the kitchen garden now to gather some herbs. You can either come with me or stay here. Which will it be?"

  Donald licked his lips. "I...I think I'll come with ye, my lady."

  "Let's go then."

  She knew her way around the manor house by now and took the corridor that led towards the back of the house and the servant's staircase that led down to the courtyard. She and Donald crossed it and entered the little gate that led into the kitchen garden. It had been sorely neglected and there was a riot of weeds growing amongst the herbs but there was still plenty she could make use of. Crossing to a patch of wild garlic growing under the window, she knelt and began harvesting it. In the right dosages it could be useful in treating diarrhoea and other stomach problems—many of which were rife in Stewart's army.

  When she had enough she placed it in her basket and stood. She must ask Stewart to allow her somewhere to make her cures. Maybe there was a disused outhouse somewhere or a storeroom in the manor house she could appropriate. She also needed to go on another foray into the woods to gather poppies and hemlock for pain killers. Her stomach did a little flip at the thought. A perfect excuse to be alone with Finn.

  With Donald at her side, she left the kitchen garden and headed back towards the manor house. They rounded the corner of the bakehouse and Eleanor, deep in thought, almost collided with someone coming the other way. She stumbled back, mumbling an apology, but the words froze on her tongue as she found herself looking into the cold eyes and mocking grin of Balloch Stewart.

  He was stripped to the waist and his muscled torso was covered in sweat, probably from a bout on the sparring ground. Spotting Eleanor, his grin widened and he raised an eyebrow.

  "There's nay need to apologize," he drawled lazily. "I canna blame ye for wanting to get me alone."

  The mocking tone of his voice made her seethe. She'd met plenty of men like him at home—arrogant men who saw women as nothing more than a trophy to hang on their arm. Cocky, arrogant and convinced of their own superiority, men like Balloch thought they could take whatever they wanted.

  "Excuse me," she said, forcing her tone to civility. She began to move around him, Donald at her side, but Balloch
stepped into her path.

  "Going so soon? Mayhap ye should stay a while longer. Send yer page on his way and we can get to know each other a little better."

  She glared at him, even though her heart was starting to race. She didn't like the look in his eyes. "I don't think so. Good day."

  She shoved past but his hand snapped out and snagged her elbow. "Dinna walk away from me, woman," he growled. "We have unfinished business. What was left unfinished in the woods will be finished now."

  "Let go of me!"

  Eleanor tried to yank free but Balloch's grip was like iron, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough to hurt. She aimed a kick at his shins but he merely laughed it off.

  "Take yer hands off the lady!" Donald cried. Taking his duty to protect her all too seriously, the youth had drawn his sword and held it out threateningly. Even so, his eyes were round with fear.

  "Run away, little boy," Balloch growled at him. "This is grown-up business."

  Donald, to his credit, stood his ground. "Release the lady or I'll...I'll..."

  "Ye will what?" Balloch asked, turning his baleful gaze on the youth.

  Then, quick as a flash, he lashed out with his free hand and punched Donald square in the cheek. The blow was powerful enough to send the lad crashing into the bakehouse wall where he slid to the ground, unconscious.

  "Donald!"

  Eleanor struggled and kicked, trying to break free of Balloch's grip but her efforts only seemed to please him more.

  "You bastard!" she growled at him. "He's just a boy!"

  Balloch grinned. "That's it. Fight me. It will just make this even more pleasurable."

  He yanked her through the door of the bakehouse. There was nobody else in the small room, and the oven in one corner was cold. Eleanor considered screaming but they were far from the manor house and she doubted anyone would hear her. Besides, she suspected that's what Balloch wanted.

  Balloch rammed her against the wall hard enough to make her gasp. With a desperate cry, Eleanor swung her free hand at his face but he caught her wrist nonchalantly and pinned her arms above her head with one meaty fist. He ran his other hand down her side, his touch sending a sliver of fear right through her body. No. No! This was not happening!

  He leaned close, pressing himself against her and whispered, "I'm going to enjoy this."

  Eleanor screwed her eyes tight shut, trying to fight the panic that had turned her insides to water. Balloch's stink was all around her, the weight of his body pressing her against the wall, the sound of his excited breathing heavy by her ear.

  Then a howl of rage tore through the air. Eleanor opened her eyes to see Finlay standing in the doorway. His eyes blazed, his face twisted in a mask of white-hot fury. He launched himself at Balloch who released Eleanor and turned to meet his attack. Finlay punched him hard enough that Eleanor heard the crack of Balloch's nose.

  Finlay followed, grabbed Balloch by the shoulders and rammed him against the wall, just as Balloch had done to Eleanor. He rained punches into the man's gut, and Balloch doubled over, grunting at each blow.

  Eleanor watched in horror, her hands covering her mouth, her stomach twisted into knots. She saw Balloch's foot come lashing out and cried a warning.

  "Finn, watch out!"

  Too late. Balloch's foot caught the back of Finn's ankle and tripped him. He went crashing to the ground and Balloch followed him, stamping down towards his face with one booted foot. Finn rolled out of the way and came back to his feet fluidly, facing his opponent with a snarl on his face.

  "What's wrong?" he growled at Balloch. "Dinna ye like victims who fight back?"

  "I'll kill ye," Balloch bellowed, wiping a trail of blood from his nose. "I'll kill ye and leave ye for the crows!"

  With a roar of rage he charged at Finlay. He caught him around the waist and his momentum took them both crashing through the door to sprawl onto the courtyard outside. Eleanor followed them, trying desperately to think of a way she could make them stop.

  But both men were in the thrall of blood lust now and they scrambled to their feet and began circling, each searching for an opening. Finn looked not in the least winded but Balloch's face dripped blood and his shoulders heaved with exertion. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as Finn stalked him.

  Then Eleanor heard footsteps and turned to see three other men running over. Balloch saw them too and the uncertainty evaporated to be replaced by a wide, cocky grin.

  "Perfect timing, boys," he called. "Ye can join me in bringing this hound to heel."

  The three men, obviously Balloch's toadies, spread out in a circle around Finlay. His eyes flicked to them and Eleanor didn't see any fear in his eyes, only a calm acceptance.

  She had to help Finn. But how? Maybe she should run to the manor house and get help but the fighting men blocked the exit from the courtyard. Biting her lip, she looked around. There. A broom was propped against the wall, its handle stout and thick. Grabbing it, she smashed it against her knee, snapping off the end with the bristles, leaving a long, smooth staff.

  Balloch’s toadies attacked. As they threw themselves at him, Finn moved, ducking under their clumsy blows then pivoting to land a kick into one man's knee, a punch into the face of another before spinning away to give himself room for a roundhouse kick into Balloch's stomach. Then he took three steps back, opening up a gap.

  It was the space Eleanor needed. "Finn! Here!"

  She tossed him the staff. He caught it deftly, twirled it a few times to get the weight and then turned back to the fight. The men had drawn weapons now and steel glinted in the sunlight. Their expressions had become cold, raw fury. Eleanor knew they were beyond reason now and they would show Finn no mercy.

  Please help him, she prayed, not knowing to who or what she prayed. Please don't let him get hurt. I couldn't bear it. Oh god, Finn.

  Chapter 11

  Finn felt a strange calm settle over him. It was the same calm he experienced when out tracking in the woods alone. All his thoughts seemed to stop, his past and future fell away and there was only the now. This moment. The moment that might mean the difference between his life and death.

  Balloch and his toadies were furious now. He could see it in the way their lips twisted back from their teeth. He could see it in the way their faces had turned red and the way their shoulders were hunched. They were men ready to kill.

  So be it. He'd always known there would be a reckoning with Balloch one day. Today was that day.

  A cold stab of fear like a sword blade had gone right through his guts when he’d seen Donald laying unconscious by the bakehouse. He'd paused only long enough to check the lad was all right before hurrying into the building, knowing what he would find there and praying to every Fae, every god, every friendly spirit, that he wasn't too late.

  He'd always thought himself a rational man. A man who thought through his actions. A man who considered consequences before he acted.

  As it turned out, he was none of those things.

  When he'd seen Balloch pinning Eleanor to the wall, his stinking frame pressed against her, his hand roving over her body as if he owned it, all rationality had disappeared. White-hot fury erupted and the only thought in his mind was that he would kill this man who’d tried to hurt her. He would kill him and enjoy doing it.

  That rage had not abated. His fists ached to meet Balloch's flesh, to inflict on him the pain he’d planned to mete out to Eleanor. But now his calm detachment had cooled the rage to a slow-burning ember, one that allowed him to think rationally.

  He looked around, assessing his options. The four men circled him, blocking all avenues of escape but that hardly mattered. Finn had no intention of trying to escape. He breathed deeply, rocking onto the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction.

  A red-haired man called Robert lunged at him with a roar, his blade angling straight for Finn's stomach. At the same time, as Finn's attention was pulled to Robert, he sensed Balloch move as well, coming at him from b
ehind. Finn shifted. He brought the staff around to meet Robert's thrust, slamming the hard wood against the blade and ripping it from the man's grip. Then he ducked, rolled, and Balloch's blade went singing through the air where his neck had been a moment ago. He came to his feet and pivoted, ramming the heel of the staff into the paunch of Patrick, a blond-haired man who'd attacked from Finn’s left.

  Dimly, he was aware that a crowd was beginning to gather, no doubt alerted by the sound of fighting the way wolves would scent blood. But he paid the onlookers no heed. All his attention was fixed on his opponents.

  Finlay swayed and ducked and counter-attacked, keeping them at bay with ease. He had always been quick. Only Camdan was a better fighter than Finn and even he had often struggled to keep up with Finn's lightning reflexes. From his center of calm detachment Finn could almost sense his opponents’ moves before they made them and so they laid not a single blow on him whilst they were quickly covered in cuts and bruises from where his staff struck them.

  "What are ye playing at?" Balloch roared to his toadies. "This isn't ring of roses, ye damned cowards! Will ye let one man best ye? Kill him, damn ye!"

  As if chastened by his taunts, the three toadies attacked in unison, each coming from a different direction, each with murder in his eyes. Finn stilled, assessing who would reach him first. Then, just as Robert swung a punch at Finn's kidneys, he dropped to one knee, ducking under the punch and smashed the end of the staff into Robert's knee with a crunch. Robert crashed to the ground with a howl, rolling around and clutching his wounded knee.

  Finn sensed someone approaching from behind, and reversed the staff, driving it behind him so it connected with Patrick's stomach. Rising, Finn swung the staff in an arc, its end connecting with Patrick's chin hard enough to snap his head back, send his eyes rolling in his head, and lay him out unconscious next to Robert.

  Finn’s neck prickled in warning and he threw himself to the side just as a blade came whistling through the air. It was such a wild swing that it took Balloch's third lackey, a man Finn didn't know, staggering to one side and Finn took advantage of the man's loss of balance by bringing the staff crunching down onto the wrist of his sword arm. The man yowled in pain, his fingers springing open and sending the sword crashing into the dirt. Finn smacked him across the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.