Fate of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  "Aye," he ground out.

  "That bastard," Camdan growled. "I'll carve his heart out."

  "Not if I find him first," Eleanor muttered.

  Logan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Eleanor. "Wait one moment. Yer accent sounds mighty familiar. Where have I heard it before?"

  "This is Lady Eleanor Stevenson," Finn said, laying a hand on Eleanor's arm. "An outlander from across the sea. I couldnae have made it this far without her help."

  Eleanor nodded. "Pleased to meet you. Although I wish it was under better circumstances."

  "Tell me,” Logan replied, his eyes shrewd and penetrating as they fixed on her. “This place ye are from across the sea. It isnae called America is it?"

  Eleanor's eyes widened. "Yes!" she gasped. "How did you know that?"

  "Yer accent," Logan replied. "Both Cam and I have heard it before." He glanced at Camdan who nodded. "From our wives. My wife Thea and Cam's wife, Bethany, are both from America."

  "What?" Finlay asked incredulously. "Ye are both married?"

  "Aye," Logan replied with a smile. "And the only reason we managed to convince Thea and Beth not to march with the army is because Thea is nursing our infant sons." A broad smile split his face. "She gave me twins. Two healthy boys."

  Finn opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. It seemed there was much he had to catch up on.

  Camdan’s eyes flicked around the clearing. “Come,” he said. “We can talk about all this later. Right now we have to get out of here. If ye are right about Stewart’s forces we have to move quickly." He turned to his men. “Alec, Graham, ye will escort Finn and Eleanor back to the camp.”

  “Nay, Camdan,” Finn said. "I canna return with ye. I came only to warn ye of Stewart's cannons. Now I must leave."

  "Leave?" Camdan replied incredulously. "Dinna talk horseshit! We willnae lose ye again, little brother!"

  Logan laid a restraining hand on Cam's shoulder. "What is it?" he asked Finn softly.

  Finn's eyes strayed to the velvet bag that hung from the saddle of his horse. "My curse isnae broken," he said. "The Fae still have a hold on me. Only death can break my curse. I’m here only because Eleanor found a way to give me temporary reprieve. Now I must see her safely back to her homeland before the curse takes me once more. "

  Silence fell in the clearing. Logan and Camdan looked at him, Camdan fingering the hilt of his sword as though he wanted to hack at something.

  "Then we’ll help ye,” Logan said. “A score of guards, good men, to escort ye and Lady Eleanor to where ye need to go—"

  "Nay," Finn cut him off. "We must travel quickly and without being detected. Send yer forces to McKinley Crag. That is the likeliest landing—”

  He cut off suddenly as a horn sounded in the distance, calling three short blasts.

  "Attack!" Camdan cried, drawing his sword with a whoosh of steel.

  He spun, bellowing orders to the men, and suddenly everything exploded into chaos. Finn heard the clash of weapons in the distance, the shouting of men. He pushed Eleanor behind him as he drew his dagger and turned, eyes scanning the trees.

  Shapes were flitting through the undergrowth, shapes that materialized into men wearing the colors of Alasdair Stewart. The MacAuley warriors stepped to meet them and close-quarter fighting erupted throughout the clearing, the clash of steel on steel and grunts of exertion.

  Finn shoved Eleanor roughly aside as a stocky man with a scar down his face charged, swinging a sword. Finn dropped to one knee, swept the man's legs out from under him then followed as he fell, burying his dagger in the man's stomach.

  He pulled his bow from the saddle and the horse, spooked by the sudden commotion, went charging off into the trees. Finn cursed under his breath but didn’t have time to follow. Instead, he nocked an arrow and fired at two men converging on Camdan. One of them fell with an arrow through his eye and Camdan dispatched the other with a slice across the man’s throat. Camdan gave Finn a quick nod of thanks before spinning to face another attacker.

  Finlay fired in quick succession, taking down one, two, three men in Stewart's colors but more came pouring through the trees. It was difficult to gauge numbers through the shifting shadows but Finlay guessed there were at least thirty men—roughly the same number as the MacAuley party.

  It was a lightning raid. Somebody in Stewart's command had realized that Laird MacAuley had gone out scouting with only a small guard and seized their chance.

  But how would they have known Logan was here? he thought. There's no Stewart force this far north. Unless...

  His blood turned to ice. Unless I was followed.

  Even as the thought formed, a voice bellowed from behind. "I want them alive!"

  Stewart’s forces disengaged and retreated, melting into the trees but Finn knew they would not have gone far, waiting for the order to attack again.

  "To me!" Logan bellowed. "Protect Lady Eleanor!"

  The MacAuley forces formed a circle with Eleanor in the middle. They stared into the gloom of the woods, awaiting the enemy's next move.

  "Ye know yer problem, Hound?" The voice shouted again. "Ye are forever underestimating me. Mayhap it's time ye learned yer mistake!”

  Finn's neck prickled. He knew that voice. His fingers tightened on his bow as a grinning man stepped into the light.

  Balloch Stewart. And he was carrying Finn's brand.

  Chapter 17

  "Bastard!" Eleanor yelled as Balloch emerged into the clearing.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she was sprinting at him, no thought in her head other than she'd make him pay for everything he'd done. But Finn caught her, dragged her to a halt.

  "Easy, lass," he breathed, holding her close. "Easy."

  She glared at Balloch and if a gaze could kill, Balloch would have been lying on the ground, bleeding. How the hell had he gotten here so fast? Had he gone through the marshes as Finn had feared? Had he known all along what she and Finn had planned?

  He was wearing that cocky grin, as always, and, as she realized what he gripped in one meaty fist, her fury turned to cold fear. No. It cannot be.

  The copper of Finn’s brand glinted dully in the dappled sunlight, seeming full of menace as Balloch tapped it nonchalantly against his palm. Eleanor's eyes flew to where Finn's horse had gone galloping off into the trees—and straight towards Balloch’s men.

  No! How could she have been so stupid? How could she have left the brand hanging on the saddle where anyone could take it?

  With a growl, Finn walked towards Balloch.

  “Stop right there,” Balloch snapped. “Right now my archers have arrows trained on Lady Eleanor’s heart. Come any closer, any of ye, and she dies. Understood?”

  Finn ground his teeth and halted. He dropped his bow to the ground and held out his hands.

  "It’s me ye want, Balloch. There isnae need for further bloodshed. Our forces are evenly matched. Ye canna prevail. Leave now and I will come with ye quietly."

  Balloch raised an eyebrow. "Our forces? So ye’ve thrown yer lot in with my uncle’s enemies after all, and after the kindness he’s shown ye. I always knew ye were a black-hearted traitor, Hound. Ye are quite incorrect though. Aye, our forces are evenly matched but ye are forgetting that I have a secret weapon: ye. I keep telling ye not to underestimate me. Did ye really think I didnae know it was ye that attacked us on the river bank? Or that I didnae guess ye would head through the marshes to warn the MacAuley? It wasnae difficult to follow yer trail. In fact, I must thank ye on behalf of my uncle for leading us to Laird MacAuley. In one fell swoop I will cut the head from the MacAuley clan and bring victory to the Stewarts!"

  "Do ye think so?" Logan growled, fixing Balloch with a baleful stare. "Then step forward and let’s see if ye are right."

  "Me?" Balloch said. "Oh, no, I willnae be the one that takes yer head, Laird MacAuley. Nay, that honor I leave to yer brother. Has he told ye how many times he's betrayed ye? Has he told ye how many times he's helped my uncle to
thwart ye? How many MacAuley warriors have died because of him? Too many to count. Well, one more willnae make any difference will it? How does it feel to know that your own brother is going to kill ye?"

  "Shut yer mouth," Finn snarled at Balloch. "Ye are a fool if ye think I will harm my kin."

  "Oh, ye willnae have a choice," Balloch replied. He lifted the brand. "Ye aren't the only one to underestimate me. My uncle did the same. He thinks I'm ignorant of what this thing is. He thinks I dinna know of the curse that binds ye to him. But I am nay such thing. I watched and learned, biding my time until I was ready. Now ye will all see the folly of underestimating me."

  He raised the brand over his head and began chanting words in a strange language. It sounded otherworldly, as though it had been dredged up from the bowels of the earth.

  In response, the tattoo on Finn’s back flared to life, burning white hot. His lips pulled back in a rictus snarl.

  "Ye are mine now," Balloch said, grinning. "And ye will do as I command. Here is my first order, Hound: kill Laird MacAuley."

  With a howl of anguish Finn's head snapped back and Eleanor saw that his eyes blazed with a strange light. Then, with a cry, he grabbed a fallen sword, blisters erupting on his palm as the iron touched his skin, and threw himself at his eldest brother. Logan staggered back, parrying the wild swing of Finn’s blade.

  For one long, frozen instant, Eleanor stood rooted to the spot in horror. Balloch was right: they’d all underestimated him, thinking him a thug with little ambition or intelligence. It turned out that he was way more than that.

  Then the rest of Balloch’s men surged out of the trees with a ringing battle cry. Fighting erupted. Most of Balloch’s men converged on Camdan and suddenly the second MacAuley brother was fighting for his life, pushed inexorably away from Logan and Finn, stopping him from intervening in their fight.

  Eleanor grabbed a fallen branch. It was a poor weapon but better than nothing. She took a step in Finn’s direction but one of Logan’s men grabbed her, yanking her out of harm’s way. The man pushed her behind him as a screen of attackers spilled across the clearing, blocking her view. She craned her head, desperately trying to see what was happening. Logan and Finn were circling each other, looking for an opening.

  “Hold!” Logan bellowed at Finn. “Stop this madness!”

  But Finn’s expression didn’t change. He pivoted, bringing the blade around and driving Logan back a step. His lips were pulled back and the veins in his neck stood out like ropes.

  Balloch watched with a grin on his face.

  At the sight, fury consumed Eleanor. She scrambled away from her guard, ducked under a swinging blade that would have taken her head off, and darted across the clearing.

  She caught Balloch by surprise. With all her strength she swung the branch and brought it smashing down onto the arm that held the brand. With a grunt of pain Balloch’s fingers opened and the brand went tumbling into the dirt.

  She made a grab for it but Balloch was quicker. He punched her in the stomach hard enough to double her over then grabbed her hair, yanking her head back. A knife suddenly rested against her throat.

  “Bitch!” he growled by her ear. “That’s two I owe ye. Time for payback. Starting with watching yer precious Finlay murder his own family.”

  With the blade just millimeters from her jugular, Eleanor froze. Her ragged breathing sounded loud in her ears. She didn’t want to look but she felt her gaze dragged relentlessly towards Finn and Logan and her heart quailed at the sight of them locked in battle.

  Fight the curse, Finn, she thought desperately. Fight it!

  FINN DESPERATELY TRIED to fight Balloch’s control. With every ounce of strength in his body, he tried to resist the cold, alien will that drove him on. His lips peeled back from his teeth, his veins bulged with the effort, his muscles trembled as he strained, strained to thwart the command that thrummed through his veins like molten metal.

  But it did no good.

  He watched, almost a bystander, as he hacked and slashed at Logan, howling inside as his brother blocked every stroke, never counter-attacking, trying only to keep Finn at bay.

  Finn’s heart quailed, hating himself, knowing he had no choice. Balloch’s will flowed like poison through his blood, sweeping away his own volition and leaving nothing in its wake but a command he must obey.

  Kill Laird MacAuley.

  His tattoo was blazing, his back a throbbing, beating hub of pain, pulsing to the rhythm of his hammering heart. His lungs burned, his arms ached and the palm of his hand was burned and blistered from the touch of the iron sword-hilt. But still he moved, lunging and spinning and hacking, using all of his MacAuley-trained skill to fulfill his master’s command.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Balloch grab Eleanor and press a knife against her throat. A jolt of pure terror went through him, enough to break Balloch’s grip for an instant. In that moment his grip wavered and Logan’s sword broke through his defences and scored a gash along his cheek. It burned like wildfire, sending him almost senseless with pain.

  Logan was beginning to tire. His eldest brother was the most skilful warrior in Clan MacAuley, except for Camdan, but even he could not defend himself indefinitely against such a furious onslaught. His movements became a fraction slower, his breathing heavier.

  Any second now one of Finn’s attacks would find its way through Logan’s defences, find its target and end Logan’s life. And Finn would be a murderer and kinslayer.

  Nay, he snarled to himself. I. Will. Not. Do. It.

  The cut on his cheek was still burning, the touch of Logan’s iron sword causing pain far beyond what it should.

  Iron, he thought suddenly. Anathema to the magic of the Fae.

  Only death could end his curse.

  And suddenly Finlay knew what he had to do.

  He glanced over at Eleanor and once again, the terror of seeing her in Balloch’s grip was enough to shatter the curse’s hold for the merest instant. He took that time to lift his chin, turn to meet the thrust of Logan’s blade—

  —then throw his own stroke wide, allowing Logan’s blade to sink into his stomach half-way to the hilt.

  Pain ripped through Finlay, so blinding that he staggered, blood erupting from his mouth. With a strangled cry, Logan snatched back his blade and Finn tottered a few steps.

  He heard people calling his name—Eleanor? Camdan?—but they were distant, muffled, as if heard from underwater.

  Agony turned his body into a burning torch. A growing crimson flower spread across his shirt.

  “What have ye done?” Balloch cried. He released Eleanor and stepped forward. “On yer feet! I command it! On yer feet, Hound!”

  Finlay’s curse flared in response to the command but it was weak, no longer strong enough to compel him. He felt the magic inside him dying, severed by the iron that had claimed his life.

  “Listen to me...” he whispered, raising his eyes to look at Balloch. “I have to tell ye...”

  Balloch stepped closer. “What? What did ye say?”

  Then, as Balloch stepped within range, Finn marshalled the last reserves of his strength. He swung his borrowed blade, a wild, poorly timed swing, but it did its job.

  Balloch’s eyes bulged as the blade whipped across his jugular. His hands flew to his throat where blood spurted and he staggered, gurgling and gasping. Then he toppled backward onto the damp earth and lay still.

  With a cry Eleanor threw herself at Finn and caught him as his legs buckled, bearing them both to their knees. He tried to lift his arms to touch her one last time, but his arms would no longer respond. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, barely enough to form words.

  “Forgive me,” he said in a wet whisper filled with blood. “I failed ye.”

  “Don’t talk like that!” she cried. “You’ll be fine. I’ll patch you up.”

  Finn shook his head. He had to make her understand. “Too...too...late for that.” His vision was going dark, her face fading unti
l all he could see were her eyes, so deep he could drown in them. “She...she was right. Irene. She said I could be free, despite my curse. And I was. Loving ye. That’s what set me free.”

  He didn’t hear her reply. The darkness rose up and smothered him.

  Chapter 18

  Eleanor blinked. Surely this was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no other explanation for Finn collapsing in her arms, his breath rattling out of his chest in a long, final exhalation.

  “Finn!” she screamed, shaking him roughly. “Finn!”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes had drifted closed and he wasn’t breathing. Blind panic punched her in the stomach like an electric shock and for an instant her world exploded into fragments.

  No! she thought. He needs you! Get a grip!

  She forced away the panic, forced herself to think. Remember your training. Get on with the job.

  Check his pulse.

  It was faint.

  Check his heartbeat.

  Nothing.

  Ignoring the fighting that still raged around her, Eleanor clicked into the cool detachment she always did when treating a patient, reducing the panic to a wild, seething thing that battered on the protective shell of her calm. She refused to let it in. She rolled Finn onto his back and began CPR. Thirty compressions of the chest. Breathe. Thirty more. Breathe.

  “You’re not leaving me,” she muttered. “Don’t you even think about it!”

  But he remained unresponsive. She continued. Thirty compressions. Breathe. Eleanor put her ear to his chest. Still nothing.

  “Damn you! Breathe!”

  Panic was starting to break through her composure and her compressions of Finn’s chest were becoming erratic, her hands slippery with his blood.

  Logan and Camdan knelt by her side. She didn’t glance at them. All her attention was fixed on Finn.

  Time was slipping away. She guessed he’d not breathed for two minutes now. She was losing him. She desperately felt for a pulse, felt it weak and fluttering as though it might stop any second. The panic suddenly reached up and pulled her under.