by Barbara Bard
At first he wasn't sure what it was, and he brought his horse to a standstill so that he freed himself of the thundering sound of the hooves. Then the high-pitched screams became clear. Declan immediately leaped from his horse and ran the short distance to the origin of the noise. Anger flared inside him when he saw that Catherine was being dragged across the ground by a man. He looked a little familiar, but Drew did not know him personally.
He strode forward and declared his presence. The man stopped and looked at him. Catherine looked desolate. Dirt covered her dress from where she had been dragged, and her face was so pale she looked like a spirit. Her screams stopped immediately when she saw Declan however, and he was relieved to find that she was still alive.
“Who are ye?” the man holding Catherine said.
“Declan McCall, and that lass is under my protection. Unhand her and be on your way,” Declan said in as deep a voice as he could muster.
“Well, I'm Angus and ye can shove yer protection. Ye McCalls seem tae have a fondness for Sassenach lasses, sae I'm just trying tae see what kindles yer desire. If ye like, ye can stay and then hae yer turn after me.”
“I'm next!” another one shouted.
“Stop!” Declan cried. Strength and courage flowed through his body. His muscles tensed and the boy turned into a man, for he knew that what he was seeing was wrong. Every fiber of his being told him that he had to protect Catherine at all costs. He knew well what these brutes were capable of, and it appeared as though he had arrived just in time.
“Declan, help me!” Catherine cried. At this, Angus slapped her across the face with the back of his hand, sending her to the ground.
“How dare ye! Ye hae nae honor!” Declan cried, his face burning crimson as he ran forward, blade gleaming in the morning sun. A cruel grin appeared on Angus's face as he drew his own sword and met the young Highlander eagerly.
At first, Declan's mind was filled with nothing but a desire to do the right thing and challenge this man. However, when the fight began fear and doubt crept into his mind. He was still inexperienced. Angus was strong and powerful, and had years of fighting under his belt. Declan may have been more skilled, but Angus was by no means an easy foe to defeat.
Their blades met and the song of steel filled the woods. Declan whirled his sword through the air, trying to batter back his foe, but Angus was able to deflect all his thrusts. Sweat soon began to bead on Declan's temple. The battle had not been as swiftly ended as he would have liked, and he realized that he was in deep danger. Without the rest of the Highland army by his side, as they had been in the battle, he had to face these men by himself, and if he did not succeed he and Catherine would be dead.
Angus seemed to enjoy the fight, grinning ear to ear.
“It is good tae see fire in one sae young, but ye should nae have come here. Ye should have left us tae our business. Ye McCalls always think ye are doing the right thing, but ye never think about what we want tae dae,” Angus said. He didn't even appear to be straining.
Declan knew that he was going to have to call on all his skill. His experience was meager, but he was a talented fighter and knew that he could be on a par with Drew. After one thrust that almost left him unbalanced, Angus quickly thrust back with a parry of his own and then barged his shoulder into Declan's face.
Declan staggered back, momentarily dazed. He was vaguely aware of Catherine gasping, and was filled with a renewed vigor. He was not just fighting for himself, but for her as well, and he knew that he had to succeed.
Inhaling deeply, he thought back to his training when he was younger, thought back to how his father had spent hours with him from morning to night, teaching him how to find the peaceful void within himself that helped all good fighters channel their energy and concentration. Declan felt the sword become an extension of his own arm. It was a part of him, and he was a part of it.
With two hands he raised the sword above his head and then moved forward again. Angus seemed to be overconfident, assured that because of Declan's youth he would be easy to defeat. Declan was determined to prove otherwise. He looked at Angus's feet and predicted where the man was going to move next. Declan feinted, drawing Angus in with a few standard, weak thrusts, and then quickly spun, swinging the sword around in the air and jabbing it forward with precision to Angus's shoulder. The man was taken by surprise, but thanks to his quick reflexes he was able to turn to the side. Declan's sword caught him on the side of his weaker arm. Blood flowed out, and Angus snarled.
“Ye got lucky, boy, but yer luck shall run out!” he growled, and quickly went on the offensive. He swung his sword like a hammer, and Declan was pushed back by the weight of Angus's strikes. If any of them had hit, Declan was under no doubt that he would have been cut in half. Declan watched carefully, feeling the reverberations of the blows up his entire arm as he parried every blow, but he knew that parrying wasn't enough.
Each step back took him closer to being pinned against a tree, and that was something he did not want. He glanced behind him and knew that if this continued any longer he would soon be at a grave disadvantage. When Angus struck next, Declan did not parry; instead he dodged out of the way and rolled underneath the strike, returning to his feet behind Angus's back and slashing at the man's legs with his blade.
Angus screamed in pain and clutched his legs, dropping his sword in the process.
“What are ye waiting for! Get him!” Angus cried out. Declan turned to see the other two rushing towards him.
One of the men carried a sword, the other a pick. Declan did not know the names of these two men, but he knew he was going to kill them. It was a strange realization, but one that brought a sense of calm to Declan's mind. It was as though he knew exactly how the rest of the battle was going to play out, as though fate had already decided upon the outcome and he had been able to peer beyond the veil of uncertainty to see the plan of the gods.
Declan shifted his stance to prepare for the onslaught. Fear had completely gone from his mind. There was nothing but the void. He knew he was a talented master of the blade, and this a test for him to be a man. Just as he had succeeded in hunting the great stag he was going to succeed in this endeavor as well, and bring Catherine back unharmed.
He barely had time to look at her for he was under attack, but she hadn't taken the opportunity to escape. As he glanced at her he saw how her face was stricken with fear, and wondered if she was afraid for him as well as herself.
Then the two men were upon him, and he was under siege.
These men were sluggish, and the one with the sword was not as skilled as Angus had been. They were fierce though, grunting and snarling like wild animals. Declan had to move his wrists quickly to fend off both their attacks. At a certain point the pick narrowly missed his head, and Declan knew that he would have to act quickly, for if he made but one error he would be dead in an instant.
Declan moved back again, but this time it was of his own accord. He played a defensive game, parrying the blades, keeping the two men under control, straining, knowing that all he had to do was wait for the right opportunity and the two of them would be stopped.
His heart pounded in his chest, as loud as thunder. Sweat beaded on his brow and rolled down his cheeks. Muscles all over his body were strained and taut. He glanced behind him to see a tree and then positioned himself in front of it, taking a risk. There he waited and gave an opportunity for the man with the pick. He swung with all his might, thinking that he was about to kill Declan, but the opposite was true. At the last moment Declan swerved and the pick sailed harmlessly through the air until it impacted the tree.
Bark flew as it was shattered, and the point of the pick was embedded in the thick trunk. A look of confusion came upon the man's face, but it was only there for a moment. He strained to pull it out, but Declan quickly lowered himself and thrust his sword through the man's stomach.
In an instant his life was ended. Declan withdrew his blade, which was now dripping with blood, and watched th
e man fall back onto the ground.
“Sloan!” the other yelled, taking a moment to mourn his friend. Declan turned to him.
“Are ye sure ye want tae continue?” he asked.
The man merely growled and came at him again, far more loose with his strikes for he was fueled with anger. Declan was clear-headed and could see all the patterns of the man's strokes. They were basic, and it was clear that he had had no formal training. Declan easily stepped to the side and slapped the man across the face with the side of his sword, leaving a smear of blood.
He was beginning to have fun.
“Throw down yer sword and ye will nae hae tae suffer the same fate as yer friend,” Declan said, offering peace one more time, but the offer was not taken. The other man charged forward. Declan moved more quickly, bringing his sword arcing through the air, stopping the man in his tracks with a split skull. The other sword fell from the man's hand and when Declan pulled his sword away, the man fell forward, his face pushed into the dirt.
Declan immediately went over to Catherine to check on her.
“Are ye okay, lass?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, relieved to have saved her. But then, her eyes went wide with panic and she cried out a warning.
“Declan!” she screamed, and did so in time for Declan to see a shadow come across her face. He ducked, and avoided the blow of Angus, who was lumbering forward, bearing the pain that Declan had dealt him.
“I am nae done with ye, boy,” he said, gritting his teeth.
Although Declan dodged the blow, he was not able to move himself from Angus's follow-through. Declan was shoved to the ground, and Catherine was left at his mercy.
“I will finish the both of ye. Which one of ye wants tae gae first?” he said, turning to Catherine.
Catherine, however, had thought quickly. She picked up a rock and hurled it at Angus as she scrambled to her feet. The rock struck him in the face. His reactions had been slowed by his wounds. He was barely able to stand, but he was still a threat.
“Ye hae proven tae be more trouble than ye are worth, lass!” he cried.
“Then perhaps you should not have taken me prisoner!” Catherine retorted. Angus thrust his blade at her and Declan feared the worst as he tried to scramble to his own feet. His heart was seized by anxiety, for if she should die he did not know what he would do.
However, Catherine nimbly dodged the blow, dancing just as she had danced at the feast. Angus's fury only grew as he seemed to be unable to hit her.
“Ye seem tae be having trouble there. Perhaps ye should try me again,” Declan said, looking every inch the warrior. His skin glistened with sweat, and his blade dripped with the blood of his slain enemies. Angus turned to him and raised his sword. His bluster from earlier had finally gone. He was alone now, without his cronies, wounded, knowing that if he attacked Declan death would surely follow.
A sensible man would have known when to surrender, but Angus was not a sensible man. His was a life that had been forged by violence and opportunism, and he did not have the foresight to abandon his thirst for death. He came forward on the offensive, even though he was wounded, still determined that he could emerge victorious against this fighter that he only saw as a boy.
Declan met his blade easily. In some ways he pitied the man, for it was an ignoble end to die out here in the forest, where no friends could hear a cry for help, but it was a fitting end, for this man was a coward and a wretched soul. Declan toyed with him a few moments, then decided that the man had lived long enough. With a quick flick of his wrists Declan parried the man's blade aside and then ran him through with the tip of his sword, bringing the two men close together.
“Ye dinnae treat a lass like that, and ye dinnae speak about my cousins with such dishonor,” Declan said. Angus could only gurgle. Blood dripped from his mouth, and then the life slipped from his eyes.
Declan withdrew his sword, a heavy expression on his face. It was always an intense thing to kill a man, for you took away not just the man's life, but his future as well. His father had always told him that he should never revel in killing, so Declan did not have a smile on his face.
He fell to one knee and wiped his blade on the grass, cleaning it of the thick blood that stained it.
“Are ye well, lass?” Declan said, his words terse. Now that the fight was over he had another duel to contend with, and he was sure that this one would be far deadlier for him.
Chapter 11
Catherine took a deep breath and steeled herself so that she would not stagger back. She had never seen a duel fought so closely to her before. Indeed, she had actually taken part in it herself, and she trembled with fear. The sight of Declan had brought with it sweet relief, but there had been moments of the duel where she had been worried for herself, and for him.
During the duel he had been her champion, and she knew that if he had not come to her aid then she would have been at the mercy of those vile blackguards, and yet now that he was standing there she also knew what he represented. Captivity.
Still, she was grateful to see him, and within her breast stirred something fierce. Before, Declan had been a boy, but that boy had transformed into a man, every inch of him bristling with power. And yet when she looked into his eyes they held the same vulnerability and sensitivity as they had before.
“I would not have been if you had been a moment later. Thank you for saving me, Declan,” she said, bowing her head a little in shame. When she had fled the castle she did not think that she would have to face Declan again. Now that the two of them were alone together she thought back to their time at the feast, how easy it had been to slip into conversation with him, and how hard it had been to take advantage of his mistake and walk away.
Then she looked around at the men who had captured her.
“Is it strange that I feel pity for these men even though they meant to do me harm?” she asked aloud.
“It is nae strange. My father always said that killing is a heavy burden, that it doesn't just take a man's life, it takes a part of ye as well,” he said softly.
“Your father and mine are very different. I don't think mine has ever hesitated to kill someone who has wronged him.”
“And yet ye would be sae quick tae return tae him,” Declan said, looking at her accusingly.
“It is my home. Are you surprised that I would take advantage of the opportunity?”
“I suppose I shouldn't be,” Declan replied in a surly manner. “Ye showed good footwork. Ye may hae tae teach me a few steps,” he continued. Catherine was grateful for the praise, and realized that it meant a lot to her.
She was about to reply when she felt suddenly faint. Her stomach growled fiercely and nausea rolled through her stomach. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and then she felt herself falling. When she opened her eyes again she was in Declan's arms, gazing into his deep dark eyes. He was sturdy, firm, strong, and in his arms she felt safe.
“Thank you again,” she said.
Declan cleared his throat and looked a little sheepish as he set her back on her feet.
“I think I'm a little hungry,” she added, and went over to the fire where the remnants of breakfast remained. Although it wasn't ladylike at all, Catherine's hunger was so strong that she devoured the hunks of meat left by Angus and the others. She tore at it with her fingers, in the manner of a Highlander. Her disgust with herself was rendered moot by the satisfaction her stomach felt. She also grabbed water, and gulped it down eagerly. As she raised the water-skin to her lips she looked at the red marks on her wrists, then glanced at Declan. She realized now that Sarah and the others had indeed been kind to her, as kind as they could have been under the circumstances anyway.
“Did they harm ye?” Declan asked, noticing the wounds on her wrists as well. Catherine immediately covered them.
“A little, but nothing I couldn't handle. They didn't seem to like you or your cousins very much. I thought all you Highlanders were one big happy family.”
; Declan chuckled to himself.
“Even the big families aren't always happy,” he replied. “I dinnae know which clan these men were from, but there are plenty who are nae happy with my cousins. All the clans gae back a long way. I am surprised ye dinnae know about our way of life given how smart ye are,” Declan said, a teasing tone creeping into his voice.
“I focused more on literature than I did Highland politics,” she said in the same tone.
“Each clan has its own way of life,” he began, “and their own rules. Some clans are big, some are small, and sometimes they see eye tae eye, but most often they dinnae. Ye should hear some of the stories told by my father about all the fights over the years. The only thing we have in common, the only thing that is sure tae bring us taegether, is our hatred of the Sassenach.”
“Glad to be of service,” Catherine replied dryly. “So all those people who live in that castle are related to you in one way or another? That is, your clan is made up of family members?”