by Katy Baker
He yelled for the guards and they entered the tent and roughly escorted Thea back to her own. As she sank down onto the bed her tightly held control cracked. She leaned forward, hugging herself, as tears leaked from her eyes and sobs racked her body.
Feeling her free will slipping away had been utterly terrifying. It was a Fae glamor, just like the one that kept people from recognizing Logan. If Eoin won the battle, the Fae had promised to use it on her. She would be in thrall to Eoin. God help her, she would love him and most likely forget that Logan ever existed.
His face suddenly flashed into her mind and memories of the night they’d shared together. It had been the most special night of her life, laden with hope and promise. Now that had all turned to ashes.
Logan, she thought as the sobs shook her. Where are you? I need you.
***
It was what his father would have called a 'fine Highland evening’ which meant it was lashing down with rain and howling a gale. As the sun had set clouds had gathered, turning the sky into a purple bruise.
Logan glanced at the storm clouds and a chill ran down his spine. The weather had been like this the night he'd enacted his bargain with the Fae, and again when he’d rescued Thea from the sea. Now, as he rode a stolen horse along the trail, the wind drove rain right into his face and made the path ahead all but invisible. It was beyond reckless to be riding in this weather and any sane travelers would have found shelter for the night. Not Logan and Rhodry. They couldn't rest. Too much depended on their mission. So they rode as quickly as they dared through the wild night, their clothes soaked through, urgency driving them on.
They rode all night, stopping for only short intervals to rest the horses, and the sun was well above the horizon when they finally topped a rise and found themselves looking down into the valley of Drover's Pass. The pass itself was a narrow cut through sheer cliffs. Beyond it lay the MacKinnon stronghold of Dun Varan. Surrounded on all sides by towering hills, Dun Varan was well defended, but what proved its strength was also its weakness. It meant that if an enemy took Drover's Pass they could effectively cut it off from the rest of the Highlands, gradually starving out its people. This had obviously not been lost on Laird MacKinnon which is why he'd marched his army to the head of Drover's Pass rather than letting an army lay siege to his castle.
As they pulled their horses to a halt, Logan saw that two armies were marching into position in the valley. To the east lay the MacAuley forces, to the west, and closer to Logan and Rhodry, lay the MacKinnons. His father’s training kicked in and Logan scanned the forces, quickly assessing their numbers. His stomach tightened. The MacAuley forces outnumbered the MacKinnons three to one. This would not be a battle. It would be a massacre.
“Holy mother of God,” Rhodry breathed. “Look at them all. We’re too late.”
Even as he said it, drums began to beat, pounding out the rhythm of the marching men.
“Nay,” Logan replied. “There is still a chance but we have to hurry.”
He set his heel to his horse’s flanks and they went cantering into the valley—heading straight for the MacKinnon lines. It wasn’t long before they ran into the MacKinnon scouts. A group of mounted men materialized out of the trees and blocked their path.
"Ye'll nay be going any further, friends," one of them said. "I suggest ye turn yer horses around if ye dinna wish to feel cold steel in yer guts."
Logan studied them calmly. They were seasoned fighters by the look of them, scarred men wearing the MacKinnon plaid. "I wish to speak with Laird MacKinnon," he said. "I come with an offer of terms from Laird MacAuley."
The two men shared a glance. "Really? Sneaking through the woods like this? If Laird MacAuley wished to offer terms he would wait until the parley."
"Aye, he might. Or he might send riders in secret in order to avoid bloodshed and allow both sides to ride out of this with their honor unscathed. Which is it?"
The men looked less certain now. Then they put up their spears. "Ye will give up yer weapons and follow us on foot."
Logan and Rhodry did as they were bid, handing over their swords and leaving the horses behind. They followed the men through the camp and were soon ushered to a spot high on a hill where Laird MacKinnon had gathered with his commanders.
Laird MacKinnon looked up from a map as Logan and Rhodry were brought forward. Logan's heart lifted at the sight of him. He was a big man past his middle years with wide shoulders and ruddy cheeks. Quick to anger, quick to laugh, Laird Angus MacKinnon had been Logan's friend for years uncounted. How many times had they played dice together? How many times had he sought this man's advice when he'd first come into the lairdship? Now their people were about to face each other across the field of battle.
The MacKinnon glanced at him, showing no trace of recognition. "My scouts tell me ye claim to have come from Laird MacAuley with an offer of terms. Forgive me for being a little skeptical where that snake's offers are concerned." He crossed his arms over his broad chest and fixed Logan with a glare. "Well, let's hear what yer lord has to say.”
Logan glanced at the forces gathering below. The early morning light reflected off thousands of weapons. He gestured to the gathered armies. “I canna believe ye want this, my lord.”
The MacKinnon’s eyes narrowed. “Dinna presume to know my mind, boy,” he growled. Then he sighed. “Aye, tis this laird of yers that wants strife and all the bloodshed that comes with it. War is an ugly thing, boy, which I think yer laird will discover before the end.”
“Aye, it is. But what if there was a way to end this without a blow being struck?” Logan asked.
The MacKinnon laughed. “Then I would say that whoever manages such a thing is a better man than I!” Behind him his two warriors laughed.
Logan did not join in. Looking the MacKinnon square in the eyes he said, “I can deliver such a thing. But I need something from ye first. I need yer word that if I prevail ye will retreat from the battlefield and allow the MacAuley forces to withdraw.”
Laird MacKinnon’s eyebrows pulled down into a frown. “Have ye gone mad, boy? Ye think I’d fall for such a trick?”
“It isnae a trick. I will do all I can to get the MacAuley forces to withdraw without engaging. Will ye do the same?”
“Who are ye? How, by Heaven, could ye claim such a thing?”
Logan shook his head. “Who am I doesnae matter. What matters is that I’m offering ye the chance to avoid bloodshed and save yer people. I have some influence with Laird MacAuley and believe I know a way to end this without anyone getting hurt. I need yer word, Laird MacKinnon.” He met the old man’s gaze, willing him to take him at his word and not ask him to explain. Once, he would have done so without question.
The old man stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. “Ye know, boy, ye remind me of someone I used to know, long ago. Who are ye?”
Logan shrugged. “Just a clansman who wants to save his people. Will ye agree?”
“Aye, lad. If ye get Laird MacAuley to withdraw, I will do the same. I think ye may be a little unhinged but what have I to lose? If ye are successful we all go home. If ye aren’t, we’ll ride to battle as planned.”
Logan held out his hand and Laird MacKinnon clasped it, wrist to wrist. “My thanks.”
He and Rhodry strode to the door but Laird MacKinnon called for him to wait. Logan turned and saw the old man had a puzzled expression on his face.
“Are ye sure we havenae met before?”
Logan smiled wryly. “Many times, my old friend. Many times.”
Then, without further explanation, he turned and left.
“What was that?” Rhodry asked as they walked through the MacKinnon camp, escorted by his scouts. “How could ye hope to achieve such a thing? Logan, what are ye planning?”
Logan halted and looked at his friend. Around them the MacKinnon lines were forming up. In a few hours time most of these men would be dead, their wives widows, their children fatherless. Unless Logan did something about it.
“I’m going to do what I should have done from the start,” Logan growled. “I’m going to kill Eoin MacAuley.”
Chapter 20
Thea felt sick to her stomach. She stood rigidly on the hillside, watching as the battle lines were drawn up below. Last night’s rain had blown through, leaving a crystal clear morning. For many of the men down there, it would be their last.
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight, but her other senses assailed her instead: the smell of sweat and leather, the creak of harness, the thump of booted feet against the ground. She couldn’t escape it. This was really happening. She really was in the middle of a battle with a madman at her side.
Eoin MacAuley stood next to her, eyes alight with an avid fervor as he surveyed the valley. “Station archers along the marshy ground to the east,” he instructed one of his commanders. “They might be desperate enough to try the crossing once we get into them and make sure the mercenary captains know to keep their formation. I’ll not have them turning into an undisciplined rabble.” The commander nodded and walked away.
Eoin was clearly enjoying himself. He looked resplendent in his battle gear and ermine-trimmed cloak as he stood surveying his troops.
Oh, how Thea hated him.
“Not long now,” he said, turning to look at her with a grin. He had a pouch containing Logan’s branding iron attached to his belt. He didn’t go anywhere without it, not since Thea had tried to steal it. “We’re almost in position and soon it will all begin.”
“You expect me to be happy about that?” she hissed. “You expect me to be pleased I’m about to stand here and watch men die?”
Eoin’s smile widened. “I expect ye to stand here and watch as I fulfill my destiny, then afterwards, when the battle is won, ye will give yerself to me and I will enjoy the fruits of my hard-earned victory.”
“I’ll kill you first.” She took a step towards him but her two guards grabbed her arms and stopped her going any nearer.
“That’s it, ye stoke that fiery temper of yers,” Eoin said. “It will make taming ye all the more pleasurable.”
Thea opened her mouth for a scathing reply but a sudden murmur went through the ranks. Turning to look at what had caused the commotion, she saw a single rider riding out from the MacKinnon lines and crossing the no-man’s land between the two opposing armies. He carried a spear with a red flag attached to it, which snapped in the wind.
“A challenge!” the cry went up. “The MacKinnon’s send a challenger!”
The rider reined in just out of bowshot of the MacAuley front line and reared his horse. “Eoin MacAuley!” he bellowed, his voice ringing out clear and sharp. “I call ye out for the bastard ye are! I challenge ye to single combat! Do ye dare to face me?”
Thea’s heart skipped. She’d know that voice anywhere! She stood on tiptoe, trying to get a good look at the man over the heads of the gathered warriors and as she recognized him a flood of joy and hope surged through her.
“Logan!” she screamed.
Eoin’s face turned white. Thea couldn’t tell whether it was fury or fear or both. A vein throbbed in his temple and his mouth pressed into a hard, flat line.
“Eoin MacAuley! Will ye hide behind yer men? Are ye too much of a coward to face me?” Logan shouted.
“How, by hell, did he get here?” Eoin hissed. “Arrogant bastard! He willnae be so arrogant when I shove three feet of steel up his arse!”
He took a step forward but one of his officers held up a hand. “Ye canna accept the challenge, my lord. This is a trick of the MacKinnons.”
“Ye dare tell me what I can and canna do?” Eoin growled. “Step aside.”
The man stood his ground. “My lord, I would advise against this. If ye were to die—”
“Ye think I canna deal with one preening peacock? Ye think yer laird to be weak?”
“Nay, lord,” the man stammered. “It’s just that—”
“Out of my way!”
Eoin grabbed Thea roughly by the arm and yanked her forward. The men parted to let them through and as they stepped out onto open ground, Thea’s eyes flew to Logan.
He seemed unharmed although his clothes were grimy and she didn’t recognize the horse he rode. Seeing them, he dismounted and approached. Eoin dragged her across the no-man’s land and they met Logan in the middle, halting a few paces away.
His eyes were fixed on her face. “Thea,” he breathed. “Are ye all right? Has this bastard hurt ye?”
“No, I’m fine,” she stammered. “Oh god, Logan! He’s in league with the Fae! It’s been him all along!”
“I know,” Logan replied, his gaze transferring to his cousin. “I know it all.”
“Well isn’t this reunion touching,” Eoin rasped. “Pity it won’t last very long. It will only take me a moment to kill you.”
“Send Thea to safety,” Logan replied. “This is naught to do with her. It’s between us.”
“I disagree. It has everything to do with her. After all, she is to be my wife. She will stay. She will watch as her husband kills her lover.”
Without warning Eoin drew his sword and launched himself at Logan. Logan threw his sword up just in time to parry the blow and the two blades met with a ring of steel on steel. A cheer went up from the watching armies.
“Thea, get away from here!” Logan bellowed. “Run!”
Thea staggered back, away from the fighting men, but she didn’t run. She couldn’t. She had to help Logan!
The two men circled each other warily. They looked so different, one light in coloring, one dark, one tall and broad-shouldered, the other whip-thin and wiry. But they were equally matched in skill. As they came together, blades slashing and parrying, Thea saw that Eoin’s sword-craft matched Logan’s. Of course it would. They had been trained together after all.
Eoin darted in, kicked dirt into Logan’s face and slashed his blade at Logan’s throat. Logan staggered back, clumsily parrying the blade as he dashed the dirt from his eyes, and the tip of Eoin’s sword nicked his shoulder, causing a line of red to bloom on his shirt.
A cheer went up from the MacAuley forces.
“First blood to me, cousin!” Eoin called. “Now I’ll take yer head.”
“Ye always talked too much,” Logan replied. “Mayhap I’ll cut yer tongue out before I kill ye.”
With a growl Eoin attacked. He came at Logan with a series of lightning blows, his sword glinting as it swung. Logan blocked and sent a savage riposte that opened a wound on Eoin’s bicep. This time a roar went up from the MacKinnon forces. Eoin grunted in pain and took a step back. Logan seized his chance. He pushed forward, his blade catching the early morning light as he slashed and cut. Eoin parried each stroke but the wound in his bicep was hampering him and his movements were a fraction slower than they were.
Logan pressed his advantage, driving his cousin back several paces. Then Eoin let out a roar and flung himself forward. Their blades met. Eoin sent a punch into Logan’s unprotected face, making him stagger back a step. Eoin followed instantly, his blade slashing at Logan’s throat. At the last second Logan dropped to his knees and rolled under the slashing blade before hooking his ankle around Eoin’s and tripping him into the dirt.
He grabbed Eoin’s wrist and twisted savagely. With a cry Eoin let go of his sword. Logan swept it up and pressed the blade against Eoin’s throat.
“Do ye yield?”
Everything had gone deathly quiet. All Thea could hear was the roaring of blood in her ears.
“Do ye yield?” Logan bellowed.
Eoin glared up at him. Then, to Thea’s astonishment, he began to laugh. It was a cruel, brittle sound that set Thea’s hair on end. There was no mirth in it, only savage glee.
“Fool!” he laughed. “I will enjoy watching ye die.”
“Yield,” Logan growled. “This was a trial by combat and ye have lost.”
"Enough of this," said a voice suddenly.
A sudden wave of force rolled throug
h the battlefield as though a door had been opened and closed. "I tire of yer petty squabbles."
The air rippled and the old man who Eoin had met in Dun Ringill suddenly appeared. He flicked his hand and Logan's blade suddenly burned white-hot. With a gasp of pain, he dropped it to the ground where it smoldered, setting the surrounding grass aflame. The old man walked forward, smiling malevolently.
"Thea," Logan instructed, backing away and watching the man as though he was a viper. "Get behind me."
Thea scrambled to Logan's side. His shoulder was leaking blood and sweat smeared his forehead. The old man looked around at the gathered armies and then lifted his nose and sniffed like a dog.
"Ah! The air is rank with fear. Do ye smell it? Isnae it glorious?"
"What do ye want?" Logan demanded.
The old man's black eyes snapped to Logan. "Only what was agreed. Naught more, naught less. A bargain was made, Logan MacAuley, and ye willnae be allowed to interfere with it."
"Damn yer bargains! I've had my fill of them! I willnae let ye cause any more strife."
"Oh?" the man asked, lifting an eyebrow. "And how, exactly, do ye plan to stop me? Ye are a dead man, Logan MacAuley, a ghost, yer life merely a shadow of what it once was."
"Aye, maybe it is," Logan replied. "But I’ll spend what’s left of it trying to stop ye. I may no longer be laird but I’m still a MacAuley. I willnae let ye hurt my people."
"Yer people?" he said. "Those same people who are baying for yer blood? Listen! Can ye not hear how much they hate ye?"
It was true. The MacAuley forces were jeering and hollering, calling for Eoin to slay the challenger. Thea looked up and saw violence and hatred written on their faces.
"It doesnae matter," Logan said. "They have been tricked, as I was tricked. I call our bargain null and void, Fae. It is over!"
The old man's eyes blazed. "It is over when I say it is over! Ye are mine and I will do with yer life as I see fit! We made a bargain and it canna be broken!"
Thea was suddenly grabbed from behind, her arms pinned to her sides. "What did I tell ye, wife?" Eoin said by her ear. "I told ye ye would watch my victory. Well here it is. Are ye enjoying it?"