Highlander's Savior(Highlanders 0f The McCall Clan Book 1)

by Barbara Bard

  “I may not be able to beat your army on this day, but I can at least leave one of you dead on the ground!” Flynn cried. The two of them locked blades and came face to face with each other, barely inches apart.

  “Yer blood will be spilled on the Highlands. This will be your resting place,” Drew said.

  They pushed back against each other and circled slowly, testing each other with sharp thrusts of their blades. They looked from different worlds. Drew was a warrior, wearing barely any clothes, his muscular body glistening in the sun. Lord Flynn's body was covered in bright, fancy clothes. He was slender in build than Drew. The battle was over and the Scottish had won, but this was to kill the English leader.

  Drew had a fierce look on his face as he raised his sword and cried out. He summoned an image of Sarah in his mind, the thought of her being cruelly treated by this man spurring him on. Like a wolf who had tasted blood, Drew was on Lord Flynn with great animosity, his blade slicing through the air. But Lord Flynn was equal to him, meeting his ferocious thrusts and jabs with skill and a nimble agility. Many times Drew thought he had Lord Flynn, but Flynn managed to dodge or lean out of the way. Drew's blade only met air.

  Lord Flynn's skill only served to enrage Drew more. The anger surged through him, boiling his blood. The two men came together again, their blades scraping against each other, filling the air around them with an unnatural screech of metal against metal.

  Drew soon came to realize that although Lord Flynn may not have been the best general, he was indeed a fine swordsman. In a large tactical battle he was easily defeated, but in a duel he could hold his own. Drew tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and gritted his jaw in a look of pure determination.

  He was stronger than the Englishman, and had to make that count. The rest of the world melted away as the two of them were caught in a flurry of jabs.

  “Ye are going tae lose!” Drew cried through clenched teeth.

  “And why do you think that, you brute?”

  “Because I am fighting for my clan and my woman, while ye are only fighting for yerself!”

  Drew swiveled to his right and slammed his shoulder into Lord Flynn, using the full force of his weight to make the man stagger back. Flynn's sword dropped and Drew pressed the advantage, cutting Lord Flynn above the shoulder.

  First blood to the Highlander.

  Lord Flynn paused for a moment, examining his shoulder. He looked shocked at the sight of his own blood, but the sight of it faded as the red matched the color of his tunic.

  “You made me bleed,” Lord Flynn said, his voice hollow. Then he attacked Drew with greater resolve.

  Drew could barely keep track of the swords, they were moving so fast. He and Lord Flynn had left the real world and were in a zone of their own, completely lost to everything else. The only things that existed were each other and their swords. Drew was working on instinct alone, using all his training and experience to predict where Flynn was going to strike next.

  Drew's chest was on fire, and his leg was throbbing so badly it threatened to undermine his concentration. Sweat beaded on his temples and trickled down his face. There were moments when he had to step back to blink away the sweat.

  Lord Flynn was enraged. His face flushed red, his eyes were wide like a madman. When Drew met his gaze he knew he was looking into the soul of a depraved mind, of someone who did not have a firm grip on reality. But his skill did not suffer. The man wielded his blade well, twisting and jerking to dodge Drew's heavy strikes, then nicking Drew along the arms and legs. It was not enough to draw blood, but Drew was afraid that one of them would find a vulnerable point and end his life.

  The longer the duel continued the more Drew knew his chances of losing increased. He had been on the verge of death, while Lord Flynn hadn't exerted himself much in battle, so he had all the energy, and was using it to his full advantage. Flynn ran around Drew, making the Highlander turn as quickly as he could. Eventually Drew had to resort to holding his sword behind his back, proving to Flynn that he was not as rigid as Flynn supposed.

  “You'll fall soon, Highlander. I can see it in your eyes. You're tired!” Flynn cried.

  His words were met with jeers from the Highlanders. The English were already too demoralized from their defeat to cheer on their leader, but their lack of support did not seem to faze Flynn.

  Drew was too tired to reply. He heaved his sword around and lunged at Flynn again, but his arms were heavy and his movements were slow. He struck where Flynn had been standing moments ago, the blade digging into the ground. Drew pulled it back, but something was wrong. Panic struck his heart.

  His sword was stuck in something.

  He heaved with all his might, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Flynn coming at him, eyes gleaming as the Englishman knew that this was his chance. At the last moment Drew turned and fell to the ground. The sword nicked his arm and a jet of blood sprayed out. The Highlanders gasped. Drew's eyes shot open in pain as he crashed to his back.

  A shadow passed over him. Lord Flynn's shadow, circling him like a vulture.

  “I have you now!” he cried, and struck instantly, wildly with his blade. If he had taken another moment to steady himself and focus his strike it may well have proven to be the end of Drew, but because Lord Flynn brought his blade down without any hesitation Drew was able to roll away. The point of the blade pierced the ground beside him, throwing up a handful of dirt.

  Drew scrambled to his feet and moved around to find his blade again. He could hear Lord Flynn behind him, cursing that his blow had missed. Drew breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his fingers curl around the hilt of his sword once again, although his leg was troubling him. His breathing was labored, and he knew that if he didn't end this soon Lord Flynn would be the end of him, and he would have to be avenged.

  He thought of Sarah, and how difficult it would be to never see her face again, to never feel her body against his. The joy he felt at being close and intimate with her was something he wanted to hold close to his heart for the rest of his life, and he wasn't going to let Lord Flynn prevent him from enjoying that happiness.

  Drew used his sword almost as a cane, supporting his weight as he got to his feet. He then picked it up and held it in front of him, beckoning Lord Flynn to come towards him. Flynn had retrieved his own sword from the ground. The tip was covered in dirt. Drew's blood dripped off the edge of the blade.

  Both men had wounded each other, but neither wound had been decisive. However, Drew had a feeling that the battle was just reaching its zenith. It only took one true strike to end a man's life.

  “You look tired, Highlander. You can yield if you like,” Flynn taunted.

  “Never,” Drew said, and raised his sword, looking to end this as quickly as possible. He surged forward and put all his weight behind his blows, trying to unsettle Lord Flynn with the sheer brutality of his attacks. Flynn managed to meet his blows, using his sword to defend himself, although Flynn had to use every ounce of his skill purely to defend against Drew, not to counter-attack.

  Drew could sense that the end was near. He looked down and saw fear in the eyes of the Englishman. It was a delicious sight, one that Drew would cherish forever. Drew towered above Flynn, putting the Englishman on his knees.

  “Ye are about tae meet death,” Drew said, but just as he drew his sword back and was about to deliver a fatal blow his leg buckled under his weight, sending him to his knee. Drew howled in pain and Lord Flynn wasted no time in pressing his advantage. He tumbled into Drew, sending both men to the floor.

  The agony in Drew's leg was excruciating. His hand went to tend to his wound. He felt the warmth of sticky blood seeping through the covering that had been placed upon it. There was no time for pain. There was no time to tend to his wound. He had to continue the fight. He had to win.

  Drew rolled over and picked up his sword again, moving more quickly than Lord Flynn. The rage of Drew's attacks had shaken the Englishman, and even though Drew was in
more pain, Lord Flynn was slower. Drew moved in for the attack, but he hadn't seen that Flynn had gathered some dirt in the palm of his hand. He turned and flung it in Drew's face, blinding him.

  Drew clawed at his eyes, staggering back, wielding his sword awkwardly in one hand while the other rubbed his eyes, trying to get the dirt out as quickly as possible. He only had a few moments before Lord Flynn pressed his advantage, and Drew had no choice but to forget about his eyes and fight blind.

  Drew's vision was limited. He was forced to rely on his other senses, on the sound of Flynn's heavy breathing, on the smell of his sweat and blood, and on the sense of Flynn's movements coming towards him. As Drew blocked his blow Flynn gave an astonished moan.

  “This is the work of the devil,” he gasped, unable to believe that Drew could still fight when his vision had been impaired to such an extent. The moment was all Drew needed to shake his head and blink away most of the dirt, giving him most of his sight back. But Lord Flynn had also gained another advantage. He had seen how Drew's leg had given way beneath him, and how blood was seeping out, the dark red stain blooming around Drew's thigh.

  Lord Flynn first struck high, forcing Drew to raise his blade above his head, then he swept his leg into Drew's thigh, hitting the wound. Drew cried out in anguish and fell to one knee. Now there was a reverse of position. Lord Flynn stood over Drew, forcing his strength down upon him. Drew tried to blink away the pain while still using all his strength to hold his sword above his head, preventing Flynn from making the killing blow.

  “I bring you to your knees! This is the rightful place of the Highlanders! You should all look at this man and realize this is where you belong,” Lord Flynn cried out at the top of his lungs. As he said this he kicked Drew in his wounded thigh again, making him buckle.

  “Drew!” a voice called out. A familiar voice. A look of realization came over Flynn's face as his attention turned from the Highlander for a brief moment, to see Sarah standing there. Drew was relieved for the brief respite as he could embrace the pain, make it a part of him, then summon the strength to come again.

  Lord Flynn's voice turned from one of amazement to a cruel, snarling tone.

  “You would weep for this savage? I have brought him to his knees. Just as I will bring all of you to your knees!” he shouted, his cries having all the strength of a petulant child.

  Drew pushed himself to his feet.

  “I am nae done with ye yet,” he said, his voice hoarse and raw. He stood, bracing the pain, using it as fuel. He looked past Lord Flynn towards Sarah. The sight of her was all he needed to give him the strength to carry on. Being in love did not make a man weak, it made him stronger than he ever was before.

  “Let us end this,” Drew said.

  That was all the encouragement Lord Flynn needed. He charged towards Drew, eyes ablaze with fury, sword shining in the soft sun. Drew exhaled. Time slowed as he watched Lord Flynn rushing towards him. Drew set himself, bending his knees slightly. In his mind he knew exactly what was going to happen, where Flynn was going to strike, and how Drew was going to kill him.

  Flynn came towards him, striking low, aiming for the leg again as Drew had predicted. Drew quickly shifted his leg back and struck Flynn's blade with his own, interrupting the man's momentum. Lord Flynn twisted around and Drew quickly stabbed Flynn in the side, blood pouring out. Flynn slumped to the ground, his sword dropping harmlessly.

  Flynn's hands groped at the sword, trying to summon the strength to keep fighting, but the color drained from his face, and the life slipped from his body. One hand fell to his side and was soon covered in blood. Yet more English blood for the ground to slake its thirst with.

  Drew looked at the man pitifully. He was covered in blood now, and didn't look like a noble at all.

  “You...you dare! I will...kill you!” Flynn said, managing to keep himself upright. “And you,” he said, turning towards Sarah, seeming to want to use the last of his energy to viciously assault those he perceived to have betrayed him. “You dare make a mockery of my love? I would have...I would have given you everything,” he said, his words punctuated by a heavy cough.

  “You could never have given me everything,” Sarah said, “because you are not capable of true love.”

  “And this savage is? Rosemary, you are a lady. Your mind has been warped.”

  “Actually, she is not Rosemary at all,” Rosemary said, stepping forward. By this point Drew was resting on one knee, unable to keep his strength up any longer. He wasn't sure exactly what had transpired between these three people, but he did enjoy the look of shock on Lord Flynn's face.

  “When I learned of your cruelty I ran away, not wanting to subject myself to the same treatment from a man who would hang another just for the crime of being Scottish. I am only sorry that my friend, my handmaiden, had to endure your company. Yes, that's right, Lord Flynn, Sarah was not of noble blood at all, although in my opinion she is of the noblest character.”

  “What?! No...” Lord Flynn gasped.

  Hearing that Rosemary would rather have run away to the Highlands than entertain the thought of marrying him seemed to sap the last of Lord Flynn's strength. He sank to the ground, a look of disbelief on his face. That look was etched on his face for eternity as the life finally ebbed away.

  Chapter 23

  “Drew!” Sarah cried, rushing to the side of her love.

  She had witnessed the battle even though she had promised herself that she would not. For some parts she had had to shield her eyes, and although she was glad that Drew had emerged triumphant it was something that she never wanted to witness again.

  “Drew, are you well? Please tell me that you have not been mortally wounded.”

  “I am fine, lass, well, aside from my leg, but that will get better in time,” he said, although from the tone of his voice Sarah could tell that he was in more pain than he wanted to let on.

  Sarah wrapped her arm around his body and offered her strength for support. They spent a few moments looking down at Flynn's body. He looked a sorry sight, and it was a strange thing to see the corpse of someone who may have turned out to be her future husband.

  “Are ye glad tae see him dead?” Drew asked.

  “In many ways I am, for he did treat me unkindly, yet I find myself unable to take joy in the death of another.”

  “Ye are tae good for this world,” Drew said, kissing her on the top of her head.

  “He was nae a good man, but he was a good swordsman. On another day he would hae bested me,” Drew said ruefully.

  Life was made on such fine margins, Sarah realized. If anything had happened differently this would never have happened. If Rosemary had not chosen to run away, if Lord Flynn had believed the bandits, if she and Drew had not encountered each other in the woods. All those decisions wove a tapestry that told a fine story.

  Rosemary and Blair walked up to Drew as well. Blair congratulated his brother on his success.

  “I knew ye had him from the very beginning,” Blair said.

  “I wish I had your confidence,” Drew smiled.

  “It is good to see the end of a man like that. His cruelty is over,” Rosemary said, offering Sarah a supportive smile.

  The field was littered with the dead and the battle was truly over, but Sarah wasn't sure what would happen now. Drew was breathing heavily and needed to get medical attention. She looked around, trying to signal for someone to help him, even though Drew claimed that he was strong enough to remain on his feet for the time being.

  Blair turned from his brother to face the English camp once again. All the soldiers looked utterly broken and smashed. This endeavor had not been a good one for them.

  “Lord Flynn is dead. It is time for ye to sue for peace. Which one of ye is in command now? Which one of ye will come up here and talk with me?” he asked.

  At first there was no movement. Sarah looked to the English and wondered if anyone was going to come forward. She wouldn't blame them if they didn't. If she wa
s still in that camp she would have been trembling with fright at the thought of talking with the Highlanders, but because of Drew she had learned they were not monsters at all.

  She spared a thought for Catherine, who must have been filled with dread, not just at this situation, but also at the fact that her brother had just been killed and she would have to go back to an angry father.

  Eventually someone began to approach, walking through the other English soldiers who were sitting on the ground, not looking like warriors at all. The figure walked with his head held high. His clothes were torn, having been in battle, but other than that he looked in good condition. Sarah gasped when she saw him, and Rosemary squealed in delight. Blair was unable to react as Rosemary ran towards her father, his white whiskers and kind smile becoming clearer as he drew near them.