Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  She thrust her foot upward and caught Reginald between the legs with the hard toe of her boot. Before Isabel could react, Sylvi drove her head upward and slammed her forehead into Isabel’s jaw. Without looking to see how weakened either was, Sylvi leapt up, cradling her injured arm, and ran.

  Chapter 22

  A scream had come from above, loud enough to be heard over the grunts and clangs of battle. The man in front of Ian dropped to his knees and folded to the ground. Dead.

  No matter how quickly Ian moved or how many men he killed, more seemed to come. The original surge of his energy before the fight had waned and left his movements more methodical, more rhythmic. Duck and slash, stab and parry.

  He’d made his way into the throng of fighting and put his back against those of Kyle and Liv. There, in the middle of the battle, he found the small gray and white cat huddled close to Liv’s ankle, hackles up and hissing.

  “Are ye doing all right?” Ian chanced a glance at Liv.

  “I know ye are no’ talking to me,” Kyle said.

  “And I know you aren’t talking to me either.” Liv tossed him an angry glare. Sweat glistened on her brow, and dots of blood showed vivid against her pale skin, but she did not appear to be tiring. Somehow she’d even acquired a sword. Most likely from the dead.

  He smirked. “Of course no’. I like to talk to myself when I fight.” He thrust his stolen sword into the chest of a man before him. “Ach, that was a bonny hit, Ian. Ye’ve done well, lad!”

  Something heavy landed on the floor above. Ian’s heart jarred in his chest.

  What was going on up there?

  If ever there was a woman not to worry about, it was Sylvi. And yet he could not stop himself from doing exactly that.

  Only a few men remained. The fight was near done. Ian’s sword arm burned, as did a long cut on his leg. Nothing serious, but enough to leave a sting.

  What was going on up there?

  The question buzzed in his mind, insistent in its plucking at his thoughts.

  Shouts came from the side of the room Ian could not see.

  “We’ve got a few more coming,” Kyle said. His body tensed behind Ian.

  Liv blew out a long, slow breath. The kind one takes when they need to stop their heart from running too fast, when they are getting tired.

  “Liv, are ye—”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped.

  A roaring of voices echoed off the stone walls, and Ian knew the men who had not been present downstairs previously had finally just arrived.

  Ian closed his mouth and took a breath of his own before the new mercenaries slammed into them. He hoped there weren’t many, that the fight would be over quickly and he could go upstairs and see for himself.

  What was going on up there?

  Ian cut down the last man in front of him and craned his head toward the oncoming horde. Six men. Not too bad. This fight would be over soon.

  The first man appeared before him. Sunlight gleamed on the smooth skin of his bald head. He screamed his war cry, lips peeling back from straight teeth.

  Ian put up his blade to block the blow and stabbed out with his dagger. A cry came from beside him.

  Not Kyle, but Liv. Ian crossed his dagger and sword over one another and shoved the man back with all the force he could muster. He needed only a second, just a flash of time to ensure Liv was all right.

  A man staggered back from her. The cat had managed to latch itself onto the man’s face. He flailed and wrenched it off him with a savage throw.

  Liv launched a dagger at the man so fast, it hit its mark in the center of his throat before the cat had a chance to land neatly on its four paws and return to her side.

  The man flew back at Ian with renewed vigor. His arm raised to strike once more, and the door behind the man banged open to reveal four more men.

  This fight was going to be longer than Ian had thought.

  And what the hell was going on upstairs?

  •••

  Sylvi dropped hard to her knees in front of her bag. The impact jarred her injured arm, and white-hot pain splashed over the whole of her thoughts. Pain. Pain. Pain.

  Her breath hissed between her teeth. She needed to focus. She reached into her bag, grabbing the first dagger her fingertip scrabbled over, and spun back to Reginald.

  He was on his feet now, with Isabel beside him, both bent over with their injuries. Their slow recovery had given her a breadth of time she desperately needed. Reginald looked up, his face still a grimace of mottled purple, and a slow chuckle wheezed from deep in his throat. “Ye canna throw that with a broken arm.”

  It was well and good then that Sylvi knew how to use both hands. She pulled back the dagger with her left hand and let it fly from her fingertips. It sailed toward him with practiced precision.

  The world went still, and Sylvi swore she could discern every graceful turn the dagger made as it cut its way through the air. The world moved slower still when Reginald grasped Isabel’s shoulders and jerked her in front of him.

  The blade stabbed its landing into the soft flesh of Isabel’s chest, directly between her breasts. Blood spurted out and stained the fine green cloth of her gown.

  Isabel.

  Sylvi gasped out a breath of air as if she’d been punched in the gut.

  God, no—she hadn’t meant …

  No sooner had the horror hit her mind, another thought blared at her. No time to mourn. No time to pause. No time left.

  Sylvi plucked another dagger blindly from her bag and raced at Reginald with the blade clutched in her left hand. He backed up, dragging Isabel’s jerking body with him as he went and leaving a streak of blood in their wake.

  Sylvi’s body burned with the need for revenge, fueled by all those she’d lost and the determination to save those she had yet to lose.

  Reginald’s eyes went wide with a realization Sylvi already knew. He could not outrun her. Isabel fell gracelessly from his arms, and he turned and ran toward the entryway. His pants slipped further down his hips with each step, his preparation to rape her now bringing him faster toward his demise.

  She leapt forward like a wild cat and kicked out with all the power of her legs. Her foot caught him square in the back of the head and sent him flying backward. He staggered back and turned to face her, blubbering. Sylvi squeezed the hilt of her dagger so hard, it carved into her palm.

  Now.

  She swept his feet out from underneath him, and he slammed hard onto the floor.

  He stared up at her, his eyes wide with shock. The fabric of his trews where they hovered below his crotch darkened with a spread of urine.

  “You took my family from me.” Sylvi dropped down hard on his chest, and a fetid breath choked out from him. “My mother took half your ear.”

  She waited until the flash of recognition lit his black eyes.

  He shook his head in disbelief. “They’re all dead.”

  She shoved her left elbow into his neck. His skin was sweaty and soft with fat. “All but a little girl whose neck hadn’t been cut as deep as the others. A little girl who has waited a long, long time to kill you.”

  “Please,” he rasped. “Dinna hurt me.”

  His eyes were large and wet with desperation, but Sylvi had nothing left to soften.

  “You killed everyone I loved.” Rage pounded through her body and made her voice shake.

  Reginald’s face went blue, and his eyes bulged. Only then did she realize she was crushing his throat. But, no, he needed to die the same way as her family.

  “My mother took half your ear,” she said again. She eased the pressure off his neck and gripped hard at her dagger. “And I’m going to take your life.”

  With all the force of her rage, she plunged the dagger into the tender skin of his neck and wrenched it right with all her strength. The tip of her blade scraped against something hard and unseen beneath, and blood erupted from the violent depth of the wo
und, spreading around him in a rapidly growing pool. She pushed off him.

  She needed to go to Isabel and Percy, to see if they could be saved. And yet she could not lift her feet from where they remained steadfastly stuck to the floor. She gazed down for a long moment while the light faded from Reginald’s eyes, and then she stared another moment more at the man who had destroyed her life, who had taken her family and threatened her friends.

  Her throat constricted, and all the energy fueling her body forward sagged out of her.

  It was done.

  After seventeen long years of training and searching and waiting—it was done.

  The pain burning through her arm was enough to near drag her to her knees. She cradled the injured limb to her chest and waited for the simmer of rage, her constant companion for the last seventeen years, to cease.

  It did not.

  And how could it when so many had sacrificed so much?

  She choked back a harsh sob and ripped her gaze from Reginald. He did not deserve any more of her time or consideration. But her ladies did.

  She darted to where Isabel lay and immediately knew she was too late. Isabel stared upward, to where the sky had gone the same stormy blue as the kohl-lined eyes Sylvi had known for so long.

  How had she not seen Isabel’s unhappiness? How could she have let all this happen?

  A choked sound emerged from Percy’s slumped form.

  Sylvi hugged her arm to keep it from jostling and ran toward her friend.

  Percy lifted her head slightly and regarded Isabel with one bright blue eye from a face streaked with gore. “You couldn’t have saved her.”

  “What about you?” Sylvi asked around a hard knot in her throat. “Can I save you?” She slipped her blade through the bindings at Percy’s wrists and ankles, smearing the rope with Reginald’s blood.

  “I’m fine,” Percy said. She stood of her own volition and wobbled. “We have to save Liv.”

  Sylvi dropped her dagger in her attempt to catch Percy with her good arm. “Ian is with her. He will help her.”

  Hopefully.

  Sylvi did not voice the last part. Her own heart clenched around the fragile hope, guarding it. After all, Ian was resourceful. He could save Liv and come out unscathed.

  Couldn’t he?

  She refused to think of another alternative.

  “It should have been me.” Percy’s voice trembled with a sob. “It should have been me down there.”

  Sylvi shushed Percy and held her face in her hands. “Let me see your injuries. And then we will go to them.”

  There was so much blood. Too much. The need to go downstairs pressed at Sylvi’s heart, but first, she had to confirm Percy would live.

  Percy quieted and obediently let Sylvi push the hair back from her brow in a smear of crimson gold. Sylvi’s tattered heart slipped to her feet.

  A cut sliced through Percy’s face from her temple through her right eye, which remained closed, over the bridge of her nose and just beside her mouth before ending at her jawline.

  “It will need to be stitched,” Percy said.

  Her matter-of-fact tone pulled deep in Sylvi’s chest. She had to remain strong—no matter how much it cut into her to do so. Strength had gotten Sylvi this far. So too would it see them all safe.

  She squared her shoulders. They needed to go downstairs. “Yes, your face will need to be stitched,” Sylvi agreed. “But first I’m going to go downstairs, and I want you to stay here.”

  She released her hold on Percy, who remained upright without issue.

  “Like hell you are,” Percy said.

  Sylvi raised her eyes at Percy’s uncharacteristic language. The other woman ducked her head and then let it bob back up with confidence. “I’ve trained for this too.”

  “Yes, you have.” Sylvi bent and retrieved her dagger, dropped when she aided Percy. Only then did she realize it was the very dagger she’d bought all those years before, paid for with her virginity. The one she had anticipated she would use to kill the man with half an ear. The one now wet with his blood.

  Sylvi lifted her face to where the patch of sky showed through the broken ceiling. “You are avenged,” she whispered.

  Together, she and Percy raced over to the door, not once faltering, not even when the echo of footsteps thundering up became apparent.

  Sylvi didn’t know who was coming, but if they were not her people, they would die.

  Chapter 23

  The first man who emerged from the doorway was massive. Sylvi pulled back her dagger to fling it toward him when Ian appeared beside him.

  He put his hands up. “Dinna throw yer dagger.”

  A wave of relief ran through her, significantly stronger than she would have anticipated. It was then she realized how truly worried she’d been. Not just for Liv—of course she’d been worried about Liv. But also for Ian.

  She lowered her weapon warily and eyed the beast of a man. He was taller than Ian and more heavily muscled. The kind of man who could easily kill.

  The kind of man who did kill. Both he and Ian were covered in the evidence of exactly that.

  “He’s Ian’s brother.” Liv appeared beside Ian with Fianna at her side, both seemingly unharmed. The cat sat on the floor and complacently licked at her paw.

  Perhaps it was the sight of the small cat and the knowledge that even she was safe, but a knot of emotion welled in Sylvi’s throat, and she could not swallow it away. Liv was alive. Percy was alive. Ian was alive.

  She hadn’t lost everyone.

  And a brother? Ian’s brother was here? She tamped down questions that could be asked later.

  “We were coming to save you,” Sylvi said.

  Ian grinned at her, and for that one moment, it was the most wonderful sight she’d ever seen in the whole of her life. Ian alive and well and smiling.

  “We were coming to save ye,” he said.

  He strode toward her, and the tension bled from her body. He was safe.

  “Guess that makes us even,” she said.

  He caught her face in his hands, and his smile slid away. “I was so worried. I heard ye scream, and I thought.” His brow furrowed. “What happened?”

  She looked down at the useless limb she held clutched against her. “Isabel broke my arm to subdue me.”

  Ian’s face went a hot shade of red, and his eyes sparked. “That dinna work to their advantage like they thought, did it?”

  Sylvi chuckled. “Apparently not even Isabel knew I could toss a blade with both hands, or she didn’t think to mention it.” Her mirth disappeared under the burden of her guilt. “She’s dead, Ian. I hadn’t meant to kill her. Reginald—”

  Ian’s jaw tensed. “I know ye never would.” He hugged her to him on her left side, obviously taking care to not cause further injury.

  She relaxed her body against him. He was alive. She kept repeating that in her head because it felt so damn wonderful.

  He was alive.

  Liv ran to Percy and embraced her. “Percy, what happened?”

  Percy put up a hand to stop her friend. “I thought you were—”

  “No. No, I’m fine.” Liv stared down at Percy, and tears slipped down her cheeks. “Oh, your beautiful face, Percy.”

  Liv’s tears were so rare a sight, they almost undid Sylvi’s control. Her ladies looked to her for strength. She would need to continue to be strong for them all.

  “My face … and Sylvi’s arm,” Percy said. “But we are all alive.” She wavered slightly on her feet.

  “I can carry ye.” The large man spoke for the first time.

  Percy straightened. “I’m fine.” Her face had gone pale beneath the smear of gore, and blood dripped from her chin.

  Sylvi pulled away from Ian and quickly ran to Percy. “This needs to be stitched up right away.” She tried to keep the urgency from her tone lest she frighten Percy. “Liv, our bags are over there, please go get Percy’s.”
<
br />   “Outside, please.” Percy put a hand to Sylvi’s arm. “I imagine everyone downstairs is dead, or Liv would not be up here. We cannot stay.”

  Sylvi hesitated. While Percy was correct, she was losing a significant amount of blood.

  “I can do this quickly.” Sylvi motioned for the bag, grateful Percy always brought a healing kit with her wherever she went. There wouldn’t be as many medicines as Percy had at Kindrochit, of course, but Sylvi wouldn’t know what to do with all of them anyway.

  “Ian’s brother, please help her sit down.” Sylvi nodded to the chair Liv had occupied—the only one still upright and not covered in blood.

  “Kyle Campbell.” He came forward and lifted Percy like a doll. This time Percy did not protest. When he set her in the chair, her good eye started to flutter closed. Working on Percy immediately had been the right decision.

  Fear tingled in Sylvi’s veins. The threat was not over yet. “Percy, you need to stay with me. You need to tell me what to do.”

  Percy’s chest swelled with a deep breath, as if she were too tired to drag the air into her lungs. “The blue bottle. Wash my wound with it, but not all of it.” She licked her dry lips. “Save some for Ian’s leg.”

  “My leg is fine,” Ian said. It was then she noticed the streak of glistening blood running down from his naked leg beneath his kilt.

  Liv appeared beside Sylvi with Percy’s bag in hand and pulled out the blue bottle.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Ian asked. He was close enough to be Sylvi’s shadow, and Kyle stood by Percy’s side like a sentry.

  Sylvi looked at his leg. She wanted to tell him he needed to care for it. When she met his gaze once more, there was a hard set to his stare—one she knew well. He wanted orders, not coddling.

  She knew the feeling well.

  Sylvi took the blue bottle from Liv. “Go stand watch, Ian. We can’t have this being interrupted.”

  She went to pull the stopper off and cursed her broken arm. Liv must have realized Sylvi’s inability to do the job for her eyes went wide and her face paled. “I can’t.” She shook her head. “I can’t stitch her.”