by KH LeMoyne
The young man seemed hardly old enough to guard this girl, but his confidence and manner had won Fiona’s trust with a maturity beyond his years. Connor’s hand on Fiona’s looked firm, yet gentle. Startling since the top of her head only reached mid-chest on the young warrior. Logan stepped back, satisfied at releasing his claim of protection for her. If there were fiery dragons, he didn’t doubt Connor would tame them for Fiona.
Bri’s hand slipped into his, as Connor and Fiona worked their way down the steep rock path to the boat.
The warrior braced one foot in the boat and one on land. He swung the girl into his arms, placed her beside the older woman, then tucked a heavy blanket about her. Fiona turned to Logan with a smile and a slight raise of her hand.
Then they disappeared.
Literally, gone.
The boat, Fiona, Connor—no longer visible.
He must have squeezed Bri too hard, for her fingers jerked. When he tried to release her, she held firmer and leaned against him, searching as well for Fiona.
The swirl of the water from the oars was the only indication of the boat moving farther from shore. Moments later, even that was undetectable.
“He’ll keep her safe,” she whispered.
Logan looked into her eyes. “You know this?”
“Some things I don’t need to know to believe.” She touched her hand over his heart. “But you’ll know.”
He looked into her gray eyes longer than he’d watched Fiona’s boat pull out of sight. The girl had needed his help. He cared for her because it was impossible not to. But Bri—he had no control over his feelings for her, either. All he knew for certain was he couldn’t bear to watch her leave.
When they returned to their horses, Nial and Baven were waiting, leather-covered packet in hand.
“Which of you will take the message?” Nial asked quietly.
Robert held out his hand. “That would be me. Where do I take this?”
“Travel through Argyll, beyond the far northeast corner of their border to the small town of Tyndrum. You’ll find it at the base of the mountains.”
“We’ll accompany you the next several miles. We’ve a boat there to take you across the firth,” Baven said.
Logan lifted Bri onto his horse and moved them beside Robert. “We’ll travel to the boat as well.”
Nial and Baven gave each other a look, but nodded in agreement and pulled their horses around to lead.
Robert started off at a slow pace. “You shouldn’t follow me farther than the boat. This won’t be safe.”
“So you admit they’ve set you up as a scapegoat?”
He let out a chuckle and Nial turn toward them and frowned. “Figured that out without covert training, did you?”
“Tell me what you plan to do,” Logan said. Perhaps he could find a way to dissuade him from his current death wish.
“Hey, give me a little credit. I’m good at these exercises. I also know a few tricks your average highlander doesn’t. Don’t worry so much.” He feigned a whip of his reins toward Bri’s leg. “You either, Mrs. MacKenzie.”
Reaching rocky cliffs, they followed Nial and Baven’s example and dismounted. Tempted to grab the reins and pound sense into his cousin, Logan instead motioned Bri before him as he brought up the rear of the procession.
The path narrowed through a tight chasm. The horses, free of their riders, barely fit.
Rocks suddenly slid behind them as they cleared the narrow passage. Logan looked up and counted seven men perched on the ridge above them, perhaps more behind them. With weatherworn skin, bleached hair, and graying beards, they matched four more men who blocked their path. “More damn crewmen.”
“Move now and I’ll leave you your bollocks!” Nial shouted.
One of the men snorted. Then the group somehow leapt from the great height and swaggered toward them. “You’ve got something that belongs to us. We want the girl.”
“Wrong choice.” Baven’s comment accompanied a whistle. Then the handle of his dirk quivered in the man’s throat.
With a wet gurgle, the man dropped facedown in the dirt. Nial and Baven headed forward, swords raised with a curdling battle cry.
Logan pulled his sword from its scabbard and backed Bri between him and the horse. “We haven’t seen any action in what—two days? And here I was afraid I’d get rusty.”
Bri gave Logan an exasperated push. “Don’t hem me in. We need to be where we can move.”
“We?” Logan glanced at her over his shoulder. “How exactly do you plan for us to move?”
She smiled, pulled him closer to Robert, and aimed her fingers at the rears of both of their horses. “A little illusion of mice.”
One quick frenzied whinny and the front hooves left the ground. Pawing in big sweeps, the desperate beast charged at the crewmen who’d leapt last into the fray.
The first horse cleared the way, with Baven and Nial’s leaving a wide enough alley for them to follow. Their course still dead-ended at the river, but now they had room to maneuver. Unfortunately, their attackers shared the advantage.
“Good idea. Any more, Bri?” Robert asked while they circled back-to-back, facing five more men.
Despite their shabby clothes, the men looked fierce enough without the long blades of steel in their grip. Then the wind picked up.
Bri stepped back, startled.
Lightning shattered the sunlit sky, and thunder reverberated across the ground. Two minions advanced from the dark recesses of the cliffs the group had just cleared, their high-pitched screech deafening, their swords gripped in taloned fingers.
“Not at the moment,” she said.
Two of the crewmen jumped at the noise and cast wild glances around them. They sidled closer to their comrades, confident their numbers could handle the new threat.
What fools. Bri scrutinized the two factions, her own blade fisted in her hand. Her team was skilled, but outnumbered. Unfortunately, Nial and Baven’s effort to stop the crewmen took all their effort. Leaving nothing for distracting the minions.
A black, smoky haze preceded the minions. High-pitched screams erupted from their gaping mouths, the depths in their eyes filled with ruby hellfyre.
The horses went wild, panicking with nowhere to flee but the edge of the river behind them and the crevasse blocked by the bloodless assassins. Their hooves stomped swirls of dust into the air as their eyes rolled in fear and froth covered their bits.
Bri sent strands of serenity toward them, despite her own panic.
Logan unsheathed his sword, backed up, and kept himself between her and the two crewmen pressing in on her. Her palm touched his back and his sword elongated, white-and-blue fire flaring along the blade.
“I want one of those,” Robert shouted. He swung and repelled an attack.
She reached for him, just in case, and brushed her hand across his arm. No change. She bit her lip and looked to the horses, now charging for the pass. The minions had advanced, ignoring the crewmen and heading straight for Logan. And her. And Robert.
Great.
“What will kill these things?” Logan’s blade struck the crewman’s steel and blue sparks showered. He distracted his opponent long enough for his next killing strike. Sidestepping the dead man at his feet, he spun for the next attack.
“Sever the head from the body or slay the bit of the sorcerer’s heart.” Bri struggled to drag the dead man by his coat collar toward the river, dropping him at the edge. She turned in time to witness Logan’s astounded expression.
“A bit—not the whole heart?”
“Minions have no hearts. These creatures are raised from the dead, given life by dark magic and a victim’s soul. And remember—”.
“Stay out of reach of their swords. Got it. Too bad you can’t give my sword another boost.”
She paused at his comment, distracted by possibilities, and rousing only at the last moment, in time to kick at a man swinging too close to her. Fine. She’d keep her eyes open while she searche
d for magic to borrow. But if she focused on Logan’s blade—yes, a transfer of energy might work.
The minion reached Logan and he raised his sword, deflecting a head-on attack.
She focused on Logan’s sword from tip to guard. Blue-and-white luster exploded so bright her eyes watered until she pushed past the discomfort. Energy was power. Her link with Logan existed, if for no other reason than this purpose.
Refusing to blink, she conjured a tight weave of silver and gold before her, the weight and density of the power expanding in her lungs. She fought her rising panic during the surge. Logan needed the edge she’d give him. She counted to forty and built the heat and thickness of the weave inside of her with each number.
The minion roared again.
She heard it, but only Logan’s blade and the power building within her held any reality.
Logan swung and parried the minion’s blade. As he angled for his next strike, she let loose. A rush of power surged forth from his blade. The wind of it whipped across everyone on the battlefield. Gold, silver, blue, and white sang—a siren’s song honed to find the perfect mark.
The blade shifted slightly in Logan’s hands as he struck home, but the result was enough.
A curdling cry flew to the clouds above them as the minion curled in upon itself. In a burst of shining claret and fire visible beneath the bleached white bones, it shattered. The cloak collapsed to the ground, steam sizzling from the cloth.
Logan looked back at her, panting to catch his breath. “Would it be too much to ask for a lucky third time, honey?”
She smiled and gestured for him to turn around as another crewman launched at his back.
Nial’s roar accompanied another fallen body, and Baven’s roar followed. The competitive edge between the two was an obvious long-standing condition of reflex, but they’d regained ground lost by the crewmen’s initial surprise attack.
The enemy, now reduced in numbers, still didn’t let up. Bri winced as Robert’s sword severed an arm of one man and sliced across the chest of another. How many? She adjusted her count as she monitored the progress of the last minion.
Unexpectedly, it dashed from Logan’s path and darted for Robert.
He pressed back against her and forced her toward Logan. She felt like stuffing between the two males. With no place left to retreat, she shifted beside Robert to take on the minion.
“Bri, get back over here. That thing takes you and he wins. Your family loses everything.” Logan’s voice rang out over the small field with so much fury she stepped back without thinking.
In a sudden stagger, the minion fell back several paces. Its mouth opened and a gust of ash spewed toward them. Embers rained to the ground around them. She hid her face, but the ash sizzled against skin, hair, and clothes. Shaking the excess from her, she blinked, surprised to recognize who had helped them.
Magnus dodged around the minion and stalked toward Robert. “Is every Makir as blasted helpless as a newborn?”
Bri’s eyes widened at his open palm struck Robert’s chest. At Robert’s choked cry, she reached for him and stopped. His sword burst into white light snaked with green, just in time to repel the minion’s next attempt.
With a satisfied nod, Magnus pivoted and blocked a crewman’s swing. Another advanced, his blade aimed at Magnus’s back. Robert’s sword deflected it, but not before the tip nicked Magnus’s leather jacket.
The crewman paid for the offense with two short swipes from the Elven sword.
For all of Bri’s experience with magic, she still gasped in awe and surprise as Magnus revealed his true self. Lean and nimble, he spun with an almost manic glee in the battle frenzy. Though he avoided any direct confrontation with the minion.
She rubbed at the tightness in her chest as a sudden drop of air pressure sucked the breath from her. The gleam of fyred steel in Magnus’s hand was so bright it took her a minute to realize the glimmer at the edge of her vision wasn’t the flashing arc of his blade.
A portal had opened.
She turned as the blistering white hole enlarged, beckoning mere feet from her position. Logan had seen it as well, and froze.
Robert did a double take before he edged toward Logan. “Go. I’ll hold them back.”
“I’m not leaving you alone to these monsters.”
Magnus’s swing deflected the minion’s strike at Logan, and he glared at Bri. “For glory’s sake, have none of you any sense? Be gone.”
She pressed her hand to Logan’s back again. “We promised.”
“We can’t leave him here with the minion.”
“This is his destiny,” snarled Magnus, making no headway in changing Logan’s mind.
Robert wrestled with a crewman, the two locked together until he drove his blade through the flesh and bone of the man’s shoulder. Then he dropped to his knees.
Logan made it to Robert’s side.
“Damn it, you and Bri have to go now! Hell knows when that will open again,” Robert gestured toward the portal and growled in Logan’s face. “Don’t look back.”
And still, Logan hesitated. Robert looked at her, beseeching. She stalled. Even with her promise, she couldn’t be the one to make this decision for Logan. He had to live with his choice.
Robert staggered to his feet and waved them away. “Bri’s in too much danger here, and I’m finally in the right place at the right time. Trust me, Logan.”
Bri looked back through the pulsing crystal outline. Clipped, green grass and a completed stone castle shone from the other side.
Then the portal started to waver.
The minion screeched behind her. Having skirted Magnus’s attempt to hold him at bay, it headed for her.
Logan grabbed her around the waist as the talon whipped past her face, and launched them both through the portal.
Ready for the last showdown, Robert took a wobbly step and lifted his sword, but the minion disappeared in a quick fold of space. The portal itself lingered for longer than he would have liked, but it finally snapped shut.
He held his side gingerly beneath the leather jacket Bri had provisioned before the journey. The dark clothing hid his wound from view, but his hand came away bright red. He noted the deep color and thick consistency without shock, pleased to have a rational reason for his pain. The blood, a normal reaction to injury, was something he could see and touch. Not a rancid side effect of magic. It’d been too long since he’d felt anything close to normal.
He wiped his hand on his pants and took stock of the carnage. Only two crewmen remained. Nial and Baven had bound them on the ground. He took in the deepening frown on Nial’s face as the Scot argued with Magnus.
Both clansmen turned toward him and nodded. “God’s light be with you, Robert of clan MacKenzie.”
They walked to the horses. Then tossed and tied their unconscious captives to one.
Robert waited as Magnus strode to him. The smaller, stockier man grabbed his arm as his vision wavered and the world slid to one side. Magnus hoisted Robert's arm around his shoulder just as Robert’s knees threatened to give out.
“You appear ill-prepared for this task.” Magnus made no pretense of checking him for signs of injury, but his sarcasm lacked punch.
Robert looked the shorter man straight in the eye, disconcerted by the startling blue color. “Would it matter?”
Unsteadily, they made their way to the water’s edge and a small boat hidden beneath the brush.
“Stubborn,” Magnus muttered under his breath.
Robert removed the laird’s package from inside the waistband of his pants. The spreading bloodstain had turned the leather black, making the wound obvious to both of them. “I’ll be fine. Believe me, I’ve had worse.”
“I find that difficult to believe, Makir.” Magnus raised a brow, but helped him into the boat.
With a groan, Robert dropped to the seat, only to slide to the bottom. Pain exploded from his wound, sharp shards of fire burning from his belly to his lungs. Holding it tight mad
e no difference. He poked at the edges of the injury with his fingertips, a sharp hiss covering his laugh.
“You’ve a strange sense of humor.”
“I can’t even manage to die quickly,” he replied, watching Magnus roll his eyes and shake his head. The blade had skewered below his lungs, above the liver and kidneys, and to the side of his stomach. It would be a long, painful death. Though there was satisfaction in knowing he wouldn’t live to the next sunrise.
Lifting an oar, he prepared to push the boat from the shore.
“Just lie there. I owe you this much.” The boat pitched and rolled as Magnus stepped in, tossing away the boat line and settling across from him. “I’ll set the boat into the current. It will carry you the rest of the way. Then I’ll leave you to your peace.”
Robert nodded, humored at the strange sense of honor that compelled the magical being to pay him back for saving his life. It didn’t matter now, but who was he to turn down a gracious act?
Sprawled against the side of the boat, his attention floated. They moved farther adrift, and the water churned faster as they approached the firth. Magnus picked up both oars and Robert drifted off to the slow, steady splash.
He never heard the man slide over the side.
Phasing in and out of consciousness, he opened his eyes to a bright-blue sky, hiding behind a smoky white mist. The sounds of birds—or was it music—lulled him.
At least they’d won this round.
Logan was safe. Bri would stay and take care of him. He didn’t need clairvoyance to see their love and commitment for each other.
And he’d die in the manner of his own choosing. Everything had turned out the way it was intended.
The boat bumped against a rocky bank beneath a tree. A deep sense of peace washed over him and numbed the pain as he focused on a sweet voice flowing through the mist.
Sleep, brave Makir. Your family and mine shall rejoice in the success of this day.
Robert struggled at the unexpected dialog that burned in his mind and fought to stay alert. The haze from blood loss held him in limbo. Not able to move, he waited, puzzling at this last touch with life. He didn’t recognize the voice, but Logan’s accounts of his visions, his communication with Bri’s mother, filtered through his memory for a brief moment before the haze forced away rational thought.