The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  Morgan stood back and watched the show.

  Chapter 34

  The smallest of the three men was an easy target for Marcas, even in his current state. The man was quick and lean but not overly strong. It was clear that his advantage was entirely based on speed.

  Marcas, even with only one arm, had the advantage of strength.

  Catching the Englishman off guard, Marcas threw his body at him and the bugger was on the ground. Swiftly, Marcas pierced him with the blade and it was not long before all movement ceased.

  Conall adeptly fought the other two. They were both excellent swordsmen but Conall was better. Still, his skill could not get him through much more of the two on one fight he was in.

  One of the men, sensing Marcas as a target, turned to fight him instead. It was the perfect distraction for Conall to use to gain a better upper hand with the man remaining to fight against him.

  For Marcas, the fight could not continue much longer. His good arm was getting tired from the strain of carrying the broadsword’s weight on its own. He didn’t have the flexibility or speed he normally had with both hands.

  He began to wonder how much longer he could hold out or, worse, how soon Bolton would stop watching and actually join in the fight.

  He saw from the corner of his eyes that Conall was locked closely in his fight, unlikely to break free anytime soon.

  The Brit facing Marcas was evenly matched to him at his strongest. But at this moment, he was not at his strongest and the Brit had a great advantage.

  Surely this would be the end.

  “Stop.”

  The voice was calm, intentional. The two English soldiers immediately retreated and stood on either side of Morgan Bolton with their swords at their sides.

  Conall and Marcas looked at one another uncertainly. What kind of strategy was this?

  “What are ye playing at, Bolton?” Conall asked aggressively.

  “I wanted you both to see what my men are capable of. And now I have seen what you are capable of. So, Laird Conall McGowan, are you ready to see what I’m capable of?” he asked.

  Conall’s eyes were slit with hatred.

  “You see, I will give you two choices. It would be best for your clan if you take the first. But I must say, I deeply hope that you choose the second,” Bolton said with a vile grin.

  “And what are me choices?” Conall asked, trying to sound bored and unthreatened.

  “You can hand over my bride, Georgina. Or you and your clan can die,” he replied.

  Marcas and Conall took on their best nonchalant gallantry and laughed with one another as if fear was not swarming in their bellies. They were Scotsmen, after all. Fear had no visible signs.

  “Is that so?” asked Conall. “I can betray the lass I rescued from ye or ye will reveal that ye have an army of thousands nearby who are fierce enough to take on me hundreds? I can hardly expect such a thing.”

  Bolton blinked, not expecting this level of fearlessness. He had considered that Conall would give him Georgina in a heartbeat. But in truth, he knew that this would be an opportunity to fight the Laird.

  “My men are the greatest fighters in all of England,” he finally responded.

  “Huh, then I suppose it’s too bad we’ve already wiped out most of them. Ye see, while ye were hiding in here, waiting to jump out and scare us, we’ve been watching our men strike yours down by the dozens.

  “That little trap in the woods? That was nothing compared to our archers. Our swordsmen could kill ye by holding the hilt with their toes,” Conall said.

  Bolton looked furious but also afraid. Marcas and Conall knew they had to use that fear to their advantage.

  “Oh, but I suppose if ye really think it's worth the fight, we can go on out right now. I can show ye exactly what I’m talking about, and ye can see for yerself that yer little army isnae exactly what ye think them tae be,” Conall continued.

  Marcas tried not to laugh again but he was enjoying the thought of Bolton suffering the humiliation of seeing his army completely depleted of men. The bitterness of going to battle had hardened him against it.

  “I have another idea,” Bolton said.

  “Oh?”

  “Why not just you and me?”

  The challenge was intriguing for Conall. The thought of fighting one on one against England’s famed fighter was too good to pass up.

  “What of yer men?” Marcas asked, worried that this could be a vicious trap to wound Conall and jump the brothers.

  “They have strict orders not to interfere. As do you,” Bolton said, warning Marcas not to get involved. He wished only to fight with the Laird.

  Marcas realized that Bolton had thoroughly believed Conall to be the one keeping Georgina from him. Conall had been the one to rescue her at the wedding, then again after the asylum. He must have believed she loved the Laird.

  Marcas opened his mouth to say as much, to take responsibility and be the one to fight Bolton, but Conall spoke up first.

  “It will be my honor to kill ye,” he said.

  “Yes, I am sure it would. After all, a mighty boost it would be to your new lairdship to say that you had defeated England’s greatest hero. But I fear that you will never have that honor,” Bolton said.

  “Ye’re right. I can only fight four men at a time and defeat them all without getting a scratch on me, how daft am I to think I could possibly match up to yer strength?” Conall bantered sarcastically.

  Bolton was finished with using words to fight his battle. He wanted blood. He wanted revenge. He wanted Georgina.

  Changing his stance, his sword was lifted. It was long, slender, and sharp. It had an elegance to it that was uncharacteristic of the strong, wide blades wielded by the McGowan’s.

  Bolton, thinking the broadswords clunky and unsophisticated, found he couldn't resist getting in one more verbal jab.

  “Looks like your swords have a girth not easily handled.”

  “Trust me, it isnae the only part of us that takes a special hand to wield,” Conall replied. “And once a hand wields the sword of a Scotsman, yer tiny blades just dinnae seem to satisfy.

  At that, Bolton charged angrily, lunging at Conall with rage. He was too distracted by hate to think through each move. Conall dodged blow after blow but found that his speed had to work for him because he was unprepared for just how fired up Bolton was.

  With each blow of the thin sword, Conall had to jump back and create distance. Marcas was overwhelmingly tempted to jump into the fray but Conall warned him with a quick glance. This was about his pride as Laird. He had to do this himself.

  Besides, if he jumped in now, so would Bolton’s men and then they would be outnumbered.

  But then it happened, the thing Marcas had been dreading. Bolton got in a good swipe.

  The skin along Conall’s abdomen perforated and red oozed through his shirt. The Laird stumbled backwards, gently touching his fingers to the wound. It was not mortal, but it was enough to slow him down and give Morgan the upper hand if he let it.

  Conall struck back with the full force of his adrenaline. He made for Bolton who was now on the defensive, evidently not expecting such strength after causing the injury.

  Marcas watched as Conall then got his own fortunate swipe and made a thick, deep cut across Bolton’s bicep, half severing his right arm.

  Bolton dropped his sword and cried out. Even the bone was visible until blood flooded the wound.

  Conall smiled as Bolton sunk to the floor. He fumbled to get his sword back in his left hand. It was weaker, but he had trained with both.

  The Laird came toward him to finish the job and before Bolton could stop him, Conall sent his broadsword straight through the Englishman’s belly and pulled it out again just as quickly so he would lose blood fast.

  Knowing death was imminent, Bolton opened his mouth. Blood seeped through his teeth as he spat, “Keep your worthless whore.”

  Thrilled by his victory, Conall stood to watch Bolton slowly di
e. Marcas turned to the two men who fought at Bolton’s side and they ran like cowards from his presence.

  As Marcas turned his face back, he saw in horror that Conall had also been distracted by their running and Bolton took his final chance to muster the last of his strength.

  With his left hand, he stabbed his sword into Conall’s chest, right between his ribs. Bolton collapsed and continued to gasp for a moment before he was gone to the world.

  “Conall!” Marcas screamed.

  Rushing to his brother’s side, Marcas tried to apply pressure around the sword that was still stuck in Conall’s chest.

  The Laird gasped, barely able to speak.

  “Shh, ye dinnae need tae say anything. I’ll get help!” Marcas said with hope in his voice.

  He screamed for help, but the castle was empty, and he knew it. No one would hear them up here.

  “T-take care of…Fiona,” Conall managed to say with difficulty. “Dinnae l-let her give…give up…on Alpin.”

  “I willnae. I promise.”

  “And t-take care…of the clan. F-faither will be watching…and so will I,” he said raggedly.

  Before Marcas could utter another false hope, Conall closed his eyes and a contented smile spread across his lips.

  He died a hero.

  Chapter 35

  The grounds of Carnarvan were littered with the dead. Most of them English. The clansmen had fought well but it didn’t matter. They had lost too many in such a short time. And they had lost their Laird.

  Fiona could not accept the fate that had befallen her eldest brother and when Marcas delivered the news to her she had been unwilling to listen. Georgina, weeping, held her friend and let her sob against her.

  The bodies of the dead were separated, and the English were discarded while the Scottish were honored as best they could be.

  For three days, the clan mourned. But for Marcas, the mourning would never end.

  “My love?” came Georgina’s voice as she softly knocked on his door. It was time for another change of bandages. Marcas began to wonder if they would ever have a time where she was not trying to help him heal from his wounds.

  She had become extremely soft, warm and kind towards him in the days since the battle. She spoke very little, allowing him time to gather his own thoughts. She was constantly present, but she spoke only when he was in need of something.

  “Georgina, petal, how are ye?” Marcas asked. He realized it was a simple question, but as she had been so busy caring for him, he became aware that he had not done much of anything to care for her since the battle. He wondered if she might think he had been inconsiderate.

  “I am well, Marcas. But how are you? How is the pain today?” she asked, changing the subject to reflect her concern for him.

  “The pain has lessened. Ye’re getting to be a better nurse with every injury I face,” he said, attempting a joke that didn’t quite play out.

  “I can only hope that you stop getting injured,” Georgina replied, unable to laugh with him about it just yet.

  “I’ll do me best,” he replied.

  “So, are you preparing for the ceremony where you get to be made Laird?” Georgina asked, not really knowing what that would look like.

  “Aye. We’re keeping it simple. No grandstanding. Pretty much people will just acknowledge that it’s done. I dinnae want anything more than that. It’s too painful to ken that Conall has gone, and he isnae coming back this time,” Marcas replied.

  “I understand. I cannot begin to imagine the pain of his loss,” Georgina said in the same soft voice she had been making an effort to use.

  “Ye ken, I can think of one thing that will make all me pain go away. Ye can distract me like none other,” Marcas said.

  Georgina tucked in the last piece of the bandage and looked in Marcas’ eyes. She leaned in to kiss him softly, but lovingly.

  He laid back on the bed and she stayed to his left side in order to avoid the right arm.

  They kissed for a long time and finally just laid beside one another, trying to rest and find some peace. It had been a dark, cold week between two major battles and hundreds of lives lost. The only joy and contentment they could find were being in one another’s arms.

  “Ye ken, I’d do it all again kenning I get to be with ye,” Marcas said to reassure Georgina that she was still more to him than the loss.

  “And I would reject my whole life to be with you,” she replied. Marcas knew it was true. She had left everything she knew when she ran away from England that night all those months ago. She had not looked back.

  “Have ye heard from yer faither?” he asked her, speaking the question that was constantly in the background.

  “No. I don't imagine I will for quite some time. He had grown a dislike for Bolton from what I could see in his last letter, but I can’t imagine he will be too thrilled to hear about the man’s death at the hands of my rescuers,” she said, trying to sound brave.

  Tears began to pool in Georgina's eyes. The false bravado faded before she could fully arm herself with it.

  “Come, petal,” Marcas said, pulling her into him.

  “It’s true that I would be with you for anything. I only wish I could make my father see what a right choice it was. I wish that he would come here now and spend time in this beautiful place and meet you properly and eat haggis, and I know he would change his mind.”

  Georgina wept, and it felt good to Marcas that he could be the strong one again. He liked to comfort her, he enjoyed being the man she needed, and it was time his own hurts were put aside to make way for hers, even if just for a moment.

  “Well, as I said, we’ll wed with or without his permission. I’m yers forever and I wish tae make ye mine. What do ye say, petal? How do ye feel about being with a Scottish Laird?” he asked.

  “It would be my greatest dream come true!” Georgina replied, a joy lighting up her face that had previously been so overwhelmed by sadness.

  “Then it shall be done. Ye are me bride. Let’s get through the next few days and perhaps after a month we can ready the clan for a real celebration.

  Marcas could see that Georgina’s heart warmed. She had needed something beautiful and good to happen, anything to take away the pain of her unsupportive father and knowing that she was the reason behind the attack that led to the death of so many of the people who had become her family.

  He was happy to provide her with that peace.

  Georgina sat with Fiona in the library. They had both come under the pretense of wishing to read, but neither had a mind for books just then.

  “So ye are finally going tae wed one of me brothers,” Fiona said with a half-smile. She was thrilled for Marcas and Georgina but distraught that she had only one brother left. One family member, period, for that matter.

  “Indeed! He said perhaps a month from now, after he is made Laird and the clan is ready for a celebration. I completely understand that now is not the right time for a joyous occasion,” Georgina explained.

  “Aye, that sounds like Marcas. He always did anything he could tae show Conall respect. Except for ye. I am quite certain that ye were the first thing that ever made him really stand up to Conall past a tiny bit of competition that seems tae go between all brothers,” Fiona said.

  “I am honored that he thought me worthy of it. But you know, I do feel terrible for not having been kinder to Conall. I was so set on getting his eyes off me that I never gave him a fair chance at friendship. I never showed him that respect you describe from Marcas.”

  Georgina was filled with regret. Despite that, she was relieved and touched to know that Marcas had thought her worth so much.

  “Dinnae worry too much about it, he knew he pushed ye in ways he shouldnae have. Conall was a fine leader and a great brother but he was also an arse at times and there’s no denying it. So dinnae worry. I mean it,” Fiona said by way of comfort.

  “Well, whatever the past, I am glad that you will be a part of the future. I fully inten
d to have you at my side in the days ahead. And I am hoping that the look I saw coming from Alpin last evening means that I will not be the only one desiring your company?”

  Fiona smiled in an uncharacteristically shy manner.

  “Well, if ye must ken, he did indeed express…feelings…yesterday,” Fiona said.

  “And by feelings, you mean…?”

  “I mean that I’ve been trying not to overwhelm ye with me own news when ye have so much of yer own. But it’s true, Alpin finally saw me as more than a sister,” Fiona said.