Highlander Avenged: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Preston, Rebecca

  “Bethany — I’m going to need a sword. And a bow, ideally.” Graham looked worried. “I know I’ve only just arrived, but —”

  “You’re one of us,” Bethany told him sharply. “Come with me — I know where the weapons are.”

  During her wandering of the castle in her early days here, she’d stumbled upon the armory. It was an impressive room up on the fifth floor of the castle. Eamon had explained that they stored spare weapons here — the ones used regularly by the guards and men of the castle were kept in the barracks with them, or else on their persons. So she knew that taking a weapon from the armory wouldn’t be taking it from anyone who needed it. The maintenance equipment was kept up there, too, and the guards were often assigned to cleaning and sharpening duty… she knew for a fact that all the weapons in there would be in good shape.

  There was barely-controlled chaos in the castle. The villagers who were staying in the courtyard were being brought inside for their own safety, in case of any projectiles flying over the walls, but that meant that space had to be found for them. As they walked past rooms, they saw several people in each one, worried faces turned to the door as Bethany and Graham walked past. She tried to give as many reassuring nods as she could, but there wasn’t much she could do — their fear was absolutely justified. An army hundreds of men strong — an army that had burned down their home the night before — was now at the walls, doing everything in its power to break in to destroy them. Could Bethany really tell them not to worry?

  Here was the armory — the doors wide open and guards moving about. She saw a handful of villagers loitering in the doorway, looking worried but determined — it seemed that the guard was arming some of the able-bodied men from the village. Were things really that dire? She supposed every little bit of assistance would help… but it chilled her a little to think of what would happen if the army breached the walls, and these villagers were called on to fight with the swords and dirks that the guards were handing out. There would be casualties if it came to that, that was for sure… these men looked determined, but it was clear from the way they held the weapons that they didn’t know what to do with them.

  But that wasn’t the case for Graham. One of the guards handed him a sword, and he weighed it expertly in his hand, tested the edge and nodded in satisfaction at its sharpness. Bethany smiled up at him.

  “Good sword?”

  “It’ll do,” he said with satisfaction, sliding it back into its scabbard and attaching it carefully to his belt. “Any bows left?”

  “All out,” one of the guards said with a grimace. “We’ve armed every guard who can shoot worth a damn and given all the spares to the villagers who proved ‘emselves earlier.”

  Bethany nodded, remembering — there had been an archery contest in the courtyard earlier. She’d assumed it was just to give the worried villagers something to do, to take their minds off the impending attack… now she saw that it had had another purpose. Well, the more men on the walls with bows and arrows, the better. If they could stop the enemy before they reached the wall, so much the better. But it was a shame that Graham couldn’t take a bow — she had a feeling he’d be a good shot, from what he’d told her about his training.

  A sword would have to do. After a moment’s consideration, she took a dagger from the armory’s rapidly dwindling collection. She had her gun, but a knife never ran out of ammunition… and you never knew when you were going to wind up in close-quarters combat with an enemy. She hoped fiercely that it wouldn’t come to that, that the assault wouldn’t even breach the walls… but she had a feeling that that wasn’t going to be the case.

  They were halfway down the hallway when Graham stopped dead in his tracks, a strange expression on his face as his whole body seemed to tense up. It was almost as though he was listening intently to a very quiet sound — she frowned, looking up at him, trying to listen herself to whatever it was he’d picked up on. All she could hear was the pounding of the drums, though, and some pipes cutting through the sound as well… that, and the shouts of men from down in the courtyard, preparing themselves for the battle ahead.

  “Cristabella,” Graham choked out. “She’s —”

  Bethany’s heart froze. Graham’s arm was lifting, incredibly slowly, almost as if some unseen force was dragging it upwards… as she watched, horrified, his hand slowly reached for the hilt of the sword. He stared at her, panic evident in his handsome face, clearly struggling with himself. “The spell — Bethany — I’m still sworn to Matthew, I — “

  Her eyes widened. Could it be that Cristabella’s magic was affecting Graham, even from this distance? She didn’t know much about magic, but she knew from what Delilah had told her about lifting the curse that words were important. Words, terms and promises… there was a strong legal undercurrent to magic. Did that mean that Graham was being affected by whatever spell Cristabella was casting on Matthew’s men? Did he still count as one of his men — even if he’d physically left his service, did his soul still have some ties there?

  “Graham — what’s going on? What are you feeling?” she asked quickly, reaching out to grab his hand and hold it back from the sword. He growled, shaking his head furiously — she could feel the effort in his body as he fought against whatever was happening to him.

  “The spell,” he said through gritted teeth. “Trying to make me… angry… to go berserk… hold me still — get someone — “ And then his voice was gone, replaced with a deafening roar, and before she could stop him he’d drawn his sword. His voice broke and he screamed as he twisted aside from her at the last minute, driving the point of the sword with full force into the wall of the castle with such force that the blade shattered.

  “Graham!” she cried, shocked by the force — and then he wheeled on her, his face unrecognizable, a mask of rage and fury as he drew back his fist to strike her. She stared up at him, ready to block the blow — but as she looked into his eyes, he seemed to gain control of himself. He shook his head furiously, mouthing words that she couldn’t hear… and then he took a deep, shuddering breath. Somehow, she knew he was himself again.

  “She’s cast the spell,” he breathed now, his eyes full of horror. “The men — the berserkers — they’ll be approaching the wall. We have to warn the guards —”

  “Are you okay?” she demanded, horrified by what she’d seen. “How did you — how did you shake it off?”

  “I looked at you,” Graham said simply. “I looked at you and I remembered what was really important to me.”

  Bethany felt her heart fill with warmth… but before she could kiss Graham or try to come up with something anywhere near as lovely to say to him, he was away, striding down the hallway with urgency in his gait.

  “Graham! Your sword — “

  “Shit,” he swore, pivoting on his heel. They ran back to the armory and grabbed another sword from the guards, who blinked at them curiously.

  “What happened to the first one?”

  “Long story,” Bethany said quickly, “but you two might want to get to the walls sooner rather than later. The attack’s about to turn nasty.”

  To their credit, neither guard asked how Bethany and Graham knew that — they just nodded, scooped up their own weapons and headed down the hallway with Bethany and Graham in hot pursuit. Sure enough, as they headed down the stairs, Bethany could hear shouting in the yard outside, as well as screams of fear from a handful of villagers who were standing gathered in the main hall, peering through the open doors.

  “Shut those doors, will you!” a familiar voice cried. There was Mary, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes blazing — she looked a great deal younger than her years as she rallied the servants to her call. “If they breach the gates, we want to make it damn difficult for them to get any further! And if they get through those doors, I’ll be waiting for ‘em.” She had a heavy metal frying pan in one hand, and she raised it menacingly — then tipped Bethany a wink as she moved past with Graham. “Give ‘em hel
l, Beth!”

  She was so impressed with Mary’s gumption that she couldn’t even bring herself to tell her that she hated being called Beth.

  The night air was cold as they stepped out onto the steps to the castle, but the adrenalin was surging through her in earnest now, and she felt no need for a jacket as they headed across the eerily empty courtyard toward the stairs to the walls. She could hear bloodcurdling cries, and stared around in horror, concerned that a hand-to-hand battle was already going on… but no. The cries were coming from outside the walls.

  “Matthew’s men,” Graham confirmed as they headed for the steps like that. “They scream like that when they go berserk.”

  “That’s awful,” Bethany shivered as they climbed. A part of her was horrified… but another part of her was very interested to see what these berserk men were capable of, now that Graham was safe from Cristabella’s influence. “Does that mean she’s nearby?”

  “Aye, it must. Her spells don’t have much range — I’ve heard her complaining about that before. Matthew had the idea of sending everyone in this castle berserk from our camp down there, but she admitted she couldn’t do it from that distance.”

  Bethany shivered at the thought of all the men inside the castle going berserk. Then she frowned, a thought occurring to her. “Do her spells affect women, too?”

  “You know, I’ve never thought of that.” His eyes widened. “I don’t think they do.”

  That’s a weak spot to keep an eye on, Bethany thought, reaching down to touch her gun. Maybe, if Cristabella got close enough, she could take advantage of the immunity her gender gave her to the woman’s magic … and shoot her, she wondered? Could she bring herself to shoot the other woman? She thought of Graham, fighting to get control of himself in the corridor, and steeled herself. She may have her sympathy for the witch… but if it came down to a choice between her safety and the safety of the people she cared about in this castle, she knew where her allegiance lay.

  They reached the top of the wall, and Bethany took a deep breath, finding herself in the familiar midst of the controlled chaos that was a combat situation. There were dozens of men up here, rushing back and forth — some were carrying arrows, but the rest were lined up along the walls, loosing arrow after arrow over the wall. They were lit by torchlight, and Bethany could see identical looks of determination on each of their faces… but it was tempered by fear, too. Because up here, she could hear the screams much more clearly… and even from this distance, she could feel fear creeping around her heart. There was something deeply, deeply wrong about those animalistic screams.

  Graham moved forward toward an unoccupied stretch of wall, moving quickly. Bethany thought he might have been trying to get a look — until she saw the grappling hook that had flown over the top of the wall and found a place there. Grimacing, Graham drew his sword and cut the rope — a scream below indicated that the hopeful climber’s plan had been foiled. Bethany moved up to his side, peering over the wall — and was horrified by what she saw.

  It was a bloodbath. There were dozens of men dead down there, arrows protruding from their bodies… but for every man on the ground, there were ten more trying to climb the walls of the Keep. Even from this distance, she could see the demented looks on their faces — these were not men thinking rationally. These were men in the grips of a crazed bloodlust. She shivered, thinking of what could have happened if Graham had been fully claimed by this state… thank God he’d been able to fight it off. As she watched, an arrow struck one of the mercenaries full in the shoulder — but he barely flinched. He just reached up, ripped the arrow off, and continued to try to climb up the wall, his fingers finding purchase between the stones. There was blood on his hands from the effort, she realized sickly.

  There was a cry from down the other end of the wall — to her horror, one of the mercenaries had reached the top of the wall and was dragging himself up onto the top of the wall, lashing around him with a sword. Working together, two guards grabbed hold of him and hurled him back over the side — but more were coming. Too many more. She stared down at the foot of the wall, horrified by what she was seeing. Hundreds of men — and more, pouring out of the trees.

  “Bethany — the gate,” Graham said through gritted teeth. They ran down the wall together, toward the two towers that surrounded the gate, and to Bethany’s horror, she saw even more mercenaries, hurling their bodies against the gate again and again. It was strong metal, but even the strongest gate couldn’t withstand that kind of force for long. She felt powerless, standing atop the wall — for every arrow that took out one of the berserkers, it seemed three more took his place. And they didn’t have a limitless supply of arrows.

  Graham was clearly thinking along the same lines — he looked up at her, worry evident on his face. “We’re going to need to go out and meet their forces — we can’t fight the whole battle from up here. There’s too many of them.”

  Sure enough, down in the courtyard, Bethany could see Laird Donal himself assembling a force of men with swords, ready to go out to meet the attackers… or worse, she thought with a pang of fear, to hold them off once the gate fell. She didn’t like their chances against these berserk men… they seemed supernaturally strong, fighting through wounds that should have disabled a normal soldier, and utterly full of bloodlust.

  And what was worse… they were outnumbered.

  Chapter 29

  Bethany stared down over the wall, horrified by what she was seeing. But the sudden peal of a trumpet distracted her. She looked up, toward the treeline, confused by the sound… was Matthew summoning yet more forces? But no — her heart leapt into her throat when she saw what was approaching. Men on horseback, wearing armor that was much better maintained than the mismatched equipment the mercenaries were wearing. Could it be…?

  “Lord Weatherby!” Graham gasped, pointing.

  Sure enough, the man himself was there, resplendent on the back of a great white horse, decked out in expensive armor and pointing a sword at the forces that were amassed at the bottom of the wall.

  “He’s come to help —”

  “We have to get down there,” Bethany said, her heart pounding. She didn’t have to tell Graham twice. They ran down the steps, taking them two at a time, headed for the gate where the men on horses had already rushed toward Matthew’s forces. She could hear the clash of swords, the sick, ugly sounds of fighting… and under it all, those maddening drums, still pounding out the war beat.

  There was a door in the wall beside the gate — she’d slipped through it a dozen times on her way in and out of the castle. Now, it was locked and barred… but thanks to Lord Weatherby’s forces, the men had been pulled away from the gate and were focusing their attention on the new threat. Bethany grinned to herself, certain that Baldric had had something to do with this. Lord Weatherby himself had been dead set against helping the MacClarans deal with their foe… but somehow, Baldric had gotten into his ear and changed his mind. Had he told him he could dress up and look fancy as he rode to the rescue? She had a suspicion that that would have worked.

  Sure enough, Baldric was there alongside Weatherby — she could see him, on a much less ostentatious black horse, laying about with his sword with the cold, calculating expression of a man who had been through more than a few battles like this one. He was frightening in his own way, dispatching enemies with an almost dispassionate savagery… she was glad to see that he was on their side.

  But her eyes widened as she peered through the gate and saw another group of men approaching from the treeline. This was where the drumbeats were coming from — she saw a few men bringing up the rear, beating enormous war drums as they traveled. These men hadn’t gone berserk like the others — they were moving carefully, in a curious turtle-like formation, keeping their shields up to protect the center of the cluster from the hail of arrows that were raining down onto the masses of berserk men who Lord Weatherby’s forces were now working on dispatching. Bethany frowned as she watched t
he tide of the battle turn. It all seemed too easy… what was this new formation bringing?

  Sure enough, one of the shields moved aside for a moment, and she spotted Matthew himself, safe and sound within his little shell of shields. But it wasn’t just Matthew that was there — she saw Sven and Adolf behind him, too, their weapons at the ready as they moved steadily toward the castle. But what were they doing? Why weren’t they getting involved in the fight? Unless… a creeping certainty struck her, and she craned her neck, trying to see inside the shell of shields… and there she was. Cristabellla, resplendent in a red gown, her beautiful face creasing in concentration as she muttered words that Bethany couldn’t hear. Keeping the berserker spell going? No — her eyes weren’t cast toward those men. Her focus was on Weatherby.

  There was an ear-splitting shriek of fear — and Bethany realized with mingled shock and amusement that it had come from Lord Weatherby. But her amusement was quickly replaced with horror when she realized why he was screaming. His men had gone mad — the horses were rearing and plunging, completely out of control as their riders suddenly began to tear into one another, clearly confused and disoriented by the spell… and taken with the supernatural bloodlust. Baldric looked to be fighting it off the way that Graham had been able to — he was shouting at the top of his lungs, trying to regain order even as he used his shield to fend off blows from his own men.