Page 24 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

N o sooner had Constantine spoken those words, than the night erupted into chaos. A swarm of men jumped out of the shadows, all of them armed to the teeth, and threw themselves straight at Constantine’s men, much to Tiernan’s surprise. It took him a few moments to recognize who they were, the darkness of the woods hindering his vision.

But when he spotted their faces, he knew. Those were Beag’s men.

He had seen some of them before, when Beag had captured him and Isabeau, not only the first time, but also the second. Tiernan had taken great care to memorize those faces, searching for them in the crowd everywhere he and Isabeau went, to make sure they weren’t a threat. Up until then, he hadn’t spotted any of them in the village or any other place he and Isabeau visited. It was only now that they had suddenly appeared again, and Tiernan couldn’t say for what reason.

He thought he had been clear with Beag. He thought the man had finally gotten it through his thick skull that Tiernan was deadly serious about killing him if he tried to interfere again, but it seemed that he was too impatient.

That was his issue, Tiernan thought; he couldn’t give up control and he couldn’t wait more than a few days. Killing Constantine should have taken a matter of weeks if not months, but of course, Beag couldn’t allow that.

I suppose I must be grateful tae him now.

His sudden attack was a good enough distraction for Tiernan to try and escape. If Beag and Constantine ended up killing each other in the process, all the better, but Tiernan had only one goal—to get Isabeau out of there.

I should have never agreed tae all this in the first place. I should have killed Beag when I had the chance.

That would have certainly saved him much of the headache he now had, but it was too late for such regrets. All he could do was try to fix the mess he had created.

If only he could untie himself from that tree.

“Tiernan!”

Isabeau’s voice was suddenly very close to him and Tiernan whipped his head around to see her standing right next to him, desperately trying to undo the ropes around his hands, her own shaking. In the dim light of the fire, he could see that the skin on her wrists was rubbed raw, red welts forming all around the circumference. She must have been in pain, but nothing about her showed it. All Tiernan could see in her was determination, a fire that burned so brightly she seemed to turn incandescent.

“How?” Tiernan asked, too shocked by everything happening around him to say anything else.

“I felt the ropes were loose,” Isabeau said. “Well, loose enough fer me tae get out o’ them.”

She did have small, bony wrists, Tiernan thought. Perhaps whoever had tied her hands had taken pity on her, seeing her as a small and fragile thing, and had decided to keep her ties loose so as not to hurt her. They couldn’t have anticipated this; Tiernan himself hadn’t anticipated it, but there Isabeau was, rushing to his rescue.

With the chaos of the battle around them, though, and the fear and adrenaline that were bound to be coursing through her body, she couldn’t get a solid grip on his ropes.

“Me dagger,” he said, kicking his leg out. “Get me dagger, it’s strapped on me calf.”

Isabeau reached for it, tearing the dagger out of its strap and swiftly cutting Tiernan’s bonds. It must have taken her only a few seconds, but to Tiernan, it seemed like time was stretching over him, agonizingly slow. The moment he was free, he jumped up to his feet and grabbed Isabeau, placing her behind him as he used his body like a shield, keeping her as hidden as he could from everyone else.

There must have been three dozen men in that clearing, he thought, although in the rush of battle, he couldn’t get an accurate count. All he knew was that there were too many of them; and when Beag spotted him, looking straight at him and Isabeau, he knew there would be no chance of an easy escape.

“There he is!” Beag shouted to his men as he pointed the tip of his sword at Tiernan. “Get him!”

“Stay hidden, as much as ye can,” Tiernan told Isabeau. It was all he had time for before he had to lunge for a sword, grabbing the nearest one he could find from a fallen soldier and throwing himself straight into the battle.

At his command, Beag’s men all turned their sights on him, but Constantine and his men had their own fight to have with them. The clearing was filled with the clang of steel against steel, blades meeting again and again, flashing in the light of the fire and the torches. Left and right, men collapsed to the ground, struck dead by the enemy, pools of blood seeping into the ground. Tiernan didn’t even know where to start. Beag’s men seemed to be his most immediate concern, but if he managed to kill him, then what would Constantine do to him?

It was a fear he would have to face later. For now, he had to deal with Beag before he and his men could kill him or get to Isabeau.

Throwing himself at the first man he found in his way, Tiernan ducked to avoid the strike he tried to deliver before he counterattacked, swinging his blade in an arc through the air and slicing through the man’s chest. Before his opponent had even hit the ground, Tiernan found his next target, attacking him with the same ruthless efficiency. The years he had spent as a brigand allowed his body to move instinctually, as though his limbs had a mind of their own. His fingers knew just how to grasp this unfamiliar blade. His feet knew when to dig into the soil and when to leap in the air, when to slow down and when to rush. He didn’t need to think as he worked his way through Beag’s men, killing one after the other. He only had to keep moving, and as long as he was, he would stay alive.

Next to him, Constantine fought his own battle with the same mercilessness. When Tiernan was fighting against one of the soldiers and another snuck up behind him, ready to strike him dead, it was Constantine who jumped into action, killing his attacker before he could take his life. Glancing over his shoulder at Constantine, he gave the man a nod of acknowledgement, but all Constantine did was stare at him for a moment in that odd way of his, as though he was trying to peer into his mind once again.

What could Constantine be thinking in that moment, he wondered? Surely, he couldn’t have expected Beag and his men to appear like this, to initiate a fight with his men instead of allowing Tiernan to complete the plan. But at the same time, Tiernan doubted Constantine had ever expected him to fight against Beag and his men instead of with them. Seeing him cut down his own enemy had startled him. He was probably wondering if Tiernan was a friend or a foe, and even Tiernan himself didn’t know the answer to that.

I am Constantine’s friend as long as he helps me kill Beag.

Out of the two, it was Beag who had come to him, threatening him so he could control him. Out of the two, it was Beag who had put Isabeau’s life in danger, who had taken them both from the castle, who had turned his life into a living hell in the past days. If Tiernan was going to hold a grudge, if he was going to go against someone in this fight, then it would be Beag first.

Constantine could wait.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tiernan looked for Isabeau in the chaos, desperate to make sure she was alright. With any luck, she would have managed to run—with even more luck, she would have managed to hide. Tiernan didn’t want her to go too far on her own, where she could get lost or where he wouldn’t be able to protect her. But at the same time, it was preferable to run than to be caught. With Beag’s men and Constantine’s men surrounding them from all sides, Tiernan didn’t know how he could stop them all if they decided to go after her.

Another man appeared in Tiernan’s line of sight, one he recognized as belonging to Beag’s ranks. He was a smaller man, with a mousey look to his features and small, beady eyes that seemed to track each of Tiernan’s movements, sizing him up before he ever approached. He was a careful man; every step he took was calculated. Even his breaths were slow and steady, measured and calm in the middle of the fight, when everyone else gasped for air. Despite his smaller size, Tiernan recognized him for who he was—a formidable opponent, one who would not be easy to kill.

Both he and Tiernan waited for the other to make the first move. They circled each other, Tiernan’s footsteps dragging against the ground, the toe box of his boot kicking up a small cloud of dust around his feet. The man’s gaze never left his, his dark eyes staring with singular intensity. And in the end, it was Tiernan who attacked first, throwing himself at him with a cry.

The man was quick to parry the blow, speed making up for his lack of great strength. Tiernan, with his bulky frame, didn’t move with such ease but that didn’t stop him from attacking once again swiftly afterwards, giving his opponent little time to recover from the first blow. This time, the other man didn’t manage to parry, but he still managed to avoid the sharp edge of Tiernan’s blade, twisting to the side just in time to protect himself.

Tiernan’s breath came out in short, labored puffs, fogging the air in front of his lips. The clang of swords, the screams of men around him, the scent of blood in the air—it all served to disorient him, his senses heightened and his mind on high alert. Still in his periphery, he kept looking for Isabeau, trying to find a trace of her that would reassure him she was unharmed, only to find none. Where had she gone? Was she safe? Could she have already fallen into the hands of the enemy?

Nay… nay, it cannae be. Beag would have come tae me, he would have used her tae bargain.

The man’s attack was one Tiernan had not foreseen, distracted as he was by everything else. He managed to stop his sword just in time, using his blade as a guard over his head, the vibrations from the impact reverberating up the bones of his forearm. Sweat dripped from his brow and coated his back, his tunic clinging uncomfortably to his skin. His heart raced and his chest heaved with every breath, the fight draining him quickly.

He had to kill that man before he became too tired for it. He had to put an end to it before he and Constantine were too tired to fight Beag’s men, before they were subdued.

Another ambitious strike from his opponent caught Tiernan across the arm, this time the blade connecting with skin just enough to cut him. Tiernan pulled back with a hiss, the sting of the cut spreading quickly over his arm and making his grip on his sword falter for just a moment. Taking a few steps back, Tiernan put some space between him and the man, but that only served to make the other bolder, thinking he now had the upper hand.

It worked just as well for Tiernan. The more confident his opponent was he could win, the more mistakes he was bound to make.

Adjusting his grip on the sword, Tiernan waited for the next attack. It didn’t take long for the other man to rush towards him once more, now more self-assured than ever, the glint in his dark eyes showing of a manic glee in the face of danger. The first strike was one Tiernan easily deflected, throwing the man back a few paces, only for him to soon strike again. His face split into a grin. His eyes, wide and bright, stayed firmly on Tiernan, but Tiernan’s gaze didn’t waver either. He did not search for Isabeau. He did not allow himself a moment of distraction, knowing it could very well prove fatal.

Instead, he watched, time seemingly slowing down as his opponent approached with quick, silent footsteps and a cry torn straight out of his throat. This time, Tiernan saw the feint before it happened—the man heading towards his left before switching abruptly and aiming right. And seeing it, Tiernan delivered his own attack, a strike that caught the man across the shoulder, cutting him down to his chest.

Blood fountained out of the wound, soiling Tiernan’s face and clothes. He watched as the man collapsed, first to his knees on the ground, then onto his back, his eyes now wide from the shock of the injury.

As much death as Tiernan had seen, as much devastation, he would never get used to it—that feeling of repulsion, that roiling nausea that coursed through him every time he saw the light of life leave the eyes of a man in battle. He could never get used to the stench of blood, the way it coated his palms, sickeningly tacky and metallic, or the way it seemed to seep into everything around him—even the very air.

Stepping back from the man, Tiernan looked for his next opponent, the next man to strike down, the next target. It was then that he heard it, a familiar scream that made him whip his head to the side, eyes desperately searching for its source.

“Tiernan!”

Isabeau called his name again and again, her voice hoarse and filled with terror. It took Tiernan a few moments to spot her as two men were trying to drag her away from the battlefield as she struggled against them, thrashing in their hold. No matter how much she kicked at them, though, no matter how much she stretched out her arms, trying to reach Tiernan in vain, they would not let go of her. She was entirely in their mercy, kicking and screaming but held securely in their grasp.

Tiernan pushed his way through the crowd, not engaging with any of the men near him. Even as they approached, he simply shoved them off or parried their blows with a grunt before moving forward, his gaze fixed on Isabeau. He couldn’t let anyone take her away from him; he couldn’t let anyone get in his way or delay him.

Next to him, the battle still raged. In the distance, Constantine fought two of Beag’s men at once, striking them both with such precision and ease that those surrounding him hesitated to attack. Even together, they were no match for his strength, for his skill, but Tiernan ignored that, too. If the time came when he would have to fight Constantine himself, he would make his peace with the possibility that he could die then. For now, he had to stay alive for Isabeau.

“Let her go!” he roared as he finally reached the men, swinging his sword in his hand to flick off the blood coating the blade. When they noticed him, they paused, glancing at each other, one of them slowly reaching for the blade he had sheathed.

Just as a flash of relief crossed Isabeau’s eyes, it quickly turned to despair once more the moment Beag stepped between her and Tiernan, blocking his view of her.

“If ye want her,” Beag said, “ye’ll have tae kill me first.”

And Tiernan, chest heaving, lungs heavy with the bloodied, burning air around him, had only one thing to say to him.

“Gladly.”