Page 25 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
T error gripped Isabeau like the rough hands of those men had. As the fight raged around her, she had done her best to stay hidden, tucked into the hollow of a large oak, curled up into a small ball. She had hoped that her drab, brown cloak would be enough to keep her hidden from prying eyes, to save her from the very thing that she now couldn’t escape—but it hadn’t been enough. One of those men had spotted her as she tried to burrow deeper into the tiny hole and had then marched over to her with his fellow solider pulling her out abruptly, their movements so forceful that they seemed to tear her arms right off her shoulders.
Pain exploded everywhere they touched her, and the more she fought them, the more she tried to escape their grip, the more painful it became. Neither man showed her any mercy. Neither man cared if she would end up bloody and bruised after their struggle, and that was when she knew Beag didn’t care about keeping her alive anymore.
He wants tae kill us both. He doesnae care about anythin’ else.
It was more personal than she had thought. Beag was looking for revenge—perhaps that was all he had always wanted and sending Tiernan to kill Constantine had been just that, a way to send him to an untimely and painful death. And now that he had the chance, he would kill both Constantine and Tiernan.
An’ me.
Isabeau didn’t know how she could have gotten so mixed up in this. Had she not been in the forge that day, had she stayed in the drawing room instead of seeking out Tiernan and those two daggers, she would have never ended up here, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a fight that was not hers to fight. But had she not gone to the forge that day, she also wouldn’t have gotten to know Tiernan. She wouldn’t have fallen for him; she wouldn’t have seen any of the real world.
She was a different woman because of this—because of him. She knew what it meant to love and be loved. She knew what it meant to live outside the curtain walls of the castle, where she was not protected but was free. If she had the chance, would she give all that up for her safety?
“Tiernan!” she called; hands outstretched even if he was too far to reach her. “Tiernan!”
Tiernan would save her; she had faith in him. If only she could get his attention, if only her voice could reach him, even if her hands couldn’t, then he would come for her.
When their gazes met, Tiernan looking at her through the clash of swords and bodies on the battlefield, Isabeau’s heart leapt in her chest, a spark of hope igniting inside her. That spark only grew and grew as she watched Tiernan push his way through the crowd, making a laborious trek towards her—only to be extinguished when Beag stepped in front of her, cutting off his path.
Nay… what if he kills him? What if Tiernan dies?
Isabeau didn’t think she could bear it. If he died, then she might as well meet her end as well.
Tiernan looked at Beag in silence, taking in his sharp, hazel eyes, the many scars covering his face and arms, the stocky build that was enough to intimidate any man who came near him.
But not Tiernan; he knew better than to be scared of Beag, to fall into the trap of thinking he would be impossible to defeat because of his size and his reputation.
If he was truly that fearsome, then he wouldn’t be sending Tiernan and others to do his bidding. On the contrary, he would be like Constantine, throwing himself in the middle of the fight with no hesitation.
As it were, this was the first time Beag had even stepped into that battlefield. Tiernan could tell from his skin, his clothes, both of which were for the most part still clean, only soiled by a few spatters of blood. In contrast to him, Tiernan was covered in it, his skin tacky, the metallic taste clinging to his tongue. Some of it, he knew, was his own; most of it belonged to others, to men he had struck down without mercy.
And now Beag would be one of them, too.
The first clash of their swords echoed around the clearing, ringing loudly in Tiernan’s ears and covering the shouts and screams of the men around them. Orange light reflected from their blades, the incandescence of the flames bathing the forest in an eerie glow as dawn had yet to break on the horizon. Above, the dark sky was like spilled ink, the stars and the moon obscured by thick clouds. Tiernan saw Beag as a flurry of movement, outlined by the flames of the torches, like a living shadow that lost its solid shape once illuminated.
Beag made sure to never once stand still, light on his feet despite his large size and stocky build. He knew that the moment he paused would be the moment Tiernan would strike for good and kill him, and so he kept dancing around him, leaping and twirling away from the reach of his blade. With every leap, with every movement that brought Beag farther and farther away from him, Tiernan’s rage flared inside him, threatening to bubble over despite his best efforts to remain calm and act strategically. Not only was Beag making it impossible for him to reach him, but Tiernan couldn’t help but feel like he was toying with him, trying his best to frustrate him just for the sake of it.
“Fight me!” Tiernan roared, his foot kicking up a cloud of dust behind him as he stomped his leg. “I didnae come here tae play an’ neither did ye, so either leave or come kill me!”
It wasn’t just the fact that Beag was toying with him; he was trying to tire him out, to draw out the fight until Tiernan had no breath left, until his body protested every single movement. He was already tired out from the battle, every muscle in his body sore after trying so long to stay alive, striking others down, while Beag had only just entered the conflict. He was doing his best to use it to his advantage, but the more frustrated Tiernan became, the more he forgot about the strain of the battle on his body and the injuries he had sustained that threatened to slow him down.
And the more Beag moved out of his grasp, the more he wanted to strike him dead.
Beag laughed, the sound bright and sharp like a well-oiled blade in the chaos of the clearing. He stopped moving, coming to a halt near Isabeau, but Tiernan didn’t attack—not yet.
“Are ye certain ye want that?” he asked, raising a curious eyebrow. Under his salt-and-pepper beard his mouth twisted into a cruel grin. “Ye dinnae seem tae be in very good shape, Tiernan. Ye look tired tae me.”
“I’m fine,” Tiernan spat, drawing quick, ragged breaths through his parted lips. His lungs, his muscles, and his eyes burned like the coals of the fires, but he refused to be slowed down by such things. “It is only ye who fears the blade. If I am tae die by yer hand, then so be it.”
“Very well,” said Beag, and in the slight, almost imperceptible shift of his stance Tiernan saw that he was finally becoming serious, surrendering himself to the fact that he would have to fight now. Tiernan had never fought the man himself before and had always known him to be someone who always forced others to fight his battles—Tiernan himself, his men, anyone but him—without ever taking a sword in his hands. But now he could see that he was wrong. Perhaps Beag didn’t prefer fighting his battles, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t. “Let us fight, then.”
Just as he had finished his sentence, Beag threw himself at Tiernan with surprising speed, a cry escaping his lips. Tiernan barely had the time to plant his feet in the ground, the soil soft under his boots, before their swords clashed fiercely in the night air. Each breath Tiernan took, each sharp inhale was almost painful and he tasted blood on the back of his tongue, his lungs reaching their limit. A cough tore itself from his chest, loud and rattling, shaking his ribcage with its force. Across from him, Beag grinned and waited as Tiernan caught his breath, clearly enjoying the state he was in.
Drawing in a deep breath, Tiernan was then the one to attack, charging towards Beag at full speed. Their swords met again and again, each man delivering attack after vicious attack, snarling at each other like rabid dogs. Tiernan’s focus had narrowed down to one thing: Beag and the blade of his sword.
With a furious growl, Beag lunged forward and swung his blade, the recklessness of the attack catching Tiernan by surprise. He barely had the time to dodge the worst of it, the sword catching him over the left shoulder and cutting through tunic and skin. Instinctively, he turned his left side away from Beag, his mind barely registering the sting of the cut but knowing that if he had been any closer, he could have cut down to muscle and sinew.
The bold, cocksure grin Beag gave him spoke of how pleased he was to be seeing Tiernan like this. This was more than a simple task Beag had given him, Tiernan then knew—it was more than a way for him to pay back Beag for stealing from him. Beag had never forgiven the slight and now he had come to exact his revenge. And since there was nothing precious Tiernan owned, he had gone for the most precious thing he had: his life.
At least it’s me life he wants an’ nae Isabeau’s.
Behind Beag, his men were still holding on to Isabeau, whose strength had now left her. She simply stood there, eyes wide with horror, body sagging in the men’s grip. He had her but she was alive, which could only mean he had given his men explicit instructions not to kill her. If he wanted her dead, Tiernan thought he would have already taken her life.
“All this fer a sword?” Tiernan asked, each breath burning his lungs. “If ye planned on attackin’ Constantine yerself, why send me? Why dae all this?”
“A sword?” Beag asked, shaking his head with a laugh. “Ye’re still so obsessed with that damned sword! I dinnae care about yer sword! I care that ye fooled me an’ then escaped me grasp fer so long that others thought they could dae the same. What dae ye think will happen if I let ye live? More an’ more runts like ye will try tae steal from me an’ that is troublesome, Tiernan.”
Once again, Tiernan was reminded of just how impossible it was for him to escape his past. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t stolen anything in months. It didn’t matter that he had done his best to leave all that behind him. His past would always chase him. Beag was not the only man he had wronged—far from it, in fact. Perhaps he wouldn’t be the only one to chase him, even if he survived this, and so what would follow would be a life of fighting or hiding—a life he would have to live away from Isabeau.
He had come so close to tasting true freedom for the first time. He had come so close to happiness, only for it to slip right through his fingers.
“Ye could have simply killed me when ye caught me,” Tiernan pointed out. “Is this nae more trouble fer ye?”
“It is now,” Beag said. “I didnae think ye an’ Constantine would take a likin’ tae each other.”
Tiernan couldn’t claim to like Constantine—quite the opposite, in fact. But Beag seemed to have gotten it in his head that he and Constantine were colluding against him, making it impossible for Tiernan to convince him otherwise.
It didn’t matter either way. In the end, either Constantine or Beag would have killed him. The result would have been the same. It was only now that he truly had a chance, with Constantine and his men still fighting off Beag’s forces.
A small chance… fer if Constantine decides I’m better off dead, then I willnae survive this.
Tiernan took a few slow steps forward, his gaze fixed on Beag. Beag did the same, the two men approaching each other, circling each other like two beasts. Tiernan’s strength had long since left him and the only thing that kept him going was the thought that if he died, there would be no one left to protect Isabeau.
Through ragged, pained breaths, Tiernan raised his blade one more time, clashing with Beag. The collision drew a grunt out of him, but he swiftly attacked again, wasting no time between the blows he tried to deliver. Even in his exhaustion, even with all the injuries he had sustained, his desire to protect Isabeau was enough to make him a formidable opponent for Beag, pushing him past his limits.
And Beag could tell—he could tell he was at a disadvantage. That even drawing out this fight was not enough to give him a clean and absolute win. And so just as Tiernan rushed to attack again, he screamed over his shoulder to his men.
“Kill the lass!”