Page 26 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I sabeau’s blood ran cold, chilling her to the bone. The moment Beag uttered the order, the men were quick to move, one of them grabbing both of her arms and holding them behind her back as the other pulled back and drew a small dagger from its sheath around his calf.
She saw the glint of the blade under the light of the torches, flashing in her eyes. She saw the man approach with a glint in his pale blue eyes. The man behind her was a solid wall of muscle, his vice grip bruising her forearms, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, heard his ragged laughter right by her ear. When she glanced at Tiernan, she found him heaving, Beag still blocking his way to her, and she knew her only hope was to save herself.
But could she? Was there anything she could do to stop those two men from taking her life so casually, so callously?
Her screams piercing the dark forest, Isabeau kicked out her legs with all her might, keeping the other man away from her as much as she could. Behind her, the man holding her cursed loudly, his grip tightening even more around her arms and for a terrible moment, she thought he would snap them right in two. But her body was resilient and in the face of danger, it didn’t let her down. If she was going to die, she was certainly not going to do so without putting up a fight.
The tighter grasp gave her the leverage she needed to kick even higher, her legs flying out wildly in front of her. The man holding the knife tried his best to approach her, but between her kicks and the other man struggling to hold her, it was impossible for him to come close enough to deliver the final blow. Distantly, she could hear Tiernan’s roars as he fought Beag, desperately trying to get to her. She could buy him some time, she thought. Even if she couldn’t fight those men herself, she could at least give him as good of a chance as she could to save her.
Finally, one of her legs connected with the man’s stomach, sending him stumbling backwards and curling into himself, one hand coming up to clutch at the spot she had kicked. When he looked up at her, though, his eyes barely visible from under his brows, the look he gave her was a murderous one and, in that moment, Isabeau knew she had only made things worse for herself.
“Ye wee harlot!” the man exclaimed, his fingers twitching around the handle of his blade. “I’ll slit yer damned throat.”
Isabeau froze in fear under that cruel stare, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest as she watched him approach once more. Her limbs felt like lead, heavy and unmovable, as though an invisible force was weighing them down. Time seemed to stretch and slow, everything around her coming into sharp focus—the man’s footsteps, the sharp pain of her captor’s nails in her skin, the clang of steel against steel as the battle raged around her.
She thought about her brothers. She thought about all the people she was leaving behind, all the people who loved her and who may never even find her body. No one there but Tiernan knew who she was—no one would be left to take her back to her family.
And then, just as Isabeau closed her eyes, finally accepting her fate, she felt the warm wash of blood over her—but it didn’t come with the pain she had expected.
Kill the lass!
Those words rang in Tiernan’s ears, bile rising to the back of his throat. It was Beag’s last, desperate attempt to distract him from the fight, to give him something else to occupy his mind and his efforts. He knew that he would do anything to save Isabeau, and he was right.
Fighting him wasn’t getting him anywhere. Hearing Isabeau’s screams, knowing that she was doing her best to keep that man’s knife away from her, seeing the fear in her eyes—it was all too much. His heart ached with the knowledge that had it not been for him, she would be back home now, safe and sound instead of facing the tip of a knife.
“Stop!” Tiernan said, letting his sword fall by his side. Every fiber of his being protested the surrender. His body wanted to fight, to cut Beag down and everyone else who got between him and Isabeau, but in his mind, he knew this was the only solution. His life for hers. It seemed more than fair, after everything he had put her through. “It’s me ye want, so kill me. Kill me, but spare her.”
Beag barked out a surprised laugh. “How noble o’ ye! Ye love the lass so much ye’d give yer life fer hers?”
“I’m givin’ it,” Tiernan said through gritted teeth. “It’s yers. Take it.”
Beag took a step forward, then another, but he didn’t give the order for his men to stop. Tiernan watched him carefully, his fingers twitching around his sword. Would he not stop them? Would he risk everything to try and kill them both?
Before Tiernan could ask him to stop his men again, before Beag could even reach him, Tiernan saw a fast movement from the corner of his eye. Isabeau’s scream echoed in the clearing around them over the noise of the battle and the sound of a body hitting the ground caught Beag’s attention, forcing him to turn around.
His man lay dead on the ground and soon, the other followed as Constantine struck him down. Tiernan almost called out to him to beg him to hold back, to wait as the man was still holding onto Isabeau, but the words died in his throat before he could get them out, too exhausted, too shocked by the turn of events to even speak. Still, Constantine’s movements were so precise that even as he pierced the man through the back, Isabeau was entirely unharmed, stumbling away from him the moment she had the chance. The only sign she had ever been in a struggle was the blood that covered her from head to toe, clinging to her face, her hair, her hands.
Next to her, Constantine stood guard, eyes looking for any sign of more danger, for any of Beag’s men who may decide to step forward.
Slowly, Beag turned back to look at Tiernan, his features contorted into a mask of rage. Under the light of the flames, he hardly looked human—Tiernan thought this was what demons must have looked like if they ever roamed the earth.
Wasting no time, Tiernan picked up his sword and threw himself at Beag for one last time. Beag’s howl pierced through the clearing and Tiernan could almost feel it in his bones when they collided, furiously fighting each other. This time, Beag gave it his all, swinging his sword wildly at him in a desperate, raging attempt to kill him. Tiernan blocked blow after blow, using the last of his strength to keep him back as he looked for an opening.
And then he saw it; in his hurry, in his wrath, he left his right side wide open while delivering an attack. Tiernan jumped to the side, avoiding the blow before he counterattacked, kicking Beag hard on the ribs.
By the time Beag’s back hit the ground, the sword flung away from his hand as he fell, Tiernan was on top of him, pinning him down with his weight. His sword was poised high, right above Beag’s chest and he breathed deeply through his nose, his hands shaking with every passing second.
Under him, Beag writhed and snarled, trying in vain to get free. When his hand closed around Tiernan’s thigh, fingers digging deep into the muscle to try and shove him off, Tiernan brought his elbow down hard on Beag’s arm, forcing him to let go.
“Dae it!” Beag shouted, the muscles of his neck straining, the whites of his eyes rapidly turning red as the blood vessels there burst. “Ye thought ye could change but ye’ll always be the same scum ye’ve always been! All ye ken how tae dae is tae kill!”
It was true, Tiernan couldn’t deny it. He was good at killing, at stealing, at intimidating. He had all the terrible talents of a great brigand and none of the desire to be one.
And yet he already was. A part of him would never escape that—a part of who he had once been would always live within him, lurking in the shadows.
It was that part which drove him now as he brought his blade down and pierced Beag through the chest. He plunged his sword as deep as he could—all the way to the earth underneath him, to the soil that was now drenched in Beag’s blood.
With his hands still wrapped around the hilt of the sword, Tiernan sagged over Beag, the fight finally draining out of him. He had no strength left. He could hardly draw a breath, hardly even keep himself upright, so exhausted and spent that the thought of collapsing next to Beag’s body and sleeping for days sounded almost appealing.
He couldn’t believe it was over; he couldn’t believe that he had put an end to Beag’s tyranny, to the threat that hung over him and Isabeau.
But then he dragged his gaze over to Constantine, who was still by her side even as the fight around them dying down, the last few men still standing slowly coming to the realization that Beag was dead.
Constantine’s eyes met Tiernan’s through the dark. For a moment, Tiernan couldn’t help but fear that he would march right over to him and cut his head off for all this, for ever daring to take on the task Beag had set him in the first place. It would be well within his rights, he supposed. Tiernan had done much to deserve it and he would even surrender to this death willingly.
Constantine had saved Isabeau’s life and that was enough for Tiernan. As long as he had the reassurance that she would make it back to the castle safely, then he could make his peace with his death.
It wasn’t Constantine who reached him first, though. It was Isabeau, throwing herself to her knees on the ground and pulling him into her arms, her hands closing securely around his shoulder and the back of his head. Despite all the blood, despite everything, Tiernan rested his head against her shoulder, his arms wrapping weakly around her.
She felt like home. She felt like the safety Tiernan had never had ever since he had lost everyone who cared about him. And in that moment, rather selfishly, he realized that he didn’t want to lose her.
He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want all of his efforts to have gone to waste, to meet his end after he had fought so hard for what he wanted. If it was his life or Isabeau’s, then he would gladly give his; there was no question about that. But if he could live a long and happy life by her side, if there was even the smallest chance of that happening, then he would do anything to have it.
As Constantine approached, his footsteps heavy on the ground, Tiernan used the last of his strength to push himself to his feet, hand reaching for the sword still embedded in Beag’s chest. Constantine’s gaze never left him as he walked closer and closer, his own sword still in his hand, the blade dripping blood with every step he took. Tiernan could imagine his blood there, too, mixing with all the others after Constantine cut his head clean off his neck.
Neither man spoke. Behind Tiernan, Isabeau stood to her feet as well, her arms wrapping around his waist as she peeked at Constantine over his shoulder. Tiernan stayed in front of her resolutely, silently telling Constantine that if, for whatever reason, he had changed his mind and wanted to get to her, he would have to go through him first, exhaustion be damned.
Constantine didn’t come to a halt until he was right in front of them, looking at them both as though he was trying to peer right into their minds. There was that penetrating stare again, the one that always sent a chill down Tiernan’s spine. He thought that was what prey must feel like under the eye of a great beast, this unsettling feeling that even mercy from such a creature could somehow be dangerous, like a threat that one day, that mercy would run out and it was only a matter of time.
Then, with a smooth swing of his hand, Constantine sheathed his sword. But still, Tiernan didn’t move; he didn’t even let go of his own blade, unable to believe it was truly over.
After all, why would Constantine be letting him go?
“Leave,” Constantine said, the word barked out like an order. “Go on.”
Once again, Tiernan remained rooted to the spot. Even he didn’t know whether he was unable or unwilling to move—all he knew was that his legs wouldn’t carry him away from Constantine, away from the carnage and the danger. He didn’t think it was all over. It sounded too good to be true.
It wasn’t until Isabeau began to tug at his arm that Tiernan finally moved, though his gaze remained steady on Constantine, watching him the entire time. Even when he could no longer walk backwards, the bodies on the ground blocking his way, he kept glancing at the man over his shoulder, waiting for the moment he would attack.
Only he never did. He truly let him and Isabeau go, following them with his gaze rather than his feet.
It was only when they reached the edge of the clearing, Tiernan grabbing a still lit torch from a fallen warrior to light their path through the forest that Constantine called out to them once more.
“Ye owe me, Tiernan,” he said. “Dinnae forget that. One day, I’ll come tae collect yer debt.”
Tiernan came to a sudden halt, a weary sigh escaping him. He was tired of owing people. He was tired of living with that shadow over his head, wondering when and if the time would come when someone would force him right back into this life against his will. A part of him wanted to tell Constantine they should settle it right then and there, with their blades if he so desired. It would be cleaner, safer. It would be the right thing to do.
But Tiernan couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had already admitted to himself that he was selfish, that he wanted to get as much of life as he could. If he fought Constantine there, he had no doubts he would end up dead like all those other men lying by his feet.
“Fine,” Tiernan called over his shoulder. “I’ll be waitin’.”
It was a threat as much as it was a promise, and Constantine knew that. The last thing Tiernan saw before the clearing dissolved into shadows behind him was Constantine’s amused smile and the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave him, as if to say he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Walking through the forest, Tiernan held Isabeau close to him. In the distance, dawn began to break in the horizon. Around them, in the branches of the oaks and the firs, the birds started their morning song. And Tiernan may not have known what awaited him once they got back to the castle, but as long as he had Isabeau by his side, he didn’t fear it.