Page 44 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

A s Alasdair left Freyja, it was an effort not to glance over his shoulder at her. But if he did, he might not leave her at all.

And he had to make sure Colban and his men didn’t escape. If they did, Freyja would never be safe and any chance of freedom, even on her beloved Isles, would be lost to her forever.

He’d never let that happen. He should have been here, to protect her. Instead, he’d put the earl first, but thank God he’d come to his senses in time.

And yet when he found her, she’d already broken free from Colban’s grasp because of her knowledge and skill with her medicinal plants.

Fierce pride surged through him, mingled with despair. Would he ever find a way to tell her how proud he was of her? How deeply he wished he had sailed to Rum all those weeks ago without the earl’s orders ringing in his ears?

But one thing was certain: He had no intention of letting justice run its course when it came to Colban MacDonald. The man had planned to abduct Freyja, and once she was widowed, it was easy to guess what he’d had in mind.

He’d ensure Colban was dealt with permanently.

With grim determination, he skirted the woodlands on his right, and as he rounded the bend in the road, he sucked in a sharp breath as Colban MacDonald came riding towards him.

His fears had been justified. The bastard had managed to bribe someone to release him and overpower the man Clyde had left behind.

They both pulled up, horses snorting, and Alasdair cast a calculating glance over the two men that accompanied the other man.

They, like Colban, didn’t appear to be affected by Freyja’s sleeping potion.

Goddamn it, his chances against three were slender at best, but whatever happened, Colban wouldn’t be walking away from here.

It was clear his unexpected arrival had unsettled Colban, but he quickly recovered. “Good day, Alasdair.”

Did the man possess not the slightest shred of honor? But then, Colban couldn’t be sure he’d met Freyja on the way and knew of his actions, and congeniality was a tactic to take one’s enemy by surprise.

Too bad for Colban he wasn’t falling for it.

“A good day for justice,” he said, and drew his sword.

Colban, the moldering louse, actually laughed. “Are ye serious, man? We shall dispatch ye in an instant, and I’ll have Lady Freyja for my wife, the way it was always intended.”

“Lady Freyja was never yer intended bride.”

Colban’s sneer turned ugly. “Aye, she was. I’ve always wanted her. And what’s more, the MacDonalds of the Isles will not yield any more power to the cursed Campbells. It’s imperative Kilvenie Tower remains under MacDonald control.”

Raw fury pumped through him at Colban’s reasons for wanting to wed Freyja. Would he have felt any better had the other man professed undying love for her, instead? Likely not, but at least that was an honorable motive.

Abducting her for her inheritance turned his guts. How am I so different? He’d married her because his earl had commanded him to do so. And for the same reason.

His rage melded with self-disgust, but it only served to strengthen his resolve to end this danger against Freyja once and for all. If he needed to sacrifice his life to do so, he wouldn’t be going to hell alone this day.

But instead of coming to face him, Colban pulled back and the other two men rode forward. Damn the lily-livered maggot. He bared his teeth and gripped his sword tighter; then all three men stilled, their gazes riveted over his shoulder.

He wouldn’t fall for such a pitiful ruse.

The sound of horses from behind him alerted him that the men weren’t trying to distract him, but he kept his gaze on them, nevertheless.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Clyde and one of his men flank him, and there wasn’t time to wonder why the devil Clyde had decided to leave Freyja and follow him, as Colban’s men attacked.

Alasdair urged his horse forward, ignoring the two men and focusing on Colban. The last remnants of his sneer had vanished, and he fumbled for his sword, swinging it wildly at Alasdair.

The clash of steel against steel splintered the air and familiar exhilaration pumped through Alasdair’s blood. He’d best this bastard, and Freyja would be safe.

*

Freyja clutched the reins, her gaze riveted on Alasdair as he fought Colban, and white-hot terror seared her heart. When Clyde had knocked him out, she should’ve poured another of her potions down his throat, to ensure he wouldn’t wake for hours, but it hadn’t even occurred to her.

Was her error going to cost Alasdair his life?

But if two of his men had already recovered, it appeared her knowledge had failed her when she’d needed it most, so would it even have mattered if she’d drugged him?

Blessed Eir, merciful God, please let Alasdair live.

Clyde dispatched one of the other men and, momentarily distracted, she watched him tumble to the ground. She didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t one of the men who had accompanied Colban this morning. She glanced at the other man, but she’d never seen him before, either.

Alasdair and Colban’s swords clashed ferociously as Alasdair inexorably drove the other man backwards. If only she was as proficient with a sword as Isolde. But she’d never understood the appeal, even though she admired her sister’s skill.

A tortured yell filled the air as Clyde’s man reared back, his arm hanging uselessly by his side. Before Colban’s man could finish his attack, Clyde plunged his sword through the man’s throat, and he fell to the ground with a hideous gurgle.

Clyde grabbed his man’s reins and led the horse away from the carnage. He clutched his arm as blood seeped through his shirt sleeve, and Clyde returned to the battle to capture the two riderless horses.

Finally, something she could do to be useful.

Hastily, she dismounted and opened her satchel to find what she needed to ease his discomfort and close the wound.

As she pulled out a bottle of astringent she glanced up and a gasp caught in her throat as Alasdair thrust his sword through Colban’s chest.

For a blood-streaked moment, memories of when she and Colban had played together as children flashed through her mind. He had always possessed an abundance of arrogance, and she had never imagined a life with him, but she’d never wished him ill, either.

But that was before he had set his sights on murdering her husband, and relief washed through her that the danger was over. Alasdair was safe. She had the alarming urge to sink to her knees, but there was work to be done.

Thank ye, blessed Eir. Thank ye, merciful God.

“My lady,” croaked the injured man, and she glanced at him to see his eyes wide with shock, just as someone grabbed her braid and wrenched her head back, and the sharp sting of a dagger pressed against her neck.

Incomprehension pounded through her but before her stunned thoughts could form further, a hot breath grazed her ear.

“Not so fast, Lady Freyja,” snarled a voice, and incomprehension mutated into confusion. What in the name of God was Lamont, Afi’s former physician, doing here?