Page 20 of Following Her Highland Journey (The White Witch’s Apprentices #2)

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H enry wanted to go after Adair the moment the men took her, and only Lorcan's steadying hand and sharp whisper in his ear was enough to hold him back. They needed to let her be captured and taken to the camp; there would be more men there, and therefore most likely the Laird's new second in command. If they captured that man, then they might just be able to get the information they needed to pass on to Laird Shamos Niall, Caiside's uncle, and put an end to this new alliance between McMillan and McLeod.

"Steady. I understand it's killin' ye tae let her go, but we must let them think they've won," Lorcan reminded him.

Henry gritted his teeth but nodded. They'd wait an hour and then follow; he knew McNair's strategies and knew that the men would not be camped much further away than that. They led a small band of ten McLeod men, which along with Henry and Lorcan's swords should be more than enough to overpower the camp and take Adair back.

"Have ye any idea who we'll be lookin' for?" Lorcan asked while they waited, sharing a small skein of whisky for heat and for courage. "Which man must be kept alive at all costs?"

Henry considered this. He had been surprised how readily Lorcan and Caiside had not only accepted the secret of his bloodline, but also seen it as an advantage in the long run. And it was true; he, as someone who had grown up in the Keep, had knowledge no other attacking force could ever have about McNair and his operations.

"With McDonaghue dead, I suspect me uncle would turn next tae Kevin Kilnairy. He's a lad about me own age, a big rough fellow who, fortunately for us, is fairly easy tae pick out in a crowd if ye ken what ye're lookin' for." Henry grimaced, remembering the way Kilnairy had treated him when they were both younger, but quickly moved past it. "He has pallid skin, thin as glass, and a huge scar down one side of his face where he's missin' an ear. Not a hair on his head, either. Ye willnae be able tae miss him."

"Kilnairy it is, then. I'll pass the word on tae the men," Lorcan replied. He reached over and clapped Henry on the shoulder in a friendly, fraternal way. "Ye're doin' well, Henry. Dinnae worry. We'll get yer lass back safe and sound, and save me clan while we're at it."

"I hope so," Henry replied. Only when Lorcan moved away did he stop to think how natural it had sounded: ' yer lass', Lorcan had said.

That was what he wanted, he knew that now. He loved Isobel with all his heart, but…but it would never be the way that he should, and nor would Isobel ever love him that way. Just a little time ago, he would have been content to continue anyway. But everything had changed. There was no going back now.

"I cannae lose her again, Lorcan," he said suddenly in a quiet but intense voice. "I just…I cannae. I willnae."

"I understand more than ye ken," Lorcan assured him. "There was a time when I thought I'd lost Caiside forever. I found her, only tae let her go, and it was the worst mistake of me life. When we found each other again, I kent that I would never let her go, nae matter the cost. She's me everythin', and I her willin' servant."

Henry smiled. He was finding that he really liked Lorcan. This was the kind of man with whom he could easily build a friendship. The smile faded, and the thought made his heart ache a little as he thought about poor Michael, lost to this war, but he shook that off as best as he could. Now was not the time for mourning. He couldn't focus on that right now.

"Not many men would willingly call themselves their women's servants," he said. "Ye must adore her."

"She's the moon and the stars in me night sky, guidin' me in the dark," Lorcan said immediately, with such sincerity. "Wherever she led, I'd follow. I bet ye feel somethin' similar about Adair, eh?"

Henry didn't answer, but thinking of her now was enough to light his heart and soul ablaze. She was the sun, the morning, the sign of the day that came after the longest, darkest night. She was sunshine and heat and comfort, and he loved her with everything he had.

"I understand what ye mean," he said at last. "I do."

Lorcan nodded and offered him the whisky again. "Well, in that case, me friend, let's go get her."

They found the camp within the hour, almost exactly where Henry had expected it would be, perched on top of one of the hills overlooking the loch. Adair sat outside, tied to a tree and looking cold and miserable. It took everything that Henry had not to just go running to her. He was glad to have Lorcan at his side, helping keep him in line while they planned their next move.

The camp was quiet. It would have been easy to sneak in under the cover of dark and slit each and every one of their throats, but the very thought made Henry feel queasy. He was no stranger to blood and death, but he'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime. He'd kill to survive or to protect, but he was no assassin and no executioner.

Luckily, Lorcan seemed to agree with the sentiment. They'd talked in detail about what they should do when they got there, but Henry knew the plan could only be as solid as the circumstances allowed. Lorcan agreed they would kill as few men as possible, yes, but both of them knew that there would not always be a choice.

Now that they were at the camp, that was much more obvious, and Henry found himself balking at the sight. The sprawling layout of the tents stretched out before him, the realization hit him like a physical blow: there were many more men here than he had anticipated, perhaps forty to their twelve. The odds were not in their favor, and a direct assault would be foolhardy at best. They needed a plan, a strategy that would give them the upper hand without risking unnecessary bloodshed. Henry's mind raced as he assessed the situation, his instincts telling him that subtlety would be their best tactical choice despite it hardly being his own greatest asset.

Taking a deep breath, Henry decided to go in alone at first, knowing that any sudden movements or noise could alert the camp to their presence. He moved with cat-like stealth, darting from shadow to shadow as he made his way across the camp toward Adair's tent. Every sound seemed magnified in the stillness of the night, the rustle of fabric or the creak of a floorboard echoing like thunder in Henry's ears. He held his breath with each step, willing himself to remain silent and unseen.

As he reached Adair, Henry's heart leaped with relief at the sight of her. She gasped in relief as she saw him, her eyes wide as he quickly moved to cut her bonds. With practiced efficiency, he helped her to her feet, working as gently as he could while still rushing. For a moment, it seemed as though they might escape without a sound, as though their plan might actually succeed.

But then the alarm cry went up from the guards, a shrill sound that shattered the stillness of the night like a thunderclap. Adair's eyes widened in fear, and Henry's heart sank as he realized that their moment of quiet respite was over. Everything suddenly devolved into chaos, the camp erupting into a frenzy of activity as men scrambled to arm themselves and defend their territory—and of course prevent their escape.

The men spilled out of the tents in a wave, all brandishing weapons and angrily yelling at Henry that he’d better run. Henry grabbed Adair and pushed her in the right direction, and she nodded, running as fast as she could toward the edge of the campsite. She was met by Lorcan and the McLeod men, who sped toward them now, here to reinforce Henry in this fight.

Henry drew his sword and parried each hit that came his way as best he could, but there were many of them, and more than one knife found his skin. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep going, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill where he could, but he wasn't afraid to end a life if necessary.

Nearby, Lorcan and the McLeod men fought bravely, a few of the men hanging back to protect Adair while Lorcan himself fought in the fray. His missing eye may well have been present, for his accuracy and strength were still as strong as ever, and Henry found himself greatly admiring this man who was clearly intensely skilled.

"Henry McNair!" a voice boomed, and Henry spun to see the man he knew he would—Kevin Kilnairy, approaching with a large drawn sword and a murderous look in his eye. "Ye think ye can just come here and steal me prize?"

Henry flexed his hand, the muscles tense and throbbing with pain. "That. Isnae. Me. Name!" he snarled, his voice a fierce growl that cut through the tension of the field. With a surge of adrenaline, he launched himself forward.

The two were soon locked in a deadly fight, their blades weaving intricate patterns as they fought with all the ferocity of cornered beasts under the light of the watching moon. Kilnairy's strikes were heavy, landing with the force of a sledgehammer and sending shockwaves of pain coursing through Henry's body. He staggered back, his hand flying to his side as a searing pain shot through him.

Blood welled from the wound, staining his shirt crimson as he fought to maintain his footing. Kilnairy's taunts echoed in his ears, mocking and cruel, but Henry refused to yield. The fire of determination burned bright within him, driving him forward even as his strength waned.

"Give up, lad," Kilnairy taunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Come back home and let me Laird show ye his mercy."

But Henry shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "Me uncle's mercy lies at the end of a rope or the sharp end of a blade," he replied, his voice thick with defiance. He glanced to the side, catching sight of Lorcan approaching, and knew he had to keep Kilnairy distracted."Why do ye fight for him?" Henry continued, his words laced with scorn. "Ye ken ye're nothin' tae him, ye never have been."

Kilnairy's face contorted with rage, his grip tightening on his sword as he lunged forward with renewed fury. But before he could strike, Lorcan sprang into action, his sword swinging in a vicious arc that sent Kilnairy reeling.

The pommel of Lorcan's sword connected with Kilnairy's temple with a sickening thud, and the man collapsed to the ground at Henry's feet, unconscious and defeated.

Henry dropped to his knees beside his fallen foe, checking his vitals with practiced efficiency. "Alive," he grunted, relief flooding through him. "Good."

The other men were dead or incapacitated, and it was time to go. Lorcan's men tied up Kilnairy and dragged him to the horses, and Lorcan looped Henry's arm over his shoulders, helping him move.

Henry allowed himself to be carried, his energy spent. But when he saw Adair waiting for him, his spirit returned.

They had what they needed. Adair was safe. And soon, Henry would be able to rest. It was over. At last, it was over.