Page 44 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

C olin stepped protectively in front of Morag, his own blade rising. "Run," he said quietly, not taking his eyes off Fraser. "Head east toward our camp. Niven will be lookin' out."

"I'm nae leaving ye—" Morag started.

"There's nay time fer this, Morag. Now. Go!" Colin's voice cracked like a whip as he suddenly lunged forward, his sword taking the first guard across the chest before the man could react. His dirk found the second guard's throat in the same fluid motion. "Now, Morag! Run!"

Fraser cursed and raised his sword, but Colin was between him and Morag, his blade weaving deadly patterns in the firelight.

"I'll find ye soon," Colin called over his shoulder as steel rang on steel. "I promise!"

Morag hesitated for one agonizing heartbeat, torn between staying to fight beside her husband and obeying his command. But the desperation in his voice won out in the end. She turned and ran.

"Stop the Armstrong lass!" Fraser's voice boomed across the camp, filled with sudden terrible understanding. "STOP HER!"

Morag ran blindly into the smoky darkness, but after several yards she couldn't help herself—she glanced back over her shoulder. Her heart clenched as she saw Colin surrounded by Fraser soldiers who had rushed to their leader's aids.

He's going tae die because of me.

The thought nearly stopped her in her tracks, but Colin's voice echoed in her mind: I'll find ye soon.

I promise. She had to trust him. Had to believe in the Iron Laird's skill and strength.

She dodged between tents, using the camp's chaotic layout to her advantage.

Behind her, she could hear her pursuers crashing through guy-ropes and stumbling over supply crates in their haste.

"There! By the horse lines!"

"Nay, she went toward the wagons!"

The confusion bought her precious seconds. Morag veered left, away from the main concentration of Fraser men, heading toward what she hoped was the camp's perimeter. If she could just reach the fighting, find Colin's men...

A figure stepped out of the shadows ahead—another Fraser soldier with his sword drawn. "Hold there, lass!"

Morag didn't slow down. She barreled into him at full speed, using her shoulder to knock him backward into a tent pole. The man cursed and swung wildly with his blade, but she was already past him, running deeper into the maze of canvas and rope.

The horse lines. If I can reach the horses...

But as she rounded a cluster of supply wagons, more pursuers appeared—three men with spears, blocking her path. They'd anticipated her route, cutting off her escape.

"Gotcha now, ye little bitch," one of them panted.

Morag spun around, looking for another way out, but Fraser soldiers were closing in from all sides. The circle was tightening, and she had nowhere left to run.

Fight then. If they want me, they'll have tae earn it.

She pulled the knife from her belt, holding it with the confidence Ruaridh had taught her. "Come on then! Which one of ye cowards wants tae be first?"

The nearest soldier laughed, but kept his distance. "Put down the blade, lass. Ye're outnumbered ten tae one."

"Then ten of ye are about tae learn what a Highland lass can do when she's angry," Morag snarled.

But even as she spoke, she knew it was hopeless. More Fraser men were arriving every second, forming a tightening ring around her position. She could fight, but she couldn't win.

A spear butt struck her from behind, sending her stumbling forward. Another soldier grabbed her wrist, twisting until she dropped the knife with a cry of pain.

"That's enough!" one of the men commanded. "Fraser wants her alive!"

They bound her hands roughly, ignoring her struggles. When she tried to bite one of her captors, he backhanded her hard enough to make her ears ring.

"Feisty little thing," he muttered. "Fraser's gonnae have his hands full with this one."

They dragged her through the camp like a trophy, past burning supply wagons and groups of Fraser warriors preparing for battle. Morag could hear the sounds of fighting in the distance—the clash of steel, the screams of wounded men, the war cries of Highland warriors locked in mortal combat.

Colin. I'm sorry. I did me best. Please be alive.

Fraser's men hauled her forward, forcing her to her knees on the rough planked floor.

“Me laird!" one of her captors called. "We found her! Found her tryin' tae reach the horse lines!"

Fraser turned toward Morag. "Did she now? How disappointing. I had hoped ye'd be more... grateful fer me hospitality, Lady Armstrong. Especially since ye ken Armstrong will meet his ancestors taenight."

"Go tae hell," Morag spat, meeting his gaze with open defiance.

"Such language," Fraser tutted, moving closer. "Perhaps some time in chains will improve yer manners.

"Morag—" It was barely a whisper, but it conveyed all he felt for her.

"Colin!" She lunged forward desperately into the tent, her bound hands making her stumble, but her heart soaring at the sight of him alive. "I'm so sorry! I tried tae… I'm sorry I failed ye!"

"Ye didnae fail me, lass," Colin said fiercely, his voice rough with emotion even as Fraser's soldiers pressed their swords to his neck. "Ye were brave. Ye tried."

"How touchin'," Fraser interrupted, stepping closer until the point of his blade came to rest against Morag's throat. "I might have tae kill her just fer the pleasure of seeing ye in pain."

Colin froze, his whole body coiled with barely restrained violence. "Let her go, Fraser. This is between ye and me."

Morag thrashed against her captors' grip, trying to break free to reach her husband. "Colin, if we die, I'm sorry! I was such a fool, I should never have run away?—"

"Easy, lass," one of the guards grunted, tightening his hold as she fought them. "Settle down or ye'll get hurt."

"Get yer filthy hands off me!" Morag snarled, driving her elbow back into his ribs. The man cursed but held fast.

"Are ye hurt?" Colin asked urgently, his eyes never leaving her face even as Fraser's blade pressed against her skin. "Did they?—"

"I'm fine," Morag said quickly. "Colin, I'm fine. "

"Shut up! Nae another word from either of ye!," Fraser interrupted dryly, though his sword never wavered. "But we need tae get on with business."

Colin's dark eyes burned with cold fury as they fixed on Fraser.

"Ronan Fraser," Colin boomed, his voice deadly calm despite the terror of seeing a blade at his wife's throat. "Ye've caused me a great deal of trouble. But this is between lairds. Let me wife go and let's settle this now."

Fraser gestured sharply to a soldier "Aye. This is gettin' too tiresome. Bind the lass tae that post there. Make sure she has a clear view—I want her tae watch her husband die."

"Nay!" Morag struggled against her captors as they dragged her toward a thick wooden beam that supported the building's roof. "Colin, dinnae?—"

"It's all right, lass," Colin said quietly, never taking his eyes off Fraser. "This willnae take long."

Fraser's men bound Morag's hands behind the post with rough rope, positioning her so she faced the center of the tent, where the two lairds stood facing each other like ancient champions preparing for single combat.

"There," Fraser said pleasantly, drawing his sword with a whisper of steel. "Now we can settle this properly. Man tae man, blade tae blade. The way our ancestors would have done it. Step back and give him his sword!"

In one swift movement, Colin grabbed his sword from a soldier, his grip tightening on his own weapon as he studied his opponent.

Fraser was tall and broad-shouldered, moving with the fluid confidence of a man who'd spent decades perfecting his swordcraft.

His blade was fine steel, well-balanced, and bore the nicks and stains of frequent use.

He watched the four soldiers step back, and knew they were confident Fraser had the capability to win.

I ken Fraser is very good. But I didnae come this far tae lose now.

"I thought ye might like tae understand exactly why ye’re about tae die.” Fraser continued conversationally, beginning to circle Colin like a predator stalking prey, "Why yer clan will be destroyed, and why yer bonny wife will become a widow before dawn."

"I understand enough," Colin replied, matching Fraser's movement, keeping his sword between them. "Ye're a bitter man who can't accept that MacDuff chose the better offer."

Fraser's pleasant expression darkened. "Better offer? Is that what ye call it?" His sword came up in a classic guard position, the point aimed at Colin's heart. "Dae ye have any idea what ye cost me when ye stole that alliance?"

"I stole nothing. MacDuff made his choice freely."

"Choice?" Fraser's laugh was bitter as Highland winter. "What choice? Ye went crawling tae Alistair MacDuff like a beggar, offering him terms that should have bankrupted yer clan. Terms that no sane laird would agree to."

The first clash came without warning. Fraser's blade swept in a deadly arc toward Colin's head, but Colin was ready, his own sword rising to meet it. Steel rang on steel in the confined space, sparks flying from the impact.

Colin gave ground, using the room's furniture as obstacles while he tested Fraser's skill. The man was fast—faster than Colin had expected. His blade work was fluid and precise, each cut flowing into the next with deadly grace.

"The MacDuffs were our lifeline," Fraser snarled as he pressed his attack, his sword weaving deadly patterns in the lamplight. "Fer decades, me clan had been negotiating that alliance. We needed their trade routes, their connections tae the Lowland markets."

Colin parried a vicious thrust, then riposted with a cut that Fraser deflected easily. "Then ye should have offered better terms."

"Better terms?" Fraser's voice rose with fury.

"I offered MacDuff wealth, military support, strategic partnerships that would have made his clan the most powerful in the Highlands.

But ye—" He lunged forward, his blade seeking Colin's throat.

"—ye offered him desperation. Promises ye couldn't possibly keep. "

Colin twisted away from the thrust, using Fraser's momentum against him. His pommel struck Fraser's shoulder, sending the man staggering backward into a wooden table.

"And yet he chose me," Colin said grimly, pressing his advantage.

Fraser recovered quickly, sweeping the table's contents aside as he brought his sword up in a defensive position. Maps and writing materials scattered across the floor as the two men circled each other again.

"Because ye lied tae him!" Fraser spat. "Ye promised him things—lands, trading rights, military commitments—that yer clan can never deliver. Did ye tell him about the debts ye've incurred? The promises ye've made tae secure the gold fer her dowry?"

Colin's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he feinted left, then struck right, his blade scoring across Fraser's mail with a shower of sparks.

"Colin!" Morag's voice cut through their deadly dance. "He's trying tae distract ye! Dinnae listen!"

Fraser's eyes glittered with malice as he glanced toward the bound woman. "Wise advice from yer wife. But she daesnae ken the full truth, daes she? Daesnae ken what her marriage truly cost?"

"Be silent," Colin warned, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"Oh, but she should ken," Fraser continued, his blade working in complex patterns as he spoke. "She should ken that her husband sacrificed his clan's future just tae possess her. Know about the lands he's promised away."

Their swords locked at the hilts, bringing them face to face. Colin could smell the man's breath, see the fanatic gleam in his eyes.

"Ye see," Fraser whispered, "the MacDuff alliance wasn't just about trade routes or political advantage. It was about survival. Me clan has been strangled by Armstrong control of the northern passes fer decades. Without access tae MacDuff lands and their southern connections, we're trapped."

Colin broke the lock with a sudden twist, sending Fraser stumbling backward. "Then maybe ye should have negotiated instead of raiding and murdering."

"Negotiate?" Fraser's laugh was harsh. "With yer faither? With ye? Yer faither wouldnae even speak tae me when I came tae the castle. So I kenned there was only one thing tae dae. Take what I wanted and damn the consequences fer anyone else."

He launched a furious assault, his blade seeming to be everywhere at once. Colin gave ground, deflecting cuts that would have taken his head, parrying thrusts aimed at his heart. Fraser was letting his anger fuel his swordwork, making him dangerous but also predictable.

"But now," Fraser continued between sword strokes, "now I can take it all. Yer clan broken, yer lands forfeited, and yer wife..." He smiled coldly. "Well, she'll need a new husband, won't she? One who can actually provide fer her."

"Over me dead body," Colin snarled.

"Exactly!" Fraser's blade swept in a vicious diagonal cut that Colin barely deflected. "Once yer gone, she'll be a widow in need of protection. Who better tae provide it than the man who rescued her from the ruins of Armstrong pride?"

Colin's response was to drive his sword toward Fraser's heart in a thrust that would have ended the fight, but Fraser twisted aside at the last second. The point scored along his ribs instead, drawing blood but not striking deep enough to disable.

"And if she proves... reluctant," Fraser continued, breathing harder now, "well, there are other ways tae secure the MacDuff alliance. Alistair MacDuff is a practical man. When he sees his daughter's choice is between marriage tae me or watching his lands burn, he'll see reason."

"Ye're insane," Colin said, circling again. "MacDuff would never agree tae such a thing."

"Wouldn't he?" Fraser's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. "When the alternative is seeing his clan destroyed? When he learns that his precious daughter's first husband led his people tae slaughter through pride and desperation? Oh, he'll agree. They always do when the alternative is extinction.

Colin’s eyes narrowed.

This ends now.