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Chapter Nine – Colin

I’d never taken pleasure in killing a man, but this time could be the exception. I had a breath to glance at Freya. Her lip was split and bleeding. Her dark lashes lay against her pale cheeks—a mercy, at least, that she’d been rendered unconscious. A small gift from the gods. Her gown was tattered. Her hair knotted. I drew my gaze to the man who would have ravished her on the ground, dirt and roots digging into her body. I imagined plunging my hand into his chest and ripping out his heart. I did not feel shocked by my thoughts. My anger was the only thing I could feel. It pulsed within me, numbing all else.

The man took his boot off Freya’s chest and glared at me. “Who the feck are ye?”

“I’m the man who’s going to kill ye,” I replied. I could attempt to teach this man a lesson about hitting women, but men like him were beyond changing. “I’ll be fair about it,” I added. “Ye can try to best me, and if ye do, well then, the gods have spoken and off with the lass ye go. Yer name, if ye please,” I said, as I withdrew my sword, and he his.

“Laird Buchanan,” he snarled. “And ye are?”

“Laird MacDonald,” I offered, raising my sword.

“I’m going to kill ye, MacDonald, and then feck this here lass whilst I rule over the Isles,” Buchanan offered, pointing his sword toward me. “And then I’m going to kill that man,” he said, waving his sword toward my brother.

“I’m afraid I can nae allow ye to do that,” I replied. “I’m rather fond of my brother. Come on then.” I motioned him with my palm to come at me. I’d been in enough combat in my lifetime, to understand I was better than most. My da had me training from a very early age when most lads were sleeping or eating or running through the forest wielding swords fashioned of sticks and defeating made up enemies.

Buchanan lunged then, snapping my attention to him. I brought my sword up to deflect his initial hit and was surprised by the power behind his swing. It was greater than most men, but I knocked the hit away with effort. He came again wish shocking speed, striking low, so I had to jump not to be struck across the leg.

“Colin, do ye need aid?” Connor called.

“Nay!” I responded, swinging as I did to strike at Buchanan. I caught him across the arm, slicing into his skin, leaving a trail of crimson with my blade, but it didn’t seem to slow him.

“Ye’re certain?” Connor demanded, as I ducked and blocked another swing.

“Aye,” I growled. This fight would be fair. I’d not have my brother’s help besting this man. If I was to win, it was the will of the gods, and if I was to lose, that was the gods’ will as well.

Buchanan lunged forward, skimming his blade along my left side, almost gutting me. A cry split the air. The lass had awakened. Buchanan turned toward Freya, and I seized the opportunity. I struck him in the gut, my sword going deep. With a grunt, he dropped to his knees as he released his sword. He looked toward me, eyes wide with the surprise of a man who knew death was close. His hands came to my sword, his fingers closing around the blade. Instantly, blood dripped from his hands, my razor-sharp blade having cut into his skin.

“Mercy,” he pleaded, the word a ragged gasp of desperation.

“He does nae deserve mercy,” came words hard as stone.

I glanced toward Freya. She stood now, arms wrapped around her waist, a far enough distance from us to run if needed. She was a shattered object, put back together hastily, the pieces not quite fitting. Her face was swollen and bruises already purpled her skin.

Fear glinted in her eyes that I might indeed give this man mercy. “What sort of mercy?” I asked, thinking now of how Elizabeth had told me that Magy had begged for her life and that of our unborn child. “If ye’re asking for the sort of mercy ye were offering Freya, then ye’ll nae get any. If ye’re asking for mercy from one warrior to another, I’ll make yer death quick.”

“Make it quick then,” he said. “Take my head.”

“Verra well,” I said, pulling my sword from his stomach, so I could use it to take his head.

I saw my mistake in the curl of his lips and the flash of a dagger. There was no time to correct, though. The dagger struck hard, but not true. It plunged into my left arm, but with my right, I drove my sword into his stomach once more, and this time I twisted until he howled, and fell backward to the ground. I moved over him as he lay there panting, blood and saliva coming from his parted lips. “This will be a verra slow death,” I told him.

“’Tis exactly what he deserves,” the lass said, moving to stand beside me and look down at him. “Ye would have raped me.” She spit on him. “Ye die the death of a man without honor.” She bent down then and set her splayed hand on his heart. Silence fell for one moment and the temperature seemed to drop before her eyes started glowing, and she said, “Ye will nae enter Valhalla. Ye will dwell on the other side of the doors with all the dishonorable men. That is what awaits ye, Laird Buchanan. I have seen the vision.”

She rose and turned to me. I saw it then in the stiffness of her spine, the jutting of her chin. There was steel underneath the shattered pieces, and that’s what had kept her alive.

“Come,” she said, looking between me and Connor. “Ye must aid me in saving my sister.”

I frowned. “Aid ye?” What the devil was she thinking. She barely looked as if she would be standing much longer.

She nodded, stepped toward me, and before I knew what was occurring, she pulled the dagger out of my arm. I jerked in response but managed to hold in my curse. I’d had much worse injuries in my life, but that didn’t make this any less painful. She reached toward me again, and I flinched backward, which curved her upper lip into a smile. She grabbed the edge of my tunic, and with a strength that surprised me from such a wee lass, she ripped along the edge of it that had been frayed in the fight. She then used her teeth to tear it all the way off and wrapped the material around my arm to stop the flow of blood that was trickling warm from the wound Buchanan had inflicted. “This should hold ye until ye can kill the rest of the men.”

“The rest of what men?”

She looked at me as if I were a simpleton. “Buchanan’s men, of course. They hold Vanora down the path.” She pointed behind her.

“Vanora?”

She frowned and suddenly swayed where she stood. “Ye best nae let my sister ken ye asked who she is. I doubt she’d take kindly to yer nae kenning her name.” As the words left her mouth, she swayed again, but this time, she tilted so precariously, that I grabbed her arm to steady her. She did not even glance to where I held her arm. She did, in fact, not even seem to notice. Clearly, what she had endured this day had muddled her thoughts as well as battered her body. How had I not noticed? Well, I had been busy. I studied her for one moment. Blood smeared her face, but it was her eyes, dull and void of emotion that were the biggest indicator. I thought upon what I’d just witnessed happening to her. It was possible, she had endured much worse.

“I remember now, lass,” I said, gentling my tone as she sagged against me.

“There are three men and a priest.” She laughed then and swiped the back of her hand over her forehead to leave a smear of blood. I glanced at her hand and saw it had deep gouges in it that were bleeding. “Priests are men,” she said, laughing again, but it was a hollow, humorless sound. “Three against four,” she said, holding up her dagger, pushing off me, and folding like a wave crashing down. I caught her before she hit the ground.

Her head lolled backwards to expose the long slender column of her neck, and her eyes closed. Her eyelashes, surprisingly dark for her red hair, fanned the top of her cheek bones. She was light, too thin, as if she either had not been fed enough or did not eat purposely. Still, even with all her bruises and cuts, she was a lovely lass. Shame that I would add to her misery stirred, but I dismissed it. Shame did not compare to the need to keep my clan and our home safe and in our control, and I would never hurt this lass.

“Ye want me to stay with her or come with ye?”

“Come with me,” I said, laying her gently down. “I do nae ken how trained these warriors are,” I said, glancing toward Buchanan to ensure he could offer her no harm. One look confirmed he’d never harm anyone again. Death had been quicker than I’d hoped, but given the circumstances, it was for the best.

As we walked down the trail, Connor said, “She did nae remember ye.”

“She will,” I said, knowing her mind had not been all there moments ago.

“Do ye think she’ll be so grateful ye saved her that she’ll willingly wed ye?”

“Nay,” I said, “I think she’ll want to kill me.”

“Then ye best sleep with one eye open so the lass does nae plant a dagger in yer heart.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “I fear ye’re correct.”