Page 29 of Under the Spell of a Highland Healer (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #6)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T here were too many men.

That was the firstling that came to Hugo’s mind when he heard the commotion outside the chapel. There were too many men for Domnhall and his forces to face, as there were many more than those Niall had revealed. Hugo had seen traces of them in the woods all around him, and though he couldn’t begin to estimate how many Niall had brought with him, he knew the man would have made sure there were enough people there to defeat Domnhall.

They should have known better, Hugo thought. They should have known Niall would be prepared for them, that he would do anything it took to win.

Being hasty had been their downfall, but then again, they had never had any other choice. With Laird Robertson in Niall’s hands, they could do nothing but formulate a hasty plan and hope for the best, basing their futures on a gamble. As far as gambles were concerned, Hugo had taken worse chances in his life and he had always managed to come through unscathed. He was too used to his good fortune, too confident that he could take on any enemy that stood in his way.

And now Niall had proven him wrong.

Nothing could hurt him more than seeing Abigail struggle against Finnian as he dragged her to the altar before the priest. The ache in Hugo’s chest was almost unbearable, akin to a sword through the heart, and the more he watched, held securely in the pew by Niall’s men, the more what little hope was left in him began to bleed out, leaving him entirely empty.

He had failed her. He had failed Abigail and there was nothing he could do to change that.

The blow on his head had stunned him, the pain blinding him even now in pulses. His vision swam, fuzzy and dark at the edges, disorienting him and making it difficult to do anything other than sit there, as even the smallest movement left him nauseous and reeling.

Would he recover soon enough, he wondered? But even if he recovered, what was there to do?

I could try, at least. I could try to fight them, maybe give Abigail a chance to escape. Her father could help her.

From the corner of his eye, Hugo chanced a glance at Laird Robertson. The man looked worse for wear, bloody and bruised, and Hugo was surprised that he could still stand, more or less, on his own. He wouldn’t be of much help to Abigail. There was only so much he could fight, even with the desire to save his daughter fueling him.

Ellair… he is our only hope. If he has managed to reach the king… if he has managed to convince him what we are saying is the truth…

Outside, the battle raged. The men’s cries poured in through the gaps in the door and the windows, filling the chapel with noise. Hugo couldn’t tell which side was doing the killing and which side was losing. He couldn’t tell how many men they had already lost to an enemy blade; how many would still fall.

Would Domnhall be one of them? Could it be that he was already dead?

Shaking his head, Hugo rejected that possibility. With Domnhall dead and him weakened, and Niall’s men surrounding them like this, then there would be no hope and he couldn’t bring himself to give up just yet—for Abigail’s sake, if not for anyone else’s.

At the altar, the priest had already begun the ceremony and next to Hugo, Laird Robertson shook with rage as he watched. Tears fell unbridled from Abigail’s eyes, leaving wet tracks down her cheeks, and Hugo’s chest ached with each one she shed, feeling her pain as his own. He could hardly bear to look at her but he also refused to look away. He didn’t want her to feel like she was all alone, like he would rather minimize his own grief when she had no choice but to face hers.

When their gazes met, a sob tore through her throat.

“I cannae dae this,” she told Finnian, shaking her head. “Ye’re a beast. I cannae marry ye.”

“Ye’ll dae as I say!” Finnian roared. “Ye have nae other choice.”

As he spoke, he took a step closer to Abigail, and she responded by spitting in his face. Hugo watched in horror as Finnian’s features twisted, his lips curling into a snarl as he wiped the spit off his cheek and then raised his hand. Before Hugo could so much as stir, he brought it down to her cheek, the slap echoing like the crack of a whip in the chapel.

“I will kill you,” Hugo growled as he tried to stand. Three sets of strong hands pushed him down, though, before he could get too far, holding him firmly as he struggled in their grip, and the sight prompted a chuckle out of Finnian.

“Will ye?” he asked. “How, precisely, dae ye think ye’ll kill me when ye’re surrounded by me men? Nay, nay. What will happen is, ye will watch me wed her an’ then I will kill ye . I’ll have ye hanged.”

Abigail cradled her cheek as she glared at Finnian with such hatred that Hugo expected her to pounce, to attack him even if she knew she had no hope of defeating him. He wanted to tell her that everything would be fine in the end, but how could he bring himself to promise something like that when it became all the clearer to him that they were on the verge of losing?

“Leave him alone,” Abigail demanded, but Finnian paid her no mind. “I mean it, Finnian. The only way I will wed ye is if ye let Hugo an’ me faither leave. Otherwise, I’d rather ye killed me, too.”

It was then that Finnian whirled around to look at Abigail with a cruel, mocking smile. “Ye willnae die until ye’ve served yer purpose an’ given me a few heirs. Then ye’re free tae dae as ye wish. But until then?—”

Whatever his next words would be, they were drowned out by the sound of the chapel door flying open and hitting the stone wall. The sounds of the battle now poured into the room unhindered, the clang of steel against steel defining as the fight raged outside. For a moment, no one moved—they were all too stunned by Domnhall’s sudden presence, along with that of several men.

Domnhall was coated in blood and dirt, drops of the former dripping from his hair, and though Hugo couldn’t be certain that none of it was his, he looked mostly unharmed and ready to fight. His chest heaved as he gulped breath after breath, drawing in as much air as he could, but his stance was grounded, firm, as though he expected everyone in the room to throw themselves at him at once.

He wasn’t wrong. Niall’s men rushed to him and the soldiers who surrounded him, ready to eliminate the enemy for their laird. The two sides instantly engaged in battle, the soldiers grunting and the pews screeching against the floor as they were shoved to the side to make more space.

“This is the house o’ God!” the priest called in a desperate and futile attempt to force the men to stop. They were all too far gone, Hugo knew. The only way they would stop was if they died or they won. “Stop this madness at once!”

It was the only attempt the man made to put an end to the fighting before he realized that the longer he stayed there, the more likely it was that he would die. Hugo watched him as he fled from the back of the chapel, disappearing before a blade could get too close to his neck.

In their rushed attempt to stop Domnhall and his men, Niall’s soldiers had neglected to secure him and Laird Robertson. The moment they saw that no one was holding them anymore, they both stood and grabbed a sword each from the men who had already fallen, and joined the fight. Hugo had barely managed to right himself before one of Niall’s men attacked him, swinging his sword high as he aimed for his neck. Hugo managed to roll to the side and counterattack, but the other man was swift and blocked his blow with his blade. All Hugo managed was to push him back a little and give himself some breathing space.

Most of his attention, though, was on Abigail, where she was trapped between Niall and Finnian. The three of them still stood by the altar and as much as Domnhall and his men tried to get to them, Niall’s men were slowing them down.

Hugo had to get her away before they managed to escape with Abigail in tow.

The man he was fighting, seeing that Hugo was distracted momentarily, aimed for his stomach, but Hugo quickly parried the blow. Around him, Domnhall’s men were killing their enemies one by one, dominating the battle, and from the corner of his eye, Hugo could see the desperation in Niall and Finnian as they each yelled commands, ordering their men to protect them.

Another swing of the man’s sword and Hugo found the opening he had been looking for. In his haste, the man left his right side unguarded and Hugo took his chance, quickly cutting him down. Blood poured out of the man’s side as his hand came to press against the wound, and he stumbled backwards, his eyes wide in shock as understanding dawned on him.

Hugo didn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he turned to Abigail, only to find her in Finnian’s clutches, struggling against him.

“Let her go,” Hugo demanded as he slowly approached them. “It’s over. You’ve already lost.”

Neither Niall nor Finnian spoke. They didn’t even move, both of them uncertain of what to do now that they were cornered. Hugo supposed neither of them had thought it would come to this and now that they were losing, they didn’t have a plan in place for what to do.

Before Hugo could do anything, Niall grabbed one of the lit candles near the altar and tipped it over the cloth, which instantly caught fire. Instinctively, both Hugo and Abigail stepped back, though there was nowhere for Abigail to go. With the way Finnian was holding her, refusing to slacken his grip, she only collided firmly with his chest.

Though the chapel walls were made of stone, its support beams and the roof were wooden, Hugo noticed. If the fire reached those parts, then they would all be trapped in the flames.

“Have you gone mad?” Hugo asked Niall. “Do you wish to die?”

“If I am tae die, then I’d rather die by me hand than yers!” Niall roared. “It’s as ye said. We’ve lost, so what else is there tae dae?”

Hugo had failed to take into account the fact that everything was truly over for Niall. Finnian marrying Abigail and him winning this battle were Niall’s only chances to pretend any of his plans had any legitimacy. Now, with his defeat, everything would come into the light and his true nature would be finally known.

There was nothing left for him to live for. He had lost everything and he would rather take everyone else with him to death.

The fire quickly spread to the support beams nearest to the altar. It grew at an alarming rate, and even the few soldiers who were still fighting within the confines of the chapel were quick to retreat. The only ones who were left were Domnhall and Laird Robertson, who came to stand behind Hugo.

“Ye dinnae have tae dae this!” Laird Robertson called. “Let me daughter leave! She is innocent. She doesnae deserve this!”

His pleas fell upon deaf ears. Neither Niall nor Finnian were willing to compromise. Their dark eyes shared the same mad glint, the same desire for destruction.

“Ye can leave if ye so wish,” Finnian said. “But Abigail will die with me.”

“Go!” Abigail screamed at the three of them. “Please, save yerselves! I was always meant tae die in a fire. It’s alright, I’m nae afraid.”

That was a lie, Hugo knew. It was a lie, but one that Abigail was forcing herself to believe as much as she could, so that they would believe it, as well. Hugo was not going to let Abigail die in there, and neither were her father or Domnhall.

The fire had spread everywhere around them by then. The air swelled with it, the heat seeping into the air, into their bodies. Though Hugo’s skin wasn’t near an active flame, it still felt scorched, and sweat dripped from his brow and his palms, forcing him to tighten his grip on his sword.

“Ye willnae have her,” he said in a quiet voice. He didn’t know if Finnian had heard him and he didn’t care. “Abigail! Now, remember what I taught you!”

For a moment, Abigail didn’t move and Hugo wondered if she was in such a state of panic that she couldn’t even force herself to use it. But then she gave him an understanding nod and reached into her bodice to grab the knife he had given her, before she plunged it hard into Finnian’s thigh.

Finnian’s scream tore through the air around them. In his shock and pain, he let go of Abigail, and she rushed towards Hugo, but Niall was quick to stop her. He grabbed her hand and yanked her back, so hard that she, too, screamed in pain, and Hugo feared Niall had managed to dislocate her shoulder.

Rage coursed through Hugo as he watched Abigail struggle and Finnian limp towards her, his gaze murderous and full of hatred. His hand reached for the knife lodged in his thigh and he pulled it out with a grunt, holding it in a vice grip.

He is going to kill her.

Hugo didn’t give Finnian the chance to get too close. Before he could approach Abigail, Hugo lunged at him and pierced him through the lung with his sword, forcing him to come to a staggering halt. In his last moments, Finnian looked at him, teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw, blood pooling in the corner of his mouth.

Then, he collapsed onto the floor, taking his last breath.

Hugo turned to Niall then, who cursed under his breath. The man looked around him as though he was seeing the situation clearly for the first time, and he let out a frustrated groan as he pushed Abigail away and ran towards the back, to the same place where the priest had disappeared. Hugo wanted to follow them, but around them, the chapel was already crumbling. They had no time for a pursuit. They had to leave right that instant.

Pulling Abigail in his arms, he rushed to the door along with Domnhall and Laird Robertson, just as the back of the chapel crumbled down, engulfed by the flames. The last thing Hugo heard from that place, along with the roaring fire, was a terrified scream, and he knew then that Niall hadn’t made it in time.

The four of them were out of the chapel just as the fire consumed it whole, leaving nothing in its wake. Hugo pulled Abigail to safety and held her close, his heart hammering in his chest, his knees almost giving out with the force of his relief.

Abigail was safe, in his arms. She was alive. Finnian hadn’t managed to take her away from him.

“Hugo…”

It was all Abigail said, but Hugo didn’t need her to say anything else to understand. Words failed him, too. There seemed to be nothing he could say that could describe the love he had for her—a love he never thought could exist.

So, instead, he kissed her, deep and tender, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Abigail responded in kind, melting into the kiss, and for a few short moments, Hugo could believe that there was no one else in the world but the two of them.

And then he was pulled out of his daydream by a polite cough. When he turned to look, he saw Laird Robertson standing there, leaning on a tree, looking exhausted yet with a half-smile on his lips, and Hugo almost choked on air as his cheeks heated in embarrassment, realizing that the laird had probably never even received his letter, in which he asked for Abigail’s hand in marriage.

“Is there somethin’ ye wish tae tell me, daughter?” Laird Robertson asked, wheezing a little, and Hugo saw the flush in Abigail’s own cheeks.

“Faither! Aye, I dae…. Hugo an’ I are in love,” Abigail said, nowhere near as fearful as Hugo felt. He had fought and survived countless fights, but it was this which unnerved him, concerned as he was that Laird Robertson would disapprove of a man like him—a man with no title, a man who had little to offer Abigail other than his love.

“Is that so, lad?” Laird Robertson asked, and Hugo was quick to nod in agreement.

“It is,” he said. “With your blessing, I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

At first, Laird Robertson said nothing as he scrutinized Hugo. In the end, though, his lips stretched into a wide, cheerful grin, and Abigail rushed to pull him into a hug, knowing his answer before the man could even give it.

“Thank ye, Faither!” she said. “Ach, thank ye.”

“Careful lassie, or yer old faither may topple over. ‘Twas an exciting few days,” he joked although he grimaced a little. “Are ye happy?” Laird Robertson then asked.

Abigail nodded. “I’m the happiest lass in the world.”

“Well, that is all that matters tae me,” he said, laughing and coughing.

It was all that mattered to Hugo, as well. He would do anything to keep Abigail happy for the rest of their lives.