Page 25 of Wendy Meets the Highlander Hamish (Scottish Highlander I Never Knew #5)

I t took several minutes before Wendy could see Hamish and the guards heading toward them. Her heart swelled with relief at the sight of their familiar faces.

However, the return of Hamish and his men was not as stealthy as they had hoped.

The rhythmic cadence of hoofbeats, a symphony of hooves against the rugged terrain, echoed through the morning air.

It was a herald of impending conflict, a discordant melody that stirred the bandits from their encampment.

In response to the approaching threat, the bandits, mounted their horses with swift efficiency. The air crackled with tension as the clatter of armor and the snorts of agitated horses signaled the readiness of the ruffians.

Wendy watched as Malcolm pressed an iron riding crop into the beautiful white kelpie’s side. She cried out at the pain as he mounted her with a cruel laugh.

“Hamish, they know you’re here,” she called out, warning him as she rushed toward her own horse.

“Stay out of it, love, I donnae wish to see you hurt, let me and the men deal with these bandits,” Hamish said, his voice firm.

As the guardsmen rode in to battle the brigands, a clash commenced.

Wendy noticed that Kier's eyes were locked onto his beloved sister, Fionnuala, her mouth emitting smoking tendrils of blood from the cruel iron bridle that bound her. Horror etched itself across Wendy's heart, mirroring the despair reflected in Kier's eyes. They had to save her.

It seemed that the visceral sight of Fionnuala's suffering was the catalyst for Kier's fury.

In a surge of otherworldly wrath, he lunged at Malcolm, his form distorting into a monstrous visage—a massive, black centaur-like being.

His weapon of choice was a colossal club, a manifestation of his supernatural might.

A sticky black net, wrought from some dark magic, coiled in his grip, ready to ensnare any who dared oppose him.

As Kier descended upon Malcolm, the battlefield erupted into a maelstrom of clashing blades and shouts. Hamish, leading his men with a strategic prowess born of countless skirmishes, orchestrated the defense against the bandits..

In the midst of the tumult, Wendy watched from the edge of the tree line.

She was amazed at Kier's transformation, which continued, each movement a dance of shadows and raw power.

The giant club swung with a force that seemed to defy the laws of nature, and the sticky black net became an instrument of entrapment, ensnaring Malcolm and dragging him unceremoniously from Fionnuala's back.

The scene unfolded like a fantastical tableau, a collision of worlds where ancient magic met the harsh realities of medieval warfare.

The air vibrated with an otherworldly energy, and the clash of iron, the cries of battle, and the unearthly roars of Kier blended into a symphony of chaos that resonated through the loch shore.

Despite the chaos, Hamish, it seemed, managed to keep his nerve, and his strategic acumen guiding his men in the relentless pursuit to rout the bandits from their stronghold.

Malcolm, though, was cunning and desperate, Wendy watched as he burned free of the sticky black net that had ensnared him.

It seemed the iron he wore was no match for the Fae net.

Falling free from the net to the ground, Malcolm attempted to flee the battleground, with Kier hot on his heels.

Unfortunately, Malcolm caught hold of another horse, and was able to mount it and ride off before Kier could get his teeth into him.

He continued the chase, but it was now much faster, and they quickly disappeared from Wendy’s sight.

Amidst the tumult, Wendy, fueled by a determination born of the ethereal chaos, hastened to put Rune into motion and free Fionnuala from the cruel bridle and chains.

As soon as she reached her, she dismounted and walked toward her with her hands out in a placating manner.

"It's okay. I'm a friend. I want to help you," Wendy said as she cautiously approached the beautiful white kelpie.

Her hands worked with urgency, the cold iron yielding to her determined efforts. As the last shackle fell away, Fionnuala was freed from her torment. With a wild, liberated spirit, she raced toward the inviting waters of the loch, her hooves kicking up droplets of freedom.

The loch, shimmering like liquid silver, embraced Fionnuala with its cool caress as she galloped into its depths.

The waters seemed to part for the mystical creature, creating a path to freedom amidst the tumultuous battleground.

It was a moment of ethereal beauty amid the chaos, where the supernatural and the natural converged in a dance as ancient as the Highlands themselves.

Wendy, witnessing the liberation of Fionnuala, felt a profound connection to the mystical forces that had shaped her journey on this enchanting island of Islay.

As Wendy stood watching the gorgeous creature making her escape, one of the bandits came for her, but he’d underestimated Wendy’s nimbleness and anger toward them.

He lunged forward with a reckless fervor.

Wendy, with swift, evasive movements, danced around the bandit, using her small frame to her advantage.

The bandit’s blows met only air as Wendy’s quick feet eluded his every strike.

She slipped through the bandit's grasp with an almost ethereal grace.

In a pivotal moment, she seized the opportunity, using a combination of agility and intuition to disarm her assailant.

A well-placed kick to his family jewels, and a deft maneuver later, Wendy had turned the tables for the moment, leaving the bandit disarmed, on his knees, and struggling to gain his feet.

Hamish charged toward her aid, his sword drawn with a determination matching the fierce Highland wind. His presence, a beacon of reassurance, calmed Wendy’s racing heart. With a few swift strokes, Hamish dispatched the remaining threat from the bandit, ensuring Wendy's safety.

The surviving bandits, sensing the shift in fortune, chose the path of retreat.

They scattered, realizing that Malcolm had left them with no purpose.

Victory belonged to Hamish and his guardsmen, and the air resonated with a triumphant energy.

The wounded bandits on the ground would now become prisoners.

With the battle behind them, the area became a scene of jubilation and relief. Hamish and his guardsmen, though bearing light wounds, celebrated their triumph.

“What of Malcolm?” Artair asked, looking around at the wounded. “Should we give chase?”

“He took off on a horse and Kier gave chase,” Wendy called out. “They went that way.” She pointed toward the north.

“Kier?” Artair questioned.

“The kelpie,” Hamish shared. “His name is Kier. And nae. We’ll give the kelpie a chance to keep his word.

” He moved toward Wendy and pulled her into his arms. As the sun set cast a gentle golden glow upon the battlefield, Hamish's voice, low and filled with a quiet intensity, broke the stillness.

"You fought bravely, lass. Are you hurt? "

Wendy, cradled in Hamish's protective embrace, looked up at him with gratitude and affection. "I'm fine, thanks to you. But are you okay? You faced those bandits head-on."

Hamish's roughened hands traced a soothing path along Wendy's arm. "A few scratches, nothing more. Seeing you in danger... tis what worried me most."

Wendy met Hamish's gaze, her eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. "Hamish, I... I don't know how to thank you. Your bravery, it means everything to me."

A soft smile played on Hamish's lips. "You donnae need to thank me, lass. I'd cross oceans for you." In the quietude of the night, Hamish hesitated for a moment, then gently confessed, "Wendy, I've been meaning to tell you. I love you, truly."

Wendy, moved by the sincerity in Hamish's eyes, whispered, "I love you too, Hamish."

In that moment, amidst the battle strewn field and the echoes of the fight, Hamish leaned down, capturing Wendy's lips in a sweet and lingering kiss. The taste of victory mingled with the sweetness of their love, sealing a bond that had weathered the storm of uncertainty.

“What do we do with these,” Artair asked, gesturing toward the now bound bandits on the ground with his sword.

“We’ll bring them back to our camp, and in the morning you and a few others can deliver them to the Laird. The horses we’ll take back to the fort.”

Artair nodded and then called out to some of the other guardsmen, “Get them on their feet and round up the horses.”

The guardsmen, their weapons now sheathed, did as they were told, and they all trod back to the camp at the old Donald Castle ruins. Once there, one of them rekindled the fire and another set about taking care of all the wounded.

The campfire flickered, casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls of the ruins as Wendy cuddled into Hamish’s side. The men drank, enjoying the camaraderie as they told tales of their adventures.

In all her life, Wendy would never have imagined it being possible to be here in this place with a man like Hamish celebrating a battle won with bandits and the rescue of a mystical creature. It was a dream come true and she never wanted to wake up from it.

Looking at the man next to her, she smiled. She could not believe her luck in finding him. Hamish was one of a kind and she would fight for him, for their love, with everything in her heart.