Taming the Highland Beauty (Guardians of the Isles #7)

Chapter Twenty

J ust as Minerva had foretold, a thunderous bang sounded, followed by a deadly whistle as a cannonball plunged into the water. The impact sent a towering geyser of water soaring into the sky. Another cannonball hit, then another. The evening silence obliterated as the surface of the water was churned into a frothing maelstrom.

Minerva had been right to have the three of them focus on moving her pod to safer waters. Nowhere in the loch or even on the beach seemed safe. Gille covered her head with her hands and ran farther down the beach with Lady Janet floating behind. At least the ghost was safe from the debris that flew her way as another cannonball sailed over her head to hit the rear curtain wall of the castle.

Gille glanced back at the damage the cannonball had left in the rock face. She had counted on Oberon’s intervention, on this, the last night of her freedom. The English attack was a cruel surprise, a devastating blow to her plans.

Tears streamed down Gille’s face as another cannonball struck the wall, sending golden stones crumbling onto the shore. Her hopes, her dreams, were disintegrating with the ancient stones. Was this truly the end?

*

Alastair burst into the drawing room, his heart pounding. The Fairy Flag, a beacon of hope and his heritage, hung between the windows. But his destination wasn’t the flag itself. He moved to the portrait of his father, a familiar painting that concealed a secret.

Gently, he lifted the portrait, revealing a hidden panel. With trembling fingers, Alastair slid the panel open, to expose the wooden chest inside. A heavy weight settled in his chest as he retrieved the chest and set it on a chair. Inside lay the real Fairy Flag, a precious artifact he’d been forced to conceal from those who sought to steal it.

He let his fingers trace the worn, yellowed cloth, feeling the lingering magic. One more wave of power could turn the tide against the encroaching English. He’d never wanted to be the laird who squandered the last of their magic, but the fate of Clan MacLeod hung in the balance. Protection from their enemies was why Aria and Gille’s mother, Pearl, had gifted them the flag centuries ago. Perhaps she’d foreseen that it would one day save not just her daughters, but the entire clan.

“Alastair?” Graeme’s voice was sharp as he burst into the chamber, his grip tightening around the flagpole. “Nay,” he breathed, his gaze fixed on the flag.

“We have no other option, Graeme,” Alastair insisted. “We must use the last of the magic to save Dunvegan and its people.” He took the pole from Graeme and tied the flag to it, his fingers trembling. “You are the flagbearer now, as your family has always been. I cannot force you to wave it, but I see no other way. Perhaps... if I wave it instead?”

Graeme straightened, his shock fading. “I am the flagbearer. If this is the only way, I am willing to sacrifice myself for everyone else.”

Alastair swallowed, a lump rising in his throat. “You are the bravest of the brave, Graeme. I am honoured to call you both friend and brother.”

Graeme returned the sentiment with a nod. “Shall we?”

With a heavy heart, Alastair walked beside his friend as they made their way down the stairs and out onto the rear courtyard. Outside, they were forced to dodge debris that flew around them as they made their way to the crenellations. Without hesitation, Graeme clutched the flagpole and unfurled the flag. The wind caught it, whipping it out into the twilight. As the flag billowed in the breeze, a strange ethereal glow seemed to emanate from it. A hush fell over the courtyard and the shore below as the MacLeods watched in awe.

Graeme raised the flag high. In that moment, something extraordinary happened. The air crackled with energy, and a shimmering shield seemed to form around the castle. The cannonballs from the warship flew towards the castle, but as they approached the invisible barrier, they seemed to lose their momentum, veering off course and splashing into the water. The MacLeods cheered, their spirits lifted by the miraculous sight.

Then Graeme’s body began to glow with the same shimmering light, and before he was fully engulfed in the strange glow, Alastair grasped the flagpole from Graeme’s hands, praying that it would be Alastair who was taken from this world and not his friend.

The glow around Graeme fizzled and died. The flagbearer turned to Alastair. “I am still here,” Graeme said with a hint of awe.

“As am I.” Alastair, still clutching the flag, did not feel any sort of tingling magic racing through him, and no odd light appeared around him. Had his intervention somehow kept Graeme in the human realm while still benefitting from the Fairy Flag’s magic? “Yet the magic seems to have worked.”

The two men turned back to the water to see the warship retreat into the fading light. “We are saved,” Graeme cried, clapping Alastair on the back.

“So, it would seem,” Alastair replied, knowing the flag’s magic would not last forever. The English would surely regroup and find another way to attack. But for now, he had bought his people some time. And, as cheers went up around the castle, Alastair knew he had made the right choice.

*

Silence enveloped the loch. A chilling realisation struck Gille as the sounds of battle from both the shore and courtyard abruptly ceased. Her heart raced. A flicker of relief mingled with dread. Had Callum and his companions prevailed? Were any injured, or worse? She forced the dreadful thought away. She had to stay focused on the task that had been restored to her.

Gille and Lady Janet waited at the shoreline for Minerva and her pod to return to the loch’s now tranquil depths. When the large seal emerged at the water’s edge, her dark eyes bore witness to the exhaustion caused by the battle they had all endured. Gille knew they should wait for Minerva to recover, but time was a cruel adversary. Only eleven hours remained before the first rays of dawn would break the horizon.

As the sun began its final descent, casting long, dancing shadows across the loch, the water seemed to transform. The once vibrant blue hues deepened, blending seamlessly with the hues of the twilight sky. The air was still and quiet, save for the occasional splash of a fish or the distant call of a bird. It was a moment of serene beauty, a peaceful respite from the chaos that had existed only a short time ago.

“Are you ready?” Gille asked the others.

At Minerva and Lady Janet’s nods, Gille unfolded the parchment and began to sing the ancient song of the selkies. Her voice carried across the water, the ancient words echoing through the twilight. But as the final note faded, Gille felt a sinking sensation.

Lady Janet continued to float at the water’s edge, her ethereal mist unchanged. Minerva remained trapped in her leathery pelt. Her form as rigid as before.

“It did not work,” Gille said, her voice filled with despair. She clutched the parchment tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

A mist appeared at the water’s edge, its form indistinct in the twilight. As it materialised, Gille leapt back, recognising the familiar silhouette. It was Oberon. With a sinister grin, he approached her, his eyes fixed on the paper clutched in Gille’s hands. Before she could react, he snatched the parchment from her grasp. With a flick of his fingers, the paper ignited, the ancient words reduced to ashes that danced and twirled in the wind.

Oberon’s face twisted in a cruel smile. “Of course, the song was useless,” he taunted. “Minerva must be in her selkie form for the magic to take effect. And she cannot transform until nightfall.”

Gille, Minerva, and Lady Janet exchanged terrified glances. Oberon turned to Gille. “I must say I underestimated your determination.” He shrugged. “But I cannot let you succeed.”

“Why? Why does my life even matter to you? I am not the first person who has ever challenged you and won, however temporarily.”

His gaze narrowed and he raised his hand to strike her. “Do you see any of the others still alive?”

Gille’s eyes filled with a fierce resolve. “You may have taken the parchment,” she declared, her voice trembling slightly, “but I memorised the words.”

Oberon, his face contorted with a cruel smile, laughed. “Those words will do you little good when I am through with you. You are nothing more than a mere speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. You will never defeat me.”

Gille refused to be intimidated. She straightened, challenging him. “Your powers might be stronger than mine, and far more varied, but I have something you do not. The power of love and hope on my side. And that, Oberon, is a force more powerful than any dark magic you can wield.”

He laughed. “We shall see about that.”

Before Oberon could strike, Callum burst through the trees, his sword drawn. “Leave her alone,” he shouted, charging towards Oberon.

At the sight of Callum, relief and joy filled Gille. He was safe. His face was shadowed with fatigue and pain pulled at the corners of his eyes, but he was alive.

Her joy evaporated a heartbeat later as Oberon summoned a weapon before Callum’s came down, blocking his strike. The violence in Oberon’s gaze told her one thing—the fairy king meant to kill Callum.

She had to do something. It was then she remembered the dagger Callum had given her, the one secreted against her thigh. She drew the weapon and, her heart in her throat, Gille waited for Oberon to draw back, then she lunged forward.

Before his blade made contact and Gille could strike, Minerva launched herself at Oberon, the seal’s head striking the fairy king with a force that sent him tumbling into the water.

The other seals, sensing an opportunity, surrounded Oberon, their bodies forming a barrier around the fairy king. Oberon’s angry cries echoed through the falling darkness as, with a concerted effort, the seals pushed him away from the shore, propelling him out into the deeper waters.

As Oberon disappeared, Minerva turned to Gille. “What were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”

“I was trying to help Callum.”

Callum sheathed his weapon as their gazes met and locked. For a timeless moment, she stared into the depths of his dark eyes and felt a rush of warmth tease her cheeks. Whenever he drew near, she could not look anywhere but at him. Her heart fluttered as he pulled her close and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Promise me you will never do that again,” Callum insisted, his voice firm.

Gille pulled back, her expression hardening. “Try to defend you?” she countered, her tone laced with a hint of accusation.

“Attack your enemy before I can teach you how to defend yourself properly,” Callum added, as though they had all the time in the world.

“I would like to learn how to wield a dagger effectively,” Gille replied, her voice filled with determination.

“Not against me, I hope,” Callum teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Not anymore. Unless I deserve it.” But she sensed the underlying tension beneath his words. “Oberon is not an enemy to take on without some skill.”

Gille raised her chin and shifted her gaze between Minerva and Callum. “Oberon has grown accustomed to women, both fae and human, not resisting when challenged. And he might have been right at one time. Most of us have submitted tamely. We did not know how to fight back. I do not want that to be me. Not anymore. When he shows himself next time, I want to be ready to defend myself.”

“I can teach you some defensive moves against assailants who are larger and stronger than you,” Callum replied, his tone softening.

Gille’s eyes widened. She hadn’t really expected him to agree with her. “The mere idea of being able to defend myself effectively against Oberon makes me feel more in control,” she admitted.

Callum gave her a slow smile as he appraised her from head to toe. “The thought of learning how to wreak mayhem makes you glow. What an extraordinary woman you are, Gille,” he said, his voice filled with admiration.

“Not special, just realistic,” Gille replied, her lips set in a grim line. “I sense Oberon is not through with us tonight. The next time we meet, it will be in a battle to the death. We must be ready.”

Callum nodded. “At midnight, Minerva can change into her selkie form. We have until then to prepare.”