Chapter 19 #3
And then there was Ryan. The proud laird, the old man who had once been young, the antithesis of Warnock, stood like a lion with cowardly predators clawing at his hide.
His cloak was torn to shreds and the undershirt was stained with blood.
His hair was matted with sweat and his strong jaw was clenched in a mixture of agony and fury.
He had two swords and slashed with them both, but so many men wanted to gain the glory of defeating the Knox patriarch that he would not stand forever.
“I cannae get tae him!” Angus called out.
“We’re coming for ye Da!” Allan yelled.
“Dinnae come. Save yerself. Ye are the future of the clan. Tell yer Ma…” he trailed away, his words cut off by a blow that caught him in the jaw, snapping his neck back and sending a plume of blood spraying in the air.
Logan had thought about Ryan’s death a hundred different times in a hundred different ways, but it had always been him standing over the body.
But where Logan had promised vengeance, Ryan had offered kindness.
There had been no stinging rebuke, no blows, no humiliation.
Ryan had treated him with more respect than Logan ever had.
Respect? Ye think yer enemies will treat ye with respect? Respect is a lie that some men tell themselves because they are afraid. But ye are nae afraid, my son. They would kill ye as soon as they got a look at ye, which is why ye must strike first.
For so long Logan had believed the lessons had been hammered into him, words mixed with physical blows and bound hands and leather whips that stung like bees.
Logan had nothing else, and there had to be something in the world that made sense to him.
But it was Warnock who had struck him. Warnock who had treated him as an enemy, and it was Warnock who had treated Abigail as a pawn.
Logan was already moving. Dirt trailed away from his feet as he broke into a run.
He darted past clashes, jumped over injured men, and ducked to avoid flailing blows.
His sword flashed before his eyes as he turned away from insistent blades, and his speed was such that he left his enemies behind.
He spotted a tree stump and leaped upon it, hopping off and then using the broad back of a man to launch himself into the fray.
He clutched his sword with both hands and roared as he came down like the fury of the gods, landing beside Ryan and stunning the enemies.
He put himself in front of Ryan and thrust his sword. There were so many bodies he couldn’t fail to find flesh, and he moved so quickly that none of his enemies had a chance to react. One by one they fell, but more kept coming.
Ryan faltered. There was a dazed look in his eyes and he looked as though he was about to fall.
Logan grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away.
If he couldn’t go around the men, he would go through them.
He bowed his head, thrust his sword forward, and he charged until there was no resistance in front of him.
When he breathed clean air Ryan sagged against his arm.
“Ye must gae… save Beitris,” Ryan panted.
Logan blinked, surveying the battlefield.
There were so many men, even though countless had died there were still more swarming like ants.
They were pinning the army on either side, and there was no way through.
Even if Logan could escape, they still had archers, who would fire again as they wouldn’t have to worry about hitting their allies.
Warnock would still have guards at the Keep.
As much as Logan wanted to take on the world, he was wiser than that.
Warnock might have cursed him with plenty of things, but amid all of those wretched qualities there was a blessing shining like a jewel among rubble and ash.
Logan was cunning. He was strong and brutal, but aside from Beitris, he never let his emotions get the better of him.
He had waited for the perfect opportunity to kill Ryan instead of striking out rashly, and this same intelligence broke through the simmering anger that pulsed inside.
Logan knew that going to the keep alone might as well have been signing his death warrant, and he would lose all hope of seeing Beitris again.
“We will save her together,” Logan replied. “I just dinnae ken…” he trailed away, looking for a path, a trick, anything that might turn the tide of battle. There had to be something.
And then it came. Not from him, but from the rear.
A horn blared out, giving everyone pause.
To the Knox warriors it brought hope to their hearts, and to the enemy it brought despair.
Powerful and fresh men came riding into battle.
Logan did not know them personally, but he could guess their identities by their reputation.
Rohan Muirden rode a midnight-black steed, returning to battle far from home.
Beside him there was a woman with shiny dark hair and shining eyes.
And behind them there was a small army of commoners; villagers, blacksmiths, farmers…
Their faces were set in grim malice, and they soon crunched with the enemy.
Bodies were crushed by horses and powerful swords carved through the enemy numbers.
A jubilant cry arose.
So many people had a reason to fight Warnock.
His destructive, vengeful ways had touched the hearts of every person in the Highlands.
Logan had heard a great deal said about the Alliance.
Warnock’s men had always scoffed at them, but now the true power of it was brought to bear.
They had been spread thin, fighting all across the Highlands, but now they were focused and all their might came thundering into battle, inching closer towards the place Warnock thought would always be untouchable.
The strength of the Alliance lay in all the people who came together, setting aside their differences for common goals. Logan saw them all, and a strange feeling came over him, a comprehension that he had been wrong all his life about a great many things.
He had always taken pride in living alone, yet how true had that been? When he was younger he had Abigail, then when he struck out into the Highlands he had Brody, and finally he had Beitris.
And now he was surrounded by men who all wanted the same thing he did.
Logan raised his sword and turned in the direction of the Keep.
“Tae Warnock! Let us end this now!” he bellowed.
“Tae the Keep!” a chorus cried after him as they all fell in line.
Allan and Elliot ran to his side. Angus rushed to Ryan, helping him stand. Logan started sprinting and he wouldn’t stop. His gaze was fixed on the path ahead.
Ye hae better be alive, Beitris. I will avenge ye if I must, but I would rather feel yer hands at my throat, he thought.
The guards came for Beitris. She had no idea how many hours had passed. They handled her so roughly that she expected bruises deep in her skin. Beitris pressed the soles of her feet against the floor and made her body as rigid as possible.
“I will nae marry ye. I shall walk nae further,” she spat.
Warnock curled his head. Beady eyes flashed with enmity.
“Then ye shall crawl.”
The guards let go of her arms but drew their swords. The tip of two blades pressed into her back, nudging her forward. The pain was sharp and startling enough to force her steps.
“Ye hae nae idea how much pain a person can endure. Dae ye ken where it hurts tae cut the most? Right in between the fingers and toes. I ken ye think yerself skilled with the bow. I can make sure ye never wield one again. I will take yer fingers one by one and toss them tae the dogs. Ye can watch as they gobble yer fingers up. I’ll cut the back of yer ankles tae make sure ye cannae run.
” Warnock’s voice lowered to a menacing growl as fear curdled in Beitris’ stomach.
The aversion to pain was an instinct rooted deep in her blood and she found herself wanting to do anything to avoid it. However, the only way was to marry him, and that was a humiliation greater than anything else.
“I would rather lose all my limbs, hae my hair shorn off and my eyes gouged out before I become yer wife,” she spat.
The swords were insistent at her back, continuing to press her forward.
To her dismay she was getting closer and closer to Warnock.
He did not move. He simply waited, knowing that eventually she would come to him.
She tried to resist. Swords pricked her back.
Blood bloomed. Tears welled in her eyes.
She fought against them, but soon she was standing before him.
“Ye will suffer all those fates and more after ye bear my child,” Warnock said, then struck her across the face with a blow so hard that she almost fainted.
This wasn’t how she expected her life to end, and somewhere deep inside her heart she had assumed that she would see Logan one final time.
So be it, she thought, and glanced over her shoulder.
The guards were still holding their swords aloft, pointed straight at her back.
Beitris took a deep breath and prepared to throw herself onto them, to feel the steel carving into her flesh and the life slipping from her eyes.
Her last act would be a defiant one.
And then the smile fell from Warnock’s eyes.
“Nae,” he gasped.
Heavy bells tolled. Beyond the walls of the Great Hall Beitris heard rapid footsteps as warriors took their defensive positions. Hope flared in her heart. Had they come for her?
Was Logan with them?