Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
T he morning broke in the Highlands with a brilliance that spoke of the raw, untamed beauty of the Scottish countryside. Golden sunlight spilled over the rugged terrain, painting the landscape in vivid hues of green and amber. Dew-kissed grass glistened like scattered emeralds, while the distant hills seemed to touch the very heavens. A chorus of birds welcomed the new day with a cacophony of cheerful melodies, and the air was crisp and invigorating, carrying with it the scent of earth and heather.
Annabelle stirred from her uneasy slumber, her senses gradually returning to her. As her gaze swept the dismal surroundings, her heart sank as she found Malcolm's face mere inches away, his malevolence etched in the lines of his visage.
Their eyes locked, and a chill seemed to settle over the cage. Malcolm's voice, dripping with menace, slithered through the bars like a venomous serpent. “We discovered and eradicated the trail of cloth strips you left, lass. Who are they for?” he demanded.
Her lifeline to Jamie and their imminent rescue was now wadded in Malcolm’s hands and Annabelle felt a flash of fear. How was he going to find her now? And what was taking him so long to gather the men and come after her? It shouldn’t have taken that long to get back to the village, find his men and come back for her. Had he abandoned her? she wondered, her heart filled with dread. Had he instead ridden back to the fort and left her to deal with Malcolm on her own?
Malcolm dumped the pile of cloths on her like rain. His eyes glinted with a malevolent triumph, as he showed her the seized cloth pieces that Annabelle had used to mark her trail. He held one up between his fingers, scrutinizing them with a perverse interest. His voice dripped with a sinister amusement as he taunted Annabelle.
"Well, well, lass," he sneered, "Thought someone would come charging to your rescue, did you? Who is it? Who did you think would rescue you?"
Annabelle's jaw tightened, her eyes locked onto the stolen pieces of cloth. She refused to give Malcolm the satisfaction of seeing her fear. “Who says those were mine?” she said defiantly.
Malcolm's laughter echoed through the small valley they’d set up camp in, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Annabelle's spine. He crumpled the rest of the cloth strips in his hand, then flung them aside, scattering them like confetti on the dirt ground.
"Perhaps they’re not," he conceded with a wicked grin. "But I’d bet my horse they were, lass, and unlucky for you, I’ve found them and removed them."
“Now, tell me, lass, who tis it that you have riding to your rescue.” He pushed his face up to the bars, baring his teeth as he added, “Tell me or I’ll beat it out of you.”
Annabelle raised her chin and put her own face directly in front of his. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re not going to break me or get me to tell you anything.”
Malcolm's sinister laughter only intensified at her bravado. He swiftly stripped off his shirt, revealing the muscled, sinewy frame of a seasoned Highlander. The gleam of his sword belt followed, and he tossed it aside with a confident flourish.
Turning to the guard, Malcolm ordered, "Let her out, Gwilym. This wee lass thinks she take me."
The guard, Gwilym, reluctantly obeyed, approaching the cell with a heavy keyring jangling in his hand. Annabelle took a deep breath, readying herself for whatever Malcolm had in mind.
"No, Annabelle," Maeve said grabbing her arm.
"It's alright. Trust me," Annabelle whispered. She’d learned to fight in the police academy and Jen had shown her some moves as well, though she suddenly wished she’d had more time to practice them.
As the cell door creaked open, Annabelle emerged cautiously, her eyes locked onto Malcolm's challenging gaze. He dared her to come at him bare-handed, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. The tension in the camp was palpable, the other bandits forming a circle to watch the impending showdown.
Annabelle knew she couldn't back down now, and she couldn’t run away. She stepped forward, fists clenched, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. Malcolm had thrown down the gauntlet, and she was ready to accept the challenge, come what may. She just needed to draw it out for as long as she could and pray that Jamie would arrive. Annabelle, a glimmer of cunning in her eyes, seized the opportunity to further delay the bandits. As she squared off against the bare-chested Malcolm, she couldn't help but taunt him with a sly grin.
"Is this the best you've got, MacDonald? A lass from the wilds of southern England is going to make you look like a fool in front of your own men?" Her words were edged with mockery, intended to rile him up.
Malcolm's face reddened with anger and embarrassment. His pride wounded, he lunged at Annabelle, fists swinging. She skillfully dodged his blows, her movements graceful and agile, like a seasoned boxer. Each deft evasion was punctuated with a taunt or a jest that further infuriated her opponent.
Their faux battle became a dance of words and feints, a performance designed to keep the bandits enthralled and distracted. Annabelle's goal was clear: stall for time until Jamie could come to the rescue, or she could find a way to escape and then rescue Maeve. With every playful insult and exaggerated dodge, she inched closer to her objective.
The bandits watched in fascination as she and Malcolm circled each other. Annabelle's taunts and Malcolm's fuming responses created a spectacle that momentarily overshadowed the urgency of their situation. After Malcolm took another miscalculated swing, Annabelle seized the opportunity to lighten the mood and gain favor with the bandits. With a sly grin and a mischievous glint in her eye, she paused in her movement and addressed the gathered men.
"Hey, lads! What did one Highlander say to the other when he stole his goat?" she quipped, her voice carrying through the clearing.
The bandits, initially taken aback by her audacity, leaned in with curiosity, eager for a bit of humor to break the tension. Annabelle didn't disappoint them.
"He said, 'You goat to be kiddin' me!'"
Her punchline was met with a raucous burst of laughter from the bandits. Their boisterous guffaws filled the air, and for a moment, the grim reality of their situation was forgotten. Annabelle's joke had succeeded in lightening the situation and further delayed their departure from this camp.
While they roared with laughter, Annabelle maintained her vigilance with Malcolm, skillfully keeping him engaged in their battle and oblivious to her true intent. With each moment that passed, she grew more confident that Jamie and his men would arrive in time to turn the tide in their favor. She had to believe that he would.
As Annabelle and Malcolm circled each other in the clearing for the twelfth time, a tense hush fell over the bandits who had gathered to watch the spectacle between them. Their anticipation of her defeat was strong, and the air seemed charged with electricity as she prepared to actually lay hands on him. It was obvious to Annabelle that play time was over. She wasn’t going to be able to duck and dodge her way out of this fight. She was going to have to start throwing punches as well.
Malcolm continued swinging at her, and Annabelle swiftly demonstrated her agility, ducking and weaving to avoid Malcolm's powerful punches. Her movements were graceful and fluid, a stark contrast to Malcolm's brute force. She danced around him, and started landing quick jabs and strikes whenever an opening presented itself to his ribs.
Her punches probably weren’t as powerful as his, but she did notice him wince as they landed. She knew how to put her weight behind those punches, and she would do it, no matter how sore her hands were going to be by the time they finished.
The spectacle had drawn the attention of all the bandits, including Gwilym, the cage guard. Annabelle noticed out of the corner of her eye that his sinister demeanor had momentarily been forgotten, as Gwilym couldn't tear his gaze away from her battle with Malcolm. The bandits, too, were enthralled by the unexpected turn of events, and began laying odds in favor of Annabelle.
As she ducked and spun behind him, Annabelle kicked Malcolm on the back of the knee and he went down on one knee. But Annabelle didn’t continue her blows, she gave him time to regain his feet.
Malcolm's frustration grew as Annabelle continued to evade his attacks. His punches met with nothing but air or were skillfully deflected by her expertly timed blocks. It was a testament to her training and determination, and the bandits watched in amazement as their leader struggled to land a decisive blow.
Annabelle's strategy was clear—to wear Malcolm down and capitalize on his exhaustion. She knew that in a prolonged battle, her agility and resilience would give her the upper hand. Gradually, Malcolm's wild swings began to lose their precision, and his breathing grew labored.
The bandits' cheers for Malcolm began to wane, replaced by a sense of awe for Annabelle's skill and resilience. The balance of power had shifted, and it was evident that she had defied their expectations, and might just emerge victorious.
Annabelle saw her opening to end this a few minutes later. With a final, well-timed strike to his throat, Annabelle delivered a stunning blow that sent Malcolm crashing to the ground. The bandits fell silent, stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Annabelle stood victorious, her chest heaving with exertion but her spirit unbroken.
Gwilym, was among the most astonished as he stood there with his mouth agape. Annabelle had turned Malcolm into a defeated man. Gwilym’s gaze now held respect as he looked at her. Annabelle's victory had not only won her a temporary reprieve but also the begrudging admiration of the bandits.
As she stood there gathering her breath, she heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats, like a relentless storm, approached from multiple directions, their ominous rhythm heralding an impending onslaught.
The bandits, jolted from their stupor, reacted with frantic urgency. Shouts of "Ambush!" and "Ready your weapons!" erupted from their ranks as they scrambled for their weapons. Panic spread through the camp like wildfire, and chaos seized control.
Amidst the pandemonium, Malcolm, still recovering from his recent defeat, seized Annabelle in a desperate bid to regain some semblance of control. Annabelle, fiercely resisting, kicked, and fought with all her might, determined not to succumb to her captor's grasp.
Gwilym, whose fascination with Annabelle's earlier fight had given way to awe and respect, came to Malcolm's aid leaving Annabelle feeling that her win was short lived. Together, the two of them managed to overpower Annabelle and ruthlessly tossed her back behind the bars of the wooden cage. Malcolm sneered at her, promising, “Donnae worry lass, our unfinished business will be concluded in due time.”
Complete mayhem reigned over the camp. The bandits, disoriented and rattled by the unexpected turn of events, tried to rally their defenses as Jamie and his men, arrived to rescue Annabelle and Maeve and with any luck capture Malcolm and his men.
Annabelle, trapped once more in her cage, watched the turmoil with a mixture of frustration and anticipation. Her fight with Malcolm had delayed the bandits' movements, buying them the precious time they needed for Jamie to rescue them. She knew without a single doubt that Jamie and his men would turn all this in their favor, and they would put an end to Malcolm's treacherous plot.
Maeve’s voice trembled as she asked, "What is happening? Who are those men? Are they more bandits? Have they come to kill us?"
Annabelle smiled and hugged her. “No, they aren’t bandits at all. That’s the rescue party.”
Maeve's eyes widened in astonishment and hope flickered within them. She seemed stunned, scarcely able to believe her ears. "Rescued? We’re being rescued? You were nae tellin’ tall tales then?" she repeated, her voice quivering with disbelief and yearning.
Annabelle nodded, her smile still in place. “Yes, rescued. I told you Jamie would come. That’s him and his men fighting these bandits.”
Though she spoke to Maeve, she couldn’t take her eyes from the scene. The Donald men in their kilts with their swords raised were a breath stealing sight. Her heart was a flutter as she watched Jamie ride into battle against the bandits. That sight would live rent free in her head forever. She was sure of it.