Chapter 29
“Where is the lady?” Ruaridh heard Logan ask over the din.
He kicked the man he had been fighting and looked through the chaos, trying to find his family. He saw Logan and some of the clansmen pushing Keira and Grannie Ava behind them, but he couldn’t find Violet.
His panic flared at the thought that she might be lying on the ground hurt somewhere, and that dark voice began screaming in his mind again.
Ye have failed to protect yer family again.
Usually, he would give in to the despair in those dark words, but this time, he was filled with anger and a desperation to prove the voice wrong.
He heard Violet’s scream and turned to see Westall dragging her behind him. Red filled his vision.
“Violet!” he bellowed.
When her eyes met his, she struggled even harder to escape.
He tried to move towards her, but a slash at his back made him turn to find an Englishman behind him. Their fight was short as Ruaridh, filled with rage at Violet being harshly dragged away, swung his sword in a wide arc, severing the man’s arm.
Down the bastard went, cradling his arm as he screamed, but one of his clansmen silenced him with a blade through the heart.
Now unencumbered, Ruaridh moved towards Violet and Westall purposefully, kicking down anyone in his path until he was close enough.
“Westall!” he yelled. “Let Violet go!”
Westall sneered at him, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pulled Violet against him and lifted his blade to her neck.
Ruaridh felt his heart sink as Violet’s face became pale with fright.
“Do not come any closer, Laird McLeod, or else…” Westall’s voice faded to the background.
Ruaridh’s gut twisted with dread. Violet’s eyes were wide with worry as she looked at him, stiff in Westall’s grip. He tightened his grip on his sword but didn’t move, trying not to let his worry show. He could not afford to act irrationally.
Westall’s smile grew wide with glee at his hesitation.
“What is it, barbarian?” he taunted, leaning in to nuzzle Violet’s cheek with his nose. “Are you too much of a coward to save her?”
Ruaridh risked a step forward, but the sight of the blade pressing harder against Violet’s throat made him pause again. He couldn’t let his anger at seeing the man touch her be the cause of her death. He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to her.
He cast a glance around, feeling helpless.
What can I do?
“You will never have her, brigand,” Westall sneered. “She is mine now, and I intend to erase whatever hold you have on her.”
Like a ray of hope, Ruaridh spotted the youngest member of his clan, Willie, creeping up behind Westall. The stable lad held a dagger in his hand, taking care to keep his steps light.
Ruaridh didn’t want the lad dirtying his hands with blood, young as he was, but he needed the opening. If he kept the man talking, he could rescue Violet soon enough.
“Ye underestimate her strength and her hatred of ye, Westall,” he snarled, ensuring the Baron’s eyes stayed on him.
“What would you know of her strength, brigand?” Westall growled. “She is nothing more than a woman too weak to make decisions for herself. Her own father said so. What makes you think otherwise? Does it take rolling in the hay to make you know her strength?”
Anger surged in Ruaridh’s blood, but the thought that he would soon make the man pay for his hurtful words had him tamping it down.
“Ye’re so blinded by yer own weakness that ye fail to see strength when it is right in front of ye,” he said with a smile. “That is why ye will die today, and no one will grieve ye.”
Before Westall could respond, Willie drove the dagger into his back.
Ruaridh moved right as the bastard roared, releasing Violet. Westall whirled around with his sword to attack Willie, but the little lad was nimble and had scampered out of harm’s way just as quickly.
“I told ye ye would die today, Westall,” Ruaridh said, pulling Violet behind him as he circled the man.
He could hear how quiet the courtyard had grown as the rest of Westall’s men had been dispatched by his clansmen, who had now come pouring into the chapel. All the men watched Westall with predatory looks, but no one would interrupt their fight.
This was Ruaridh’s fight alone.
He handed Violet to Logan, who pulled her behind him to where the women were, and her sobs stoked the fire in his heart. He lunged before the man was ready, but Westall was able to block his heavy blow with his sword.
“Where is your honor, Laird McLeod?” Westall growled, his eyes darting around to see if anyone would side with him. “Would you really fight an injured man?”
Ruaridh sneered. “Where was yer honor when ye threatened Violet?” He stepped forward, every word punctuated with a slash of his sword. “Where was yer honor when ye kidnapped me daughter?”
Westall parried every swing, but Ruaridh wasn’t worried. He was playing with the man. He wanted to say all that raged in his mind before he sent him to hell, where he belonged.
“Ye daenae deserve to be treated with honor, Westall,” he snarled, side-stepping one of the man’s weak slashes and slicing his exposed side.
“Arrgh!” Westall howled, cradling his side. He raised his sword too late to block the following slash, which went across his throat.
“Ye deserve to die like a coward!” Ruaridh spat.
Westall fell to the ground, clawing at his throat as he drowned in his own blood. Ruaridh spat on the floor beside his head as his senses finally began to register the scent of blood filling the air.
“Ruaridh!” he heard, before a warm figure barreled into him in a cloud of floral perfume that instantly calmed him.
He threw his sword to the side and gathered Violet into his arms, breathing her in. Relief flooded through him. Relief that this time, he hadn’t failed to save those who mattered to him.
He pulled back to look at her, and unable to help himself, he kissed her, uncaring that his men were watching or that they were surrounded by dead bodies.
She returned his kiss with equal fervor, her arms wrapping around his waist, but when he felt her tears wet his cheeks, he pulled back and held her to his chest so she could sob.
“Daenae worry, lass,” he whispered softly. “Ye’re safe now.”
Looking around at the signs of battle around them and the laughing faces of his family, he found himself smiling as well.
“You’re hurt, Ruaridh,” Violet complained. “Sit and let the healer tend to you.”
“I want to see me men first,” he protested, trying to rise from his seat. “I can be tended to later.”
“Do you want your wound to fester?” she huffed, pushing him down. “You are the Laird, and if anything were to happen to you…” she trailed off, a lump forming in her throat, but she forced it down. “Please sit and let him check your wounds.”
Ruaridh sighed and nodded, squeezing her hand gently.
She returned his nod and gave him a small smile, not wanting him to worry.
Her heart was still racing from the drastic turn the day had taken, but the fresh air was helping. She had nearly fainted in the chapel, where the oppressive metallic scent of blood hung heavy, but Ruaridh had been quick to move her away from the chaos.
Around them, the healer tended to the wounded while those with no injuries saw to burying the bodies. All of them tried to ignore it, but there was tension in the air as they wondered how the English would react to the death of their own.
Needing a respite, Violet stepped away from Ruaridh and paced around, offering words where it was necessary. She spotted Willie recounting to Logan and some of the clanswomen how he had saved her, and while she would have ordinarily moved to thank the lad, she wanted to be alone.
If the English brought war to this clan because of her, she would never forgive herself. None of their men had died today, but when that war came, many would.
Tears pooled in her eyes again, but she didn’t want to cry. She was tired of crying and being weak.
Her only remaining option was to return to London and try to prove their innocence. But she didn’t want to leave Ruaridh.
“Violet, are you hurt?” her father asked, walking up to her.
“Father,” she cried, going to hug him.
“What is it, child?” he asked. “Why are you crying?”
“I worry for this clan that has protected me and become my home,” she sobbed. “I know our people won’t take kindly to this incident. What shall I do?”
He rubbed the back of her hair softly. “Fret not, dear child,” he soothed. “I intend to return to London to ensure there is no retaliation from our people.”
Violet pulled back in shock. Her eyes searched his questioningly to see if he truly meant what he had said. He had a small smile on his face and nodded.
“I understand the role I played in this entire ordeal, and I intend to make amends by proving Laird McLeod’s innocence,” he continued. “It may be too late for me to begin protecting you, but I intend to make up for my past mistreatment of you. That is, if you’ll let me.”
“Oh, Father,” she cried, hugging him again.
Her heart swelled in her chest as she considered his actions. He was seeking to earn her forgiveness, but this singular act of bravery had washed away the years of hurt and disappointment.
“Thank you,” she said, finally releasing him.
“You do not need to thank me, Violet,” he insisted. “Ruaridh is part of our family now, and I will do everything it takes to ensure he doesn’t suffer for my foolishness.”
“I want you to return after you have settled the matter, Father,” she said, earning a surprised look from him. “I don’t want us to be apart anymore.”
He nodded and hugged her again, and everything in the world seemed to finally make sense.