Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
S tewart and Mackintosh soldiers alike flooded the clearing. Blaine, Bran, and Laird Stewart had gathered the troops in a hurry, each of them spearheading one of the three groups that surrounded the Campbell forces. The Stewarts knew their land well—Blaine used that to his advantage, crafting an attack plan that would keep them undetected for as long as possible and would give them the edge in the fight, no matter the size of the Campbell forces.
Laird Stewart was right to think that about half of the Campbell army was there, just as the other half had attacked Moy Hall. In their hurry, they couldn’t wait for more Mackintosh soldiers and they had had to rely on those who had come to Castle Stalker with Bran and Ilyssa, but the Stewart forces more than made up for it, even though they had to hastily prepared for battle .
The moment Blaine’s feet touched the ground after he dismounted his horse, his gaze started searching for Kathleen. He knew she had to be there somewhere, held captive, but in the chaos that erupted around him, it was difficult to make out any individuals. The clearing was a blur of movement, dizzying and disorienting. Swords clashed all around him, the sound of steel against steel defeating in his ears, ringing loudly over the shouts and screams of the men. The first blood had already been spilled. It was only a matter of time before death spread through the woods, the men cutting each other down ruthlessly, without a second thought.
But in Blaine’s mind, there was only one goal; he had to get Kathleen out of there as fast as he could. It was what he had agreed to do with her father and Laird Stewart. He was not there to fight; he was there to take her out of the fight safely.
And yet, when one of the Campbell soldiers threw himself at him, he had no choice but to engage. Their swords met between them, the blades crashing together, the force of the blow reverberating all through Blaine’s arm. The other man was older, weathered and seasoned in battle, quick with his sword. He swung it in an arc, aiming for Blaine’s neck, but Blaine was quick to jump out of range.
He wasn’t fast enough. The blade caught him at the very last moment, slicing through his shirt and the skin of his chest. A stinging pain radiated outwards from the cut, and Blaine could feel the sluggish drip of blood down his torso. It hardly mattered to him at all, though; the pain was only a nuisance, just another small thing to ignore .
The air around him hissed as the blade cut it in two. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, making every single moment in time stretch and expand. Blaine tracked the other man’s movements carefully, taking in every shift of his feet, every minuscule twist of his wrist as he handled his sword. He knew the man was doing the same, watching him like a hawk, trying to find his weaknesses, his openings.
He would find none. Blaine hadn’t survived this long by being careless. Even in situations like this, even when his fear for Kathleen’s safety threatened to overcome him, he still had the presence of mind to do what had to be done in a fight, and his body moved through sheer instinct alone.
Another swing of the man’s sword had Blaine jumping back, just barely avoiding the slash at his stomach. Before the man could pull away and continue this dance, though, Blaine delivered his counterattack—a stab through the stomach, one that the man didn’t manage to avoid.
He watched as the man fell to his knees silently when he removed his sword, blood fountaining out of his torso. It was a sight he was used to and which didn’t faze him anymore. And yet, each time he took a life, something within him changed.
He didn’t have time to spare for any more thought over the matter. With the man dispatched, he began to search for Kathleen once more, pushing through the crowd of fighting soldiers. In his mad dash, he fell into others, exchanged some blows, tripped over the bodies of those who had already fallen to their deaths. Cuts and scrapes and bruises formed on his body as he received blow after blow, and yet none of them was enough to slow him down. Sweat covered his body, dripping down his back in thick droplets. His hands were slippery with blood, staining everything he touched, and his feet sank into the earth softened from all the blood that had seeped into it.
Just when he began to despair, he caught a glimpse of a bright, familiar color in the chaos. It was Kathleen, her dress standing out from the crowd, and upon spotting it, Blaine’s heart soared. She was there, he told himself. She was safe.
As safe as she could be, at least, when she was bound to a tree, close to the fight.
Blaine rushed to her as she squirmed on the ground, desperately trying to free herself and get away while no one paid her any attention. Upon seeing him, her mouth fell open and her breath caught in her throat, as though she could hardly believe he was there.
“Blaine?” she asked in disbelief. “What… what are ye daein’ here? How are ye here? Did ye nae leave? ”
“I couldnae leave ye,” Blaine said as he fell to his knees next to her, discarding his sword for a moment in favor of his knife, so he could untie her. He began to cut at the rope around her wrists, constantly glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no one would attack while he was busy, but it was a laborious task. Not only was the rope thick, but the handle of his knife kept slipping from his grip, damp from the blood and the sweat. “I had tae come back fer ye, Kathleen. I had tae try an’ ask ye tae forgive me.”
“I forgive ye,” Kathleen said immediately, though Blaine couldn’t quite believe that. It was the rush of the battle talking. It was the fact that he was there, saving her, and once it all settled down, perhaps she would change her mind. Blaine was perfectly aware of that, and yet there was still a spark of hope inside him, a small voice which told him that maybe she could truly forgive him.
When Blaine managed to untie her wrists, he moved on to her ankles as Kathleen rubbed at her raw and reddened skin. “Me faither?” she asked. “Is he alright?”
“He’s here,” Blaine said, taking a moment to search for the man in the crowd. He and Laird Stewart were in the middle of the fight, tearing down the Campbell forces one soldier at a time, and Blaine marveled at them both as he saw them battle. They were truly men of great skill; so much so that he was glad he didn’t have to fight Bran, as he doubted it would be an easy fight to win. “He wants me tae take ye out o’ here. I’ll take ye back tae the castle, yer maither is waitin’ fer ye. ”
Kathleen nodded, pushing herself up to her feet with Blaine’s help once her ankles were released, too. She was a resilient woman; even as she stumbled, her legs surely numb after spending all that time tied up, she didn’t once slow down or complain. She only followed Blaine, letting him guide her away from the fight and clinging to him as they walked past piles of dead bodies.
And then, just as Blaine thought the worst was past them, a wall of soldiers appeared before him. Slowly, he stepped in front of Kathleen, using his own body as a shield to protect her, and wiping his hands dry on his trews.
There were four of them and one of Blaine, but he had fought against worse odds before. And this time, he had something even more precious to fight for, something to protect.
“Stay behind me,” he told Kathleen; one brief warning before he threw himself into the wall of men with a battle cry, his sword held high in the air.
Stunned by his sudden attack, the men took too long to respond. It gave Blaine the opportunity to strike the first one in his path down, killing him instantly through a blow to the neck. The man abandoned his sword, his hand coming up to press against the deep wound, but no matter how much he tried to stop the bleeding, he could do nothing to prevent his death. Blood poured through his fingers unbridled, a river of crimson that drenched the earth beneath his feet .
Just like that, he was gone. But the other three would not be as easy to kill, Blaine knew.
One of the Campbell soldiers attacked him from the left, while the other from the right, and Blaine ducked to avoid one blow while he parried the other. The third soldier looked for an opening in the fight, eager to join in, and Blaine did his best to keep himself shielded from him by staying behind the other two.
His breath came in short puffs, exertion quickly getting the better of him as he jumped and pirouetted, blocking blow after blow. All of his efforts were focused on defending himself; he didn’t have time to deliver an attack, let alone plan it.
How will I kill them all? I can only dae it if they’re distracted.
As if summoning it, distraction quickly followed. But rather than the soldiers being distracted, it was Blaine himself, his attention caught by a familiar scream right behind him.
His head whipped around to see Laird Campbell there, one hand grabbing Kathleen by the waist as the other pressed a dagger to her throat. Her green eyes were wide, terrified; her auburn hair tossed in the wind, and her pale skin was a sickly shade as the blood drained from her face. Even in the orange glow of the flames, she looked like a ghost, as though she was already devoid of life .
Had Kathleen’s life not been at stake, Blaine would have thrown himself at the man without a second thought, not sparing a moment to consider that he could lose his own life. But now, with three Campbell men at his back and Laird Campbell threatening Kathleen, he could do nothing but stand there uselessly, his sword hanging by his side.
“Drop yer sword,” Laird Campbell said firmly. “Drop it.”
It took Blaine a few moments to obey, but then he let his sword fall to the ground with a clatter. What other choice did he have? Maybe, as long as he did whatever Laird Campbell asked of him, then Kathleen would remain safe.
“Let her go,” Blaine said, swallowing in a dry throat. “She cannae dae anythin’ tae harm ye. Just let her go.”
“Why would I dae that?” Laird Campbell asked with a small frown. “Dae ye take me fer a fool?”
“I’ll dae anythin’,” Blaine offered.
“Nay! ”
Though Kathleen had been docile until then, staying as still as she could with Laird Campbell’s blade against her neck, she now thrashed against him, trying to set herself free. Blaine watched in horror as Laird Campbell was one moment too late to pull his blade a little farther back, catching the skin of her throat just enough to cut a small, sharp line there.
“Stop movin’,” Laird Campbell grunted as he tightened his grip on Kathleen, trying to control her.
“Dinnae kill him!” Kathleen cried, her voice hoarse and desperate.
Blaine reached out for her, his hand stopping short of touching her. “It’s alright,” he promised. “It’s alright, Kathleen. I dinnae mind. I cannae think o’ a more worthy death.”
Tears streamed from Kathleen’s eyes. A sob wrenched itself from her chest and she shook her head wildly, as if she could dislodge the thought of Blaine dying itself from her head.
“An’ die ye will,” Laird Campbell said, his cold blue eyes piercing right through Blaine. “Ye’re surrounded by me men an’ I have the lassie. Nae matter what ye dae, I’ve won.”
“Ye willnae hurt her,” Blaine said through gritted teeth, rage bubbling up inside him. “Ye willnae hurt her or I?— ”
“Or ye will what?” Laird Campbell taunted. “What dae ye think ye can dae here? I have nae use fer ye. Me men will kill ye.”
“Yer men have already tried tae kill me,” Blaine pointed out. “They can all try an’ see if they’ll succeed. An’ once they dinnae, I’ll come fer ye.”
That seemed to have the intended effect on Laird Campbell. With a grunt, he shoved Kathleen aside, and she stumbled away from him, far enough from danger that Blaine could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
“Then I’ll kill ye meself,” said Laird Campbell. “One less Jacobite in this world can only be a good thing.”
Ach… so this is what it’s all about.
Blaine was not one to keep track of which clans fought for which cause, considering he had more immediate problems to deal with most of the time—namely, where he would find some coin, some food, and some shelter. But Laird Campbell didn’t only want to defeat the Mackintoshes and the Stewarts—his goals stretched further than that.
He and Laird Campbell began to circle each other, blades at the ready. From the corner of his eye, Blaine could see Kathleen watching them both like a hawk, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that everything would be alright, but he didn’t have the luxury of time.
Laird Campbell threw himself at Blaine with a cry, their blades meeting in the air between them. The blow was vicious, pain traveling up Blaine’s arm at the impact. His feet skidded against the ground, blood spraying up around him, and when he looked at Laird Campbell through their crossed blades, he saw nothing but cold, calculating precision in his gaze.
Pushing back, Blaine took a few steps to the side and the laird mirrored him, the two of them like a pair of wild animals on the prowl. Blaine watched him carefully, just like he had done with every other soldier he had fought—cataloguing his steps, observing his patterns, and analyzing the way he fought. The man was a seasoned warrior, but he was furious. When he attacked again, his movements were packed with strength but careless, as though he didn’t think much of Blaine and his efforts.
As their blades met again and again, the clangs echoing in the air around them, sweat dripped down Blaine’s forehead. His shirt stuck to his back, and every movement sent ripples of pain through his body. Still, he never once slowed down. He wasn’t fighting only for his life; he was fighting for Kathleen, for her safety, and that thought spurred him on .
One swipe of Laird Campbell’s blade caught Blaine across the arm, the sharp edge of it digging into his skin. Blood fountained from the wound, and from behind him, he heard the familiar sound of Kathleen’s gasp accompanied by a soft cry, but once again, he didn’t have the time to reassure her. As the stinging pain spread over his arm, Blaine planted his feet in the soil and then charged at the laird, his sword held high.
Laird Campbell jumped to the left, avoiding Blaine’s blow. Immediately after, he delivered a counterattack, but Blaine was prepared for it. He ducked just in time, stepping out of reach, and then spun around to face the laird again.
There was a moment—a short, almost imperceptible moment—when Laird Campbell was left wide open. Blaine wasted no time before he adjusted his stance and charged, taking advantage of that opening to push his blade in the laird’s stomach, just below his ribs.
The man gasped in response, blinking as though he didn’t realize what had happened at first. With a grunt, Blaine dragged his blade through him, slicing clean through his stomach. Blood spilled from the wound all over his hand, drenching him, and it was only when the life left Laird Campbell’s eyes entirely that he finally let go of the blade, allowing the man to fall to the ground.
Panting to catch his breath, Blaine turned to look at Kathleen, to reassure himself that she was alright. For a moment, she looked at him in shock, her eyes taking in the carnage. But just as Blaine began to think all this violence would prove too much for her to bear, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck to pull him close.
Despite the blood, despite all the injuries that were quickly catching up to him, draining his strength, Blaine took a moment to wrap his arms around Kathleen and bury his face in her hair. It was difficult to believe it was all over. It was difficult to believe that he could allow himself to feel relief, that he could take a moment to breathe without danger lurking over his shoulder.
“Faither!”
The cry broke through every other sound in the clearing, chilling Blaine to the bone. He looked up to see a young man rush to Laird Campbell’s body, falling to his knees next to him and pulling him into a tight embrace. Within moments, the young man was covered in his father’s blood, and when he searched for the man who had killed him, his gaze found Blaine.
Never before had Blaine encountered so much hatred in one single look. His stomach clenched, a visceral reaction that he couldn’t hope to control. Slowly, he began to let go of Kathleen, preparing himself for another fight, but just as the young man pushed himself to his feet and lunged at him, two of his men grabbed him .
It was a good call. Blaine would have killed him, too, without any hesitation.
The young Campbell man kicked and screamed as he was dragged away from Blaine and away from his father, but his men were firm. Their hands never once faltered. There were no soothing words exchanged, but the fact that they saved his life was enough.
Looking into the young man’s eyes, though, Blaine knew the war was far from over. One day, he would seek him out. One day, their swords would clash and the blood of one of them would be spilled.
Blaine could only hope that day was far away.
Around them, the battle died down as the Campbell soldiers accepted their defeat. Stewart and Mackintosh soldiers gathered the wounded and the fallen, caring for those they could and mourning those they couldn’t save. Blaine, his body aching from exhaustion and from the injuries he had sustained, pulled Kathleen aside, away from the carnage. He couldn’t protect her from any of this, not when she had already experienced the viciousness of the battle, but he could at least make sure she didn’t have to see much more of it.
“Are ye alright?” he asked her, cradling her cheek in his hand. “Are ye hurt? ”
Kathleen shook her head. “Nay, nay, I’m fine, but ye’re hurt, Blaine.”
“Dinnae fash,” Blaine assured her. “It daesnae even hurt.”
It was a lie, and from the chuckle Kathleen gave him, she could tell it was. “How can I thank ye fer savin’ me?”
“Thank me?” Blaine asked, huffing out a soft laugh. “Lass, I would tear the whole world apart fer ye. If ye’ll have me by yer side, I’ll never leave ye again.”
The smile Kathleen gave him was radiant enough to light up the entire forest. As their lips met in a soft kiss, warmth pooled in Blaine’s chest, easing every pain in his body.
“Never dae,” she said. “I never want ye tae leave.”