Chapter 22 #2
A ripple of tension tore through James, his hands tightening until the leather creaked beneath his grip. “Ye willnae speak of her,” he warned, his voice dangerously low.
“Jenny, was it?” Drummond continued, savoring each word. “A bonnie lass… though nae strong enough to last.”
James swung down from his horse in one swift motion, boots striking the earth with purpose. “Ye’ve insulted me enough, ye coward. Face me, man to man. Just ye and me.”
Drummond arched a brow. “Or what?”
James stepped forward, eyes blazing. “I see, ye are too afeared to face me without yer guards to hide behind?”
A murmur passed through Drummond’s men, and James saw it, the flicker of doubt, the unspoken challenge that hung in the air. He watched Drummond’s gaze shift briefly to his soldiers, weighing their perception, their judgment, and his pride would not allow retreat.
With a sharp exhale, he dismounted, drawing his sword with a hiss of steel.
“Very well, MacAllister,” he sneered. “Let us see if ye fare better than yer sister did.”
James drew his own blade, the familiar weight settling into his hand like an extension of his will.
“Ye’ll answer for every word,” he said coldly.
They circled one another, boots crunching against the gravel, the world narrowing to the space between them.
Then Drummond lunged. Steel clashed with a ringing force, sparks flashing as their blades met again and again. Drummond fought with brute strength, swinging wide and heavy, while James moved with precision, parrying each strike with controlled fury.
“Is this all ye have?” Drummond taunted, slashing toward James’s shoulder.
James twisted aside, countering with a sharp strike that grazed the man’s arm. “I’ve more than enough for the likes of ye.”
Drummond snarled, driving forward, forcing James back a step. “She’ll be me wife before the sun sets, and there’s naught ye can do.”
James cut him off with a vicious blow, their swords locking as he leaned in close. “Ye’ll never touch her.”
They broke apart, circling once more, breath heavy, tension thick as storm air. Drummond’s lip curled, blood seeping from a cut along his arm.
“Perhaps it is me purpose in life…to take another women from ye, eh?” he jeered. “Another lass to break.”
Something inside James snapped. With a roar, he surged forward, his strikes faster, harder, relentless as a tide crashing against stone. Steel rang out in rapid succession as Drummond struggled to keep pace, his earlier confidence faltering beneath the onslaught.
“Ye took me sister!” James shouted, each word punctuated by a blow. “Ye think I’ll let ye take her too?”
Drummond staggered, barely catching a strike that nearly split his guard.
“She was weak…”
The words never finished. James drove his blade forward with brutal precision, the steel plunging deep into Drummond’s chest, silencing him at last.
The world seemed to still as Drummond’s eyes widened, shock overtaking arrogance. James held his gaze a moment longer, breathing hard, then withdrew the blade as the man crumpled to the ground.
Silence fell over the gathered men, broken only by the distant wind and the heavy beat of James’s heart. He stood over the fallen Laird, chest rising and falling, the weight of years lifting from his shoulders at last.
He turned slowly to the Drummond's guards, his gaze like a blade of its own, cutting through any thought of defiance.
“Now release Eloise Whitmore,” he said, his voice low but thunderous with command, “or all of ye will befall the same fate.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence shattered along with their Laird, and one of them barked a hurried order toward the gates. Steel lowered, shoulders shifted, and fear rippled through their ranks like a storm through tall grass.
James did not move, did not blink, his entire being fixed upon that gate as though he could will it open. Inside his chest, something raw and desperate clawed at him, a truth he could no longer deny.
I cannae live without her.
Callum stepped closer, voice quiet but steady. “She’ll come, me Laird. Hold fast.”
James exhaled sharply, though it did little to steady the storm within him. “If they’ve harmed her…” he muttered, his grip tightening on his sword hilt.
“They havenae,” Callum said firmly. “They wouldnae dare now.”
James nodded once, though doubt still gnawed at him, dark and relentless. “I should have been there. I should have kept her safe.”
Callum placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Ye are here now. That’s what matters.”
But James scarcely heard him, his eyes locked upon the heavy wooden gates as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
The gates groaned open at last, the sound echoing like a thunderclap in James’s ears. For a heartbeat, there was nothing, only shadow beyond the threshold, and then she appeared.
Eloise.
She stumbled forward into the light, her hair loose, her gown disheveled, her breath quick with panic, and when her eyes found him, something broke loose inside his chest.
“James!” she cried, her voice trembling as she ran toward him.
He did not think, did not hesitate, he ran to her, closing the distance in long, urgent strides. “Eloise!”
When he reached her, he gathered her into his arms with fierce desperation, holding her as though she might vanish if he dared loosen his grip.
“Ye’re safe,” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough. “God help me, ye’re safe.”
Eloise clung to him just as tightly, her hands gripping his tunic. “I thought… I thought I would never see ye again,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Nay,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at her, his hands framing her face. “Daenae ever think that. I would have torn the world apart to reach ye.”
Her eyes searched his, wide and shining. “Ye came for me.”
“Aye,” he breathed, his thumb brushing her cheek, as though needing to feel that she was real. “I will always come for ye.”
She let out a soft, shaky laugh through her tears.
He drew her close again, unable to stop himself, pressing her against him as if anchoring them both to the earth. “Did he hurt ye?” he asked, his tone sharpening with protective fury.
“Nay,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “He threatened… but ye came before he could do more.”
James exhaled, relief crashing over him so powerfully it left him unsteady. “I swear to ye, Eloise, nay one will ever touch ye again. Nae while I draw breath.”
She looked up at him, her expression soft but searching. “Ye risked everythin' for me… why?”
He stilled, the question striking deeper than any blade, yet the answer rose without resistance.
“Because I cannae bear to see harm come to ye,” he said quietly. “I tried to tell meself this was only duty… only protection… but it isnae.”
Eloise’s breath caught, her fingers tightening in his tunic. “James…”
For a moment, she said nothing, only stared at him as though seeing him anew.
Then she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest. “Thank ye,” she whispered.
James closed his eyes, holding her tighter, the chaos of battle and fear finally giving way to something deeper, steadier.
Eloise, me lass. Mine now and until the end of time.