Chapter 30 #2
"Ye cannae hide from me," Finn promised the absent riders, spurring his horse out of the cold water and back onto the muddy trail.
Then, floating faintly on the damp, freezing evening air, the unmistakable, acrid scent of woodsmoke drifted directly toward him, sending a massive surge of pure adrenaline straight into his heart.
"Stay right here," Finn commanded the exhausted stallion softly, sliding silently from the saddle and drawing his heavy broadsword.
Sword firmly in hand, Finn slipped soundlessly between the massive trunks, his stealthy boots expertly finding soft patches of green moss instead of snapping dry branches.
Tonight, the Highlands hide a hunter, he thought darkly as he crouched low behind a fallen oak tree, spotting the faint glow of the fire.
"Where is she?" Finn muttered furiously to himself, his sharp eyes frantically searching every single face and shadow in the small, flickering camp.
He scanned the eight massive horses and the heavily armed men sitting casually around the fire, his heart completely stopping when he finally heard her beautiful, defiant voice echoing in the mist.
She looked absolutely exhausted, her pale wrists bound tightly before her and thick mud staining her skirts, yet she incredibly held herself straight and proud as she stared the leader down.
"So where does goodness end?" the scarred leader challenged her mockingly.
Finn gripped the leather hilt of his broadsword so incredibly tight that his knuckles turned completely white, barely restraining himself from charging wildly into the clearing.
Finn carefully studied the scarred leader for the very first time. Red hair, a scar down his face, and deep bitterness in his eyes. A haunting image of a terrified boy standing directly behind bleeding warriors finally surfaced in Finn's memory.
It is the Ross boy, he realized with a sickening jolt of absolute horror.
The incredibly dangerous man was undeniably the youngest son of the slaughtered Ross clan, the very same innocent bairn Finn had personally ordered released seven long years ago.
"My father started that war!" Callum roared in sudden, absolute agony, the bitter truth violently exploding from him before he could stop it.
An absolute, horrified silence completely swallowed the entire camp as the shocking revelation shattered the false, righteous narrative Callum had desperately clung to for his entire life.
"So ye do ken. It was yer father. He attacked first," Claire realized out loud, her voice ringing with absolute certainty.
Callum's face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage as he violently crossed the short distance and struck Claire brutally across the face with a sickening crack.
"Enough!" Callum shrieked, his voice breaking entirely with madness and grief.
Everything inside Finn went terrifyingly still as he witnessed the woman he loved collapsing helplessly against the cold mud, her bound hands unable to catch her fall.
Mine. I will tear his beating heart from his chest.
"MacRae!" someone shouted in panic, spotting the massive Highlander exploding from the tree line like a vengeful demon.
Finn collided with the nearest, screaming guard shoulder-first, slamming the unfortunate man violently backward directly into the roaring fire and sending burning logs flying wildly. Another man reached for his sword, but Finn's blade flashed once, and the man folded to the ground with a cry.
"Kill him!" Callum ordered his scrambling men, drawing his own weapon in an absolute panic.
Finn was already coming directly for him, not as a laird or a soldier, but solely as the one man standing between Claire and anyone who dared touch her.
They collided violently before either man could fully raise their heavy blades, driving them both into the mud.
Finn struck him once, then twice, snapping Callum's head sideways.
"My lord!" Douglas's powerful voice suddenly thundered from the dark tree line, signaling the highly anticipated arrival of the MacRae cavalry.
Douglas burst violently into the clearing with nearly a dozen heavily armored warriors charging fiercely at his back, completely turning the tide of the desperate battle.
"Leave none standing!" Douglas roared to the warriors, his broadsword already completely coated in fresh blood.
Finn frantically searched through the absolute, bloody confusion of the melee, shoving himself to his feet and expertly blocking a sword strike from the left. He pivoted in the mud, slamming the hilt of his sword against a man's temple before a heavy blade scraped violently against his own.
"Face me, MacRae," Callum hissed, raising his heavy blade for another desperate strike as the heavy rain dripped from his hair.
Their heavy swords locked violently together, sending bright sparks flying into the falling rain as the two straining men refused to give a single inch of ground.
"So... ye remember me," Callum mocked him bitterly, a dark smile crossing his lips as he shoved hard against the locked blades.
Finn stared coldly into the deeply scarred face, feeling absolutely zero pity for the broken man fiercely trying to kill him in the mud.
"Aye, Ross. I remember sparing a frightened boy," Finn answered quietly, shoving the man backward with terrifying strength.
The twisted smile instantly vanished from Callum's face as he swung wildly, attempting a completely desperate, sweeping arc aimed directly at Finn's exposed neck.
"Ye should have killed me!" Callum spat furiously, recovering his balance for another frantic strike.
Finn ducked effortlessly beneath the sloppy strike, his blade carving through a low branch instead. He parried the subsequent blows easily, his superior training completely overwhelming the younger, enraged fighter.
"I spared ye because ye were innocent," Finn defended calmly, expertly blocking a vicious downward strike.
Callum swung wildly once again, screaming in absolute agony as the seven long years of festering bitterness finally boiled entirely over into complete madness.
"Everything I loved burned that day!" Callum cried out in overwhelming grief, driving another heavy blow directly toward Finn's shoulder. "My home! My clan!"
Finn gave ground only just long enough to perfectly regain his solid footing, completely waiting for the absolute perfect moment to disarm the frantic man.
"Yer father chose that war. He marched first," Finn countered, his voice echoing through the clearing.
"He was defending what was ours!" Callum roared back, hesitating for just a heartbeat.
"End this. It never had to come to this," Finn warned him darkly, expertly knocking Callum's heavy sword completely aside with a brutal, twisting strike that sent the weapon spinning into the mud.
Callum stumbled backward, completely disarmed and entirely defeated, but his dark, dangerous gaze suddenly shifted entirely past Finn and locked directly onto Claire struggling to sit up.
"Finn!" Claire screamed in absolute terror as Callum moved suddenly in her direction.
Callum violently snatched a sharp hunting knife from his leather belt as he ran desperately through the mud toward her.
Nay, ye will nae touch her.
Finn did not shout. He did not think. He simply crossed the muddy distance in three massive, impossible strides, the ground vanishing beneath his boots.
Callum lifted the knife to strike her, but Finn drove his heavy broadsword violently forward with absolutely everything he possessed. One clean thrust passed smoothly directly through Callum's back, emerging beneath his ribs just as the man raised his arm.
"Now... ye ken..." Callum whispered brokenly as blood touched his lips, the sharp knife slipping harmlessly from his dying fingers. "...what it feels like."
The terrible strength completely left Callum's legs, and Finn carefully eased the bloody sword free as the broken man collapsed heavily into the cold mud. Silence spread slowly across the clearing as the surviving Ross men lowered their weapons in surrender.
Finn let his own heavy sword fall, landing with a dull thud in the wet earth as he crossed the clearing in three hurried strides.
"Claire," Finn gasped out, dropping heavily to his knees directly before her.
His massive hands shook violently as he desperately reached for the rough ropes binding her delicate wrists, completely struggling against the heavy knots soaked tight with rain. He fumbled them once, then twice, until they finally loosened and the rope fell completely away.
"I am sorry," Finn whispered, his fingertips barely brushing the very edge of the terrible bruise blooming across her cheek, afraid to hurt her more.