Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Shite!
Callum swore under his breath as he watched her run toward the line of trees bordering the inner castle walls. If she followed that path, it would lead her to a glen where there was no mistaking what could possibly happen to her.
Nowhere in the castle was safe, but it was even more dangerous the further she got from his side.
Looking back at the battle, Callum saw his men fighting for their lives.
His clansmen were doing well, as was Iain.
They stood their ground and fought the line, pushing back the enemy with trained precision as they had been taught.
Steel clashed against steel as the sickly sweet smell of iron filled the air.
They were winning, but there was no telling how quickly a tide could turn in the throes of battle.
I cannae leave them.
His fingers gripped his sword even tighter until his knuckles began to turn white. He had a duty to his clansmen and to the families who relied on him. There was no possible way that he could leave them all in the lurch and go after one person.
Nae just a person, but Eleanor.
Callum gritted his teeth and turned toward the line of trees, setting out at a run. There was no choice in the matter when it came to her.
Eleanor was no longer in view, but he could not leave her to face whatever was behind the trees alone. Why had she run off at the strange sound? Callum had heard someone yelling, but he could not make out who it was or what they were saying.
He reached the line of trees in under a minute, frantically searching for Eleanor, yet all he could see and hear was the quiet forest and the raging battle at his back.
His eyes quickly fell on a path that had been beaten through the heather and underbrush.
Branches and leaves had been snapped off the bushes where someone had been running in that direction.
Foolish lass.
Callum swore under his breath again as he headed in that direction.
She was so hellbent on following whatever she had heard that she had left a trail obvious enough for any enemy to follow her tracks.
Even worse, she was headed directly to the open glen, where she would be easier to spot than a sitting duck.
Tearing through the underbrush, Callum could feel the sting of nettles on his legs, yet the urge to find her drove him forward as the blood and adrenaline rushed through his veins.
There was nothing in the world that could keep him from finding her as he reached the end of the small forest and came to the edge of the glen.
Mist filled his view, covering the land before him with a thick, foggy blanket.
Where is she?
Callum’s eyes scoured the landscape as he squinted, hoping to get a better view.
Yet there was nothing and no one for as far as the eye could see.
It was almost as if she had disappeared into thin air as the silence began to ring in his ears.
Not even the battle cries from the castle could be heard anymore as his chest rose and fell with every labored breath.
The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end as he gripped the hilt of his sword and steadied his footing on the soft earth.
It was quiet, far too quiet for an empty glen. It was the kind of quiet that came right before a storm started raging. His eyes still searched the glen.
His heart leaped into his chest when a figure suddenly appeared in the mist. “Eleanor?” he said out loud, but quickly tightened his grip again when he realized that the gait was all wrong.
“Isnae a lass,” Callum whispered to himself and took up a more defensive stance, his eyes darting through the mist. Wherever she was, Callum hoped and prayed that she was safe and keeping out of sight.
It would be far too dangerous for her to come into view when he did not know who lurked behind the mist.
The figure came striding toward him with a confident gait, and soon enough, four more figures appeared, two on each side. Something did not seem right at all as a sixth figure, bound with ropes, ambled along behind them.
Eleanor?
Callum wanted to rush to the figures, but stood his ground when the sound of steel being drawn from sheaths sliced through the air.
The figures came into view: five men and a prisoner behind them. But something still seemed off as the person stumbled forward, almost slipping on the damp earth.
A lad?
Callum’s frown deepened as he wondered who the men were and where Eleanor had gotten to.
If she had not been taken as a prisoner, then what had happened to her?
His eyes quickly moved across the glen again, but he still could not see beyond the strangers, nor could he hear anything beyond the distant battle behind him.
Coming into view, the men stepped from the mist, their blue coats and dark kilts damp and heavy. They seemed quite unkempt, as if they had been living off the land for far too long with disheveled hair and dirty clothes.
“Who are ye?” Callum called out, keeping his grip tight on his sword as he lifted it in a defensive stance.
None of the men seemed familiar to him, but the leader stirred something deep in his memory that he could not quite place his finger on.
“Calm yerself, Laird Fraser,” the man spoke in a deep voice that seemed just as vaguely familiar to Callum as the crop of red curls on his head. Coming to a stop a few feet away from Callum, the large red-headed man nodded to his right.
The strange men stepped aside as their leader reached back and yanked on the rope, pulling the prisoner forward as the man stumbled to his knees in front of them all.
“Andrew Whitacker?” Callum almost gasped as he looked at the bloody man kneeling in front of his captors.
Looking up with one swollen eye and a bloodied lip, Andrew Whitacker nodded, his body bruised and beaten, but very much alive.
His clothes were covered in blood, dirt, and various other bits of debris, but as far as Callum could see, he was able to move without assistance.
He was beaten and bruised, but at least he was still alive.
The past few days came crashing back to Callum as he realized that he had been wrong. The men, whoever they were, had never intended to kill Andrew; he was bait. All of the time that he had thought that Andrew was dead, they had been keeping him until the time was right.
Anger surged in his chest as Callum clenched his jaw, dragging his gaze away from the bloodied man.
“I willnae ask ye again, who are ye?” He searched the leader’s face after trying to place the rest of the men.
None of them belonged to his council, nor had he recognized any of them from his clan. Had he been wrong?
The men on the night of the ambush had been part of his clan, but how far had the conspiracy to overthrow him gone? Had other clans gotten involved? And if so, just whom could he trust?
The leader’s piercing blue eyes flashed menacingly as he smirked at Andrew. “Do ye really nae recognize me, Laird Fraser?” He dragged out the last two words as if he were spitting venom. He ran his filthy fingers through his mop of red curls that matched the stubble on his chin.
Callum narrowed his eyes, looking from the scars across the man’s cheek to the torn and tatty clothes. He carried himself with dignity and pride, yet his clothes suggested that he was no man of means.
“Nae, state who ye are and have done with yer plan,” Callum growled, growing tired of the game.
The man’s sneer only widened as his eyes once again flashed. “I wouldnae have expected ye to remember me. Why would such an important Laird as yerself ever recall someone who is beneath him? But then again, we were just bairns ourselves.” His voice grew darker with every word.
Racking his brain as far back as he could, Callum struggled to place the man in his past. He was almost certain that he was mistaken somehow, but there was an air of familiarity about the man’s figure.
The pit of his stomach churned with unease as he adjusted his footing and kept a firm grip on his blade.
Shaking his head, the man began to laugh, a nasty, futureless sound that only worsened the dislike gnawing at Callum. “Me name is Donald Kincaid, but ye may know me as Donald Stewart.”
Realisation dawned on Callum as his eyes grew wider and his breathing deepened.
Why had he not made the connection before?
The palms of his hands began to itch as he pieced everything together.
Donald Stewart was the man who had signed all the deeds, but Stewart…
Stewart Kincaid was the name of the man who had slain his father and betrayed the clan.
“Ye are his son…” Callum breathed the words as knives of bitter anger pierced his chest.
“Aye,” Donald slowly began to smile as he nodded.
The men on either side of him began to laugh as Donald spoke again. “I was hidin’ in plain sight all these years using me father’s name. And now? Ye walked right into me hands, just as I planned.” His eyes darkened this time as he fixed Callum with a glare.
How did I nae see it before?
Callum took in the mop of red curls and sharp features.
He was not the spitting image of his father, but he bore a resemblance to the clansman who had betrayed Callum’s father.
“And what business do ye have here now that yer father is dead?” Callum barked as bitterness colored each word.
Never in a million years had he thought that he would ever have to face his past again.
Yet here was the son of the man, standing in front of him with a prisoner at his feet.
It was then that Callum caught the flash of torn blue cloth beneath the opening in Donald’s coat. The colors and mark of a fallen clan.
“I am surprised at ye, Laird Fraser. How could ye nae have ken that it was me? I falsified all of the land deeds and bribed yer men. I must say, it was only too easy to win them over with promises of land and wealth once I am laird.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“Laird? Is that what ye have been after all this time? Ye want to be laird of Clan Fraser?” Callum was almost shocked.
“Aye, Laird as me father should have been Laird. I want ye to pay for the anguish I had to suffer all these years. Me father should have been Laird with me as his successor. We are far better at runnin’ the clan than ye or yer father ever were.
How do ye think I have half yer clan in me pocket?
Yer line will end in blood, Laird Fraser, and I shall start with the less useful members and allies of yer clan.
” Donald reached down and gripped Andrew’s hair, yanking his head back as he drew his sword.
A sharp scream pierced the air, making them all look up as Eleanor came running from the forest.
“Daenae kill me brother!” she screamed at the top of her lungs and reached Callum’s side in no time at all.
Callum quickly reached out and stopped her, pulling her to his side with one arm as she fought to reach her brother. “Stop, lass!” He pulled her tighter to his side as relief and worry flooded his body at the same time.
Still holding on to Andrew’s hair, Donald began to laugh as he yanked Andrew’s head back even further, making the man cry out with pain.
“This is interestin’,” Donald sneered. “I was wonderin’ when the famous Eleanor Whitacker would make her appearance.
I had heard that ye found a bride, but the fact that it is the sister of yer land agent is just luck smilin’ down on me. ”
The men all began to laugh again as they set their gazes on Eleanor, making Callum’s blood boil with fury.
“Please, daenae hurt him,” Eleanor whispered as she finally stopped struggling and clung to Callum’s side.
Donald looked from Callum to Eleanor as his lips curved into a triumphant smile.
“I have a deal for ye, Laird Fraser. Lay yer arms down and sign over the rights to the clan. If ye go without makin’ a fuss, I will promise that yer death will be quick and yer lass will have a home for the rest of her days. ”
“Ye leave her alone, ye bastard!” Callum spat at the man’s feet, pushing Eleanor behind him as he once again lifted his sword in the air.
Laughing louder this time, Donald shook his head as the men joined in the mirth. “I cannae believe it! The mighty Laird Fraser has gone and fallen for this wee lass!” His words were mocking, unraveling the truth that Callum knew was building in his chest.
“Keep yer filthy mouth to yerself, ye bastard. Ye ken nothin’ of what ye are sayin’,” Callum growled and reached for Eleanor behind his back, gripping her hand in his.
The warmth of her skin seeped into his, making him realize that he would die for her in that moment if that is what it would take.
The man continued to laugh and sneer as Donald let go of Andrew’s hair and pushed him forward into the mud. “I thought I needed yer dog to lure ye away, but I never thought that ye would provide an even greater piece to be bargained with.” He nodded toward his men.
Feeling the anger build in his core, Callum pushed Eleanor further back, letting go of her hand as he lunged toward the oncoming men.
Callum ducked the first swing, feeling the rush of air as a blade passed just above his head.
He drove his shoulder into the man’s midsection, sending him sprawling, then spun just in time to parry another strike.
Sparks flew as their swords scraped together, the sound sharp and violent in the heavy mist.
Glancing over his shoulder, Callum barked an order at Eleanor. “Stay back!” He quickly returned to the men in front of him.
She had not run, of course, she had not. She was both brave and foolish in equal measure. But that was exactly why Callum admired her. She was unlike anyone he had ever met in his life before.
Steel met steel with a ringing clash as Callum’s blade struck the first man squarely across his guard. The impact jolted up his arm, but he held firm, twisting his wrist and shoving the man back a step. There was no time to think, no room for hesitation.