by Fiona Faris
A gash through the chest, a slice through the base of the neck, and a thrust through the abdomen vanquished three more men who crossed his path. An adversary witnessed in horror the fury of Andrew’s veracity in battle. His eyes bulged opened, and his dry, cracked lips quivered as he was the next victim of the ferocious Highlander.
The numbers game now put Andrew at a disadvantage as a second opponent locked eyes with him, as his allies were all engrossed in the trenches of battle.
“Two against one? I’ve been dealt worse hands than this afore,” he said with a grumble and kicked a blood-stained sword off the ground and into his hand.
One slice aimed at the head and one thrust aimed at the stomach both failed to pierce Andrew as his two swords deflected them with ease. He leaped onto the high ground as a wooden desk presented him a vantage point over the two attackers.
A feeble thrust caught by Andrew was punished by a hack onto the forearm which amputated the arm at the elbow. The piercing screams of the Erskine fighter reverberated along the halls of the top floor. His hysteria steered him straight into the sword of another Murray warrior.
The legs of the desk wobbled and shook Andrew off balance. His remaining foe sliced the legs off the table to steer him back onto even footing. Andrew’s feet landed on the floor, and the whoosh of a sword piercing the air motioned for him to spin clockwise to dodge a brain-crushing death blow. The sword hammered the dust-filled surface which raised the dust off the ground like a thin layer of morning fog along the Highlands.
Andrew burst to his feet with the lightning reflexes of a wildcat locked on its prey. He swept his sword off the floor and swung at the neck for the kill shot. A miss on the first swing, but not on the second, as Andrew impaled the legs which brought the Erskine clan member to his knees. His thighs oozed blood onto the floor, and his face grew paler by the second. His suffering was finally ceased when Andrew ran his blade straight into the soldier’s heart. The deadpan expression moved Andrew, just for a moment, before the body crashed to the ground.
“Aye, I got me a lass! She sure is a fair one,” Donald shouted as he barged onto the top floor.
“We dae no’ hae mich time. Their battalion will barrel right on top o’ us ony minute now. We hae tae keep movin’,” Andrew said as he was solely focused on surviving the battle.
Donald and three other men seemed infatuated with the young woman Donald was holding hostage to his person. Andrew observed in disgust as the men draped their hands all over her tattered arisaid. In a fit of rage, he sliced the wooden desk, the splintered wood stealing everyone’s attention.
“Ye dunderheids are goin’ tae get us a’ killed! Ye act like ye hae ne’er seen a fair lass since ye were born!” he shouted.
The men, with the exception of Donald, at once took their hands off the girl.
Donald snickered and made up the distance between him and Andrew. “Ye dae no’ call the shots ‘round ‘ere. Dae no’ ferget why we are ‘ere. It is tae take as many hoors like this as we can find.”
An intense stare down ensued between them, as a kirk mouse could be heard amongst the silence inside of Kellie Castle. Onlookers could cut the tension with a knife.
“Very well, whit’s the next command, my chief,” Andrew said with a slightly derisive tone.
Donald shunned Andrew and grasped two nearby candles that were dimly lighting their surroundings.
“Did ye listen tae nothin’ yer chief said in his inspirational sermon afore we left? We slaughter the rest o’ these heathens, take as many lassies as we find back home, an’ turn this place intae ashes,” Donald proclaimed and then went to setting the place on fire.
The image of the flames flickered in Andrew’s eyes. He was mesmerized by how small they started, only to catapult higher and higher. The smell of burning flesh soon engulfed his senses, and he had to beat back the overwhelming urge to empty the contents of his stomach.
He was loyal to his clan, his people, yet the scene before him left a bad taste in his mouth. Was this really what was necessary for their clan’s survival? His head said yes, but his heart did not agree.
“Come on, will ye? Oor dae ye want tae join ‘em in this fiery grave?” Rory, Andrew’s best friend, laughed as he yanked Andrew by the arm, pulling him away from the inferno.
Andrew and Rory raced down the stairs to the ground floor of the castle, then collapsed to their knees outside, wheezing from inhaling too much smoke.
“Get up, Andrew! We hae company!” Rory then shouted.
A dazed Andrew clutched his broadsword and scanned his surrounds. Before them stood four Erskine adversaries, blades drawn.
“An’ intae the fray we go again, my friend,” he told Rory.
“Aye, an’ ye ken whit I say tae the devil who waits tae take my soul?”
Andrew grinned. “Aye. ‘No’ taeday!’”
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About the Author
Fiona Faris is an American author of authentic historical Medieval & Scottish romance books. She started writing historical highlander romance after she visited the Scottish Highlands years ago with her husband.
Her books have received startling reviews about the humor, the darkness and the romance they have.
She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and their two sons. Before she started writing romance, she experienced the various occupations: translator, dog-training, and a substitute English teacher for the most part of her life... However, nothing could ever compare to writing stories depicting the majestic and mysterious Scottish Highlands!
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