A Highlander's Destiny (Digital Boxed Edition)

by Willa Blair

  Colbridge danced back and Toran pressed forward, forcing him off his balance. Just as Toran thought Colbridge might fall, he twisted and leapt to the side, then squared off again against Toran’s blades.

  “Well played,” Colbridge snarled, then laughed. “But not well enough.” He thrust, feinting with his claymore as he turned to bring his dirk in close. He sliced at Toran’s face with it. Toran blocked him with his dirk, then swung hard with his claymore and connected, but with the flat of its blade, knocking Colbridge back instead of cutting him in half. That blow should have at least knocked the wind out of him, if it hadn’t cracked some ribs, Toran thought. Colbridge laughed, but not nearly as heartily as before, and made space between them, breathing hard.

  As they fought, they moved in an outward spiral. Toran realized that Colbridge was trying to maneuver him so that his back would be to Colbridge’s men by the time they reached the outer edge of the circle. Aye. Donal had said it. Colbridge would not fight fair. If he managed to back Toran into his men, one of them could easily run Toran through while he fought their leader.

  He risked a glance at Donal, saw his eyes narrow on Colbridge, then sweep quickly across the men arrayed on the other side of the circle, and Toran knew he was gauging the effectiveness of Colbridge’s strategy. Aye, Donal had seen through it, too, but would wait for Toran to signal before entering the fray. Nay. One of them would fight fair, Toran vowed. Instead of continuing to dance to Colbridge’s tune, Toran feinted and reversed course, wrecking the pattern and forcing Colbridge to back up.

  Toran fought on, knowing that to lose this fight was to lose everything he held dear. His life would be the least of it. His clan would fall to Colbridge’s army, the Aerie would become a stronghold for the invader, and Aileana…nay, he had to forget her for now. Focus on the man who challenged him.

  Suddenly, Colbridge stumbled, and Toran saw his chance. He moved in closer to his panting opponent and thrust toward Colbridge’s chest. But Colbridge rolled out of the way, came up swinging, and knocked Toran’s sword out of his hand. Left with only his dirk against both of Colbridge’s weapons, Toran knew he was in trouble.

  ****

  Alieana gasped as Colbridge knocked Toran’s sword from his hand. It ended up several feet away after tumbling hilt over point, but Toran never took his gaze off of Colbridge’s. He watched, Aileana reasoned, for any sign that might give away his opponent’s next move. But with only his dirk against the longer blade of Colbridge’s sword, it would be difficult to defend against Colbridge’s attack, even if he saw it coming.

  Aileana feared for Toran’s life. He could not defend against the longer blade with only a short dirk. Colbridge kept thrusting with his longsword, forcing Toran to back up toward the bonfire, getting between Toran and his weapon on the ground. Toran feinted to the side, but Colbridge countered with a sweep of his blade, blocking Toran from getting around him. Toran was running out of room to move. He had to be getting singed by the heat of the blaze at his back and Colbridge was effectively keeping him from retrieving his sword. The time had come to use her talents.

  But would it work? She needed to control both of the men holding her. And she’d never done this with more than one person at a time.

  Still held between two of Colbridge’s men, Aileana used their grip on her arms to link to one, then the other. Quietly, but with the power of her Voice, she ordered them to release her, not knowing if her Talent would affect them both or fail to affect either one. When they let go of her, Aileana wanted to cheer.

  Colbridge had succeeded forcing Toran closer to his men, but rather than one of them running Toran through, as Aileana suspected he had planned, she had a surprise for him. She stepped close behind the circle of men surrounding the fighters and touched one of her former captors. Before he could react, she ordered him to draw his sword and toss it to Toran, then remain still.

  The man complied, pulling his blade out too slowly for Aileana’s fractured patience, but then tossing it quickly at Toran’s feet. Colbridge’s shock at the apparent defection slowed him down and gave Toran time to duck toward the blade, but not to retrieve it. Instead of being able to come up swinging Toran had to scramble to keep moving sideways, away from the fire and from Colbridge’s weapons. This took him farther around the circle, away from Aileana. So she ran, and moved ahead of the path Toran was on, to grip the hand of another of Colbridge’s men.

  She ordered him to do the same: pull his weapon and toss it to Toran and not interfere. When he did, Colbridge stopped, shocked at the second defection. Aileana moved farther on, careful to stay behind the circle of onlookers so she would be invisible to Colbridge, and had a third man throw his sword onto the ground. Toran had a time to take advantage of Colbridge’s shock to pick up the second blade, then back up, tuck his dirk back into his belt, and pick up the third sword.

  Aileana released the breath she’d been holding. She’d been fearful that Colbridge would take advantage of Toran’s attempt to retrieve one of the blades. Or would be able to force him away from both of them, so that Toran had to continue to fight him with only his dirk. But Toran had succeeded in using the chance Colbridge’s men had unwittingly given him and rearmed. Colbridge stared for another second at the men around him whom he thought supported him, then shook himself and faced Toran again. But the sight of Toran now holding two swords clearly gave Colbridge pause. Toran, for that matter, appeared a little nonplussed by the defections that aided him, but he kept his gaze on Colbridge, giving the man a fair chance to resume the fight.

  With Toran rearmed—doubly armed—with his borrowed broadswords, Aileana was satisfied she was free to tend to Ranald. She pushed her way through a few of Colbridge’s men, none of whom tried to restrain her, and went to Ranald, where he hung, now barely conscious, still bleeding. Frantic, she turned to some of the nearby men and begged them to cut Ranald down. No one moved, so Aileana grabbed the nearest and used her Voice to order him to release Ranald.

  Ranald groaned as he was let down. “Leave me, Aileana. Let me die.”

  “No, Ranald. I won’t do that. I can heal you.”

  “No, you can’t. They’ll stop you. Then they’ll kill you, too.”

  “No. The Lathan laird, my husband, is fighting Colbridge. Toran will win. Then you’ll be free to go. All of Colbridge’s men will be free.”

  Ranald managed to shake his head. “Aileana, if they’re still fighting, why are you here? Go to the Lathan. He may need you. If he can’t defeat Colbridge, we’ll all die.”

  “I must stay with you.”

  “No, you must go to your husband. Come back to me after he’s won.”

  Aileana nodded, tears blurring her vision. Ranald was near death, yet he ordered her away. How could she leave him? And yet, he was right. If Toran needed her help to defeat Colbridge, then that was where she must be.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she told Ranald, and gripped his hand. He tried to pull it away, as if he feared she would take time to heal the worst of his injuries, but she contented herself with squeezing his hand, then gained her feet. One of Colbridge’s warriors who had watched her conversation with Ranald, was nearby. She touched his hand and told him to guard Ranald, and to let no one else harm him. He nodded and took up position next to the injured man.

  With Ranald being watched, she ran back to the circle of men bordering the field where Colbridge and Toran fought. They were still at it. Neither one appeared to have inflicted any major injuries on his opponent. But both were moving more slowly, reacting less quickly, breathing harder. And both still looked fiercely determined. Aileana’s breath caught with each clang of their swords. How Toran wielded two broadswords was more than she could imagine. But wield them, he did. If his show of strength was meant to intimidate Colbridge, it was working. The older man looked wary, an expression she had never seen him wear before.

  Aileana glanced back in Ranald’s direction, still torn between her need to support Toran and her need to heal Ranald. If only she c
ould do both at the same time.

  One of Toran’s men shouted his name, and Aileana turned back in time to see Toran stumble to his knees, over the first blade that he’d been unable to pick up. No! Was her help going to get Toran killed? Aileana’s heart leapt into her throat, choking back the cry that would have ripped her in two as she reached toward her husband. Colbridge rushed forward, dirk raised to strike, but Toran managed to raise one of his blades in defense.

  Colbridge reached past Toran’s blades to swipe at his neck. Toran leaned away as Colbridge’s momentum carried him to the ground on his belly. He rolled to his back and lifted his blade. But it was too little, too late. Toran ran him through the heart, pinning him to the turf with the blade of the sword borrowed from one of his own men. The fight was over.

  Stunned silence greeted the end of the battle as Toran stood and pulled his weapon free, wiped the blood onto Colbridge’s leathers, and turned to face Colbridge’s men. None moved. Toran waited, and Aileana held her breath. She knew he was expecting a charge. Donal approached Toran, his men fanning out behind him, eyes on Colbridge’s men, expressions puzzled. A few of the invaders stepped hesitantly forward, but the men Aileana had commanded remained in place and their stillness stopped the others.

  Toran stepped forward, panting. He looked right and left, taking in all of the stunned faces lining the circle. Then he straightened and raised his voice. “Men,” he called, “the fight is over. Colbridge is dead, and his army with him. Drop yer weapons, now, and ye can go free.”

  At that announcement, a few swords fell to the ground. Then more. Then the clatter became deafening for a moment. Then silence reigned again.

  Aileana began breathing again. It was over.

  Nodding, Toran continued speaking. “Ye may return home in peace. Anyone who has no home to return to, anyone who wishes to stay, is welcome to settle here, become part of one of the clans in this area, but only if ye are willing to live in peace. Colbridge’s conquest stops here.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aileana fought through the crowd, the stunned faces of Colbridge’s men barely registering as she ran for Ranald. She could not linger to see how the men reacted to the demise of their leader. She cared now for only two things: Toran’s safety, and Ranald’s welfare. Toran’s wounds were minor and did not need her care. He had Donal and the others at his back should more fighting break out. And without a doubt, the contest had been watched with great interest from the walls of the Aerie and more of Toran’s men were already on their way to help deal with the dissolution of the invading army.

  No, Toran did not need her. But Ranald did.

  “Stand aside,” she cried as she shoved past men twice her size. “Let me by!”

  It must have been an indication of their stunned reaction to their new circumstances that none stood in her way. No one tried to grab her or grope her as she passed. The fight seemed to have gone out of them. There were no sounds of conflict behind her—no clash of blades, no grunts of effort, and no screams of pain. Eerie silence smothered the camp. There was only compliance with her frantic demands, dazed expressions, until finally voices broke the stillness here and there. Murmurs built, gaining strength, then a few cheers erupted. Aileana ignored them all. She’d take time to sort it out after she took care of her brother.

  Ranald lay where she’d left him. The guard she’d posted still stood silently over him, frowning at anyone, including Aileana, who ventured too near to his charge. But she knew he would not interfere with her.

  She dropped to her knees. Ranald lay deathly still on the cold, hard ground. She placed her hands on his chest. His breathing was shallow, and she could barely sense his heartbeat. A chill skittered through her.

  Ranald had very little time. Death hovered so near that she feared attempting to heal him. The risk she contemplated exceeded any she’d taken so far. And she didn’t know where to start. Damn him for forcing her away when she could have helped him! Stymied, she fought to find calm amidst her anger and despair at his foolishness and her poor judgement. She had sensed how badly he was injured. She should not have left his side!

  The noise of the camp, the rumble of male voices, the brightening daylight, all faded away as she reached into Ranald’s body to assess his most urgent needs. So much blood spilled where there should be none that his organs were bathed in it. His lungs were filling with it, and the fluid in his chest kept his heart from beating fully. That was a blessing in disguise, because with each beat, his internal wounds allowed even more of his life’s blood to seep into his body where it didn’t belong, and where it was doing harm.

  Frantic now, she tried to heal the damaged organs that were leaking the most blood. She heard him groan and softly sigh, “No.” But she kept on knitting tissue, draining fluids, trying to give his heart room to beat and his lungs space to breathe.

  Her head was spinning, and she knew she could not continue at this pace, or even continue at all, much longer. But she still had so much to do. Ranald still lay dying, and what she had repaired so far was not enough to save him. She was making many things worse before she could make them better. Tears ran down her cheeks as she worked.

  She dared not impose the healing sleep on him; she feared it would make him too quiet in his body and his spirit would give up and leave him. He still fought her, but he’d ceased moaning “no” as his condition worsened. Instead, his fingers twitched, or his head fell slowly to one side, then the other, with each touch of her fingers. If he could not speak, he still tried to make his wishes known. But she would not let him quit. She could not let him die.

  “Toran won,” she whispered, fighting her growing exhaustion, fighting to make him want to live. “Colbridge is dead. We’re free.”

  Ranald didn’t respond. There was no movement left in him, save for his shallow breathing and faint heartbeat.

  “Do you hear me, Ranald? You’re free. You can go where ever you wish.” Aileana’s view of Ranald grew spotted and grayed as she swayed above him. So much blood…too much…

  Rough hands pulled her up, breaking her contact with Ranald.

  “No!” she shouted, and flew into frenzy, fighting with the last dregs of her strength to return to her brother. But the hands that held her would not let her go, no matter how she fought. Recognition penetrated her panic. Toran. Toran held her. She knew his strength, his scent, his arms. His voice. It came to her finally that he was murmuring to her.

  “Nay, Aileana. Ranald is gone. Ye did the best ye could. He’s gone, Aileana. It’s over.”

  “No!” she wailed. “Put me down. He still lives…I can save him.”

  “Nay, lass, ye canna. He breathes nay more.”

  Aileana fought to free herself, but Toran’s grip held her up like an iron band away from the life she was trying to save.

  “No, no, no. He lives! Let me go to him.”

  “Aileana, I canna. Ye’ll kill yerself trying to bring back a dead man. He’s gone. Colbridge killed him. There’s nothing ye can do for him now.”

  Aileana stilled in Toran’s arms and took a deep breath of the chill morning air, trying to clear the fog in her head and regain some vigor. Fighting Toran was sapping the last of her strength. Her nose filled with the sharp scent of Toran’s sweat, the blood on her hands from Ranald, and the pitch of the nearby pines. None of them did much to revive her. When this was over, she knew she’d pay a price in her own recovery. It would be long and difficult, but she could not let Ranald go without a fight.

  She knew she was too weak to be able to summon her Voice. She could not order Toran to release her. But if she feigned acceptance, perhaps he’d let her go. So she sighed and put her head on his shoulder. Toran eased his grip and held her gently, rubbing her back rather than restraining her.

  And she bolted from his grasp and fell across Ranald. Sensing, touching, there a beat of his heart, a small movement of his chest. She tried to work faster, harder, deeper, her senses open wide, her Talent surging into his still body. But
her strength was leaving her…too soon. Her Healing was not working! And just as quickly as she started, Toran’s hands gripped her arms and pulled her up before she could pour all of herself into saving Ranald.

  “Let him go, lass,” Toran whispered as she all but swooned in his arms, tears running down her face in hopeless, angry torents. “Ye did all ye could. He was too far gone. He wouldna want ye to take harm trying to save him.” Toran’s exhaustion made his voice gruff, yet he held Aileana in his arms as if he would never let her go.

  Indeed, he would not. When Donal tried to take her, Toran only grasped her more tightly to his chest. “Leave her be,” he told Donal sharply. “See to dismantling this camp. Provision any of the men who want to head south, and find places for the rest. I’ll take Aileana back to the Aerie where she can recover.”

  ****

  “No!” The strength of Aileana’s shout startled Toran into releasing her. She backed away from him, pale and shaking but eyes blazing. “No, I will not go with you. You killed him…I could have saved him.”

  “Nay, lass.”

  “Aye,” she snarled, backing up, her gaze darting to Ranald as she moved, looking crazed. “You pulled me from him when I could have helped him. You killed him.”

  Toran stared, unmoving. This helpless rage revealed a facet of Aileana he had never seen before. He wasn’t sure what to say, what to do, to calm her. Where had she found the strength for this sudden fury? A moment ago, she had been all but limp in his arms. Now she seemed intent on blaming him for the evil that Colbridge had done. Her eyes were wild. Blood, Ranald’s blood, streaked her dress and the hands she held up to ward him off.