The mountains were snowy and the air was cold. Angus Artair surveyed the land, tired from a long walk and ready to spend the night in a nice spot. Probably not a man’s house, given his stranger status around these parts, but maybe under a tree or near an open cave. He was a large man, muscular and long-haired with fiery shades of red. He looked like he was in his thirties, though heaven knows the man never looked his age. His ruddy complexion was complemented by his bulky clothing. Animal fur, with a thick leather belt and an armored bracelet on his forearm. All he carried with him was a sword. It was all he needed because life as he knew it wasn’t conducive to settling down.
Just as he went to explore a nearby valley, he was alarmed at the presence of another person approaching in the distance. A child, he thought at first, until he realized the taller stature. It was a woman. She had curly hair and a clean face, walking affectedly, carrying a heavy bag up the hill.
She noticed him staring and dropped the bag, doing a double take and wondering what his next move might be. She was dressed in rags, wearing only a purple scarf on her neck to guard her from the cold.
Artair didn’t react. To show fear and run away would no doubt provoke the nearby village. To run at her or shout pleasantries could be misconstrued as any number of offenses. At this point, staring was really the only option.
He nodded her way as she slowly walked forward to speak.
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, sporting an unfriendly look on her face.
“Hadn’t any plans of it, woman. Just stopping for a breather. I take it your village isn’t offering any hospitalities. So I suppose I’ll just look for a cave.”
“I think it best you keep on going and hope we don’t decide to kill you where you stand.”
Artair scoffed and shook his head. “Aye. I’m shaking in me boots.”
“I’m a married woman, stranger. Don’t be fancying me or getting any ideas.”
“First of all, no. I don’t reckon you’re my type at all. But number two, if I were an evil man I’d have already raided your village and taken all the lovely women I wanted. That’s how it works up here in these parts. That’s probably why you’re so afraid. And you have every right to be. Next time though, send a man out to intimidate a warrior. You’re embarrassing ye-selves. Eh?”
“Blether on straight to Hell!” the woman screeched, waving her arms and causing a fuss. Artair laughed and took his time walking away. She barked like a dog and scared him about as much as any mutt. He actually pitied a village that would be so careless as to send a woman so dangerously close to the top of the mountain where any unwholesome fellow might decide to walk.
But just as Artair decided he ought to cross the river and head into new territory, he felt a strange sensation buzzing in his head. A sense of madness and mania, a war cry in his heart. The taunting of an invisible man and thumping sensation in his head. It was the only fit way to describe it when someone else was near.
Someone else was in the vicinity and indeed the Game had just begun. Another one like him, a highlander, in his prime. And once he met that man all hell would break loose, as was the rule. But no, he didn’t sense anything coming from the wee little village below. The woman was probably the most courageous of any of them. Maybe the other immortal was waiting eastward in the great wilderness.
Probably the case. But for now, Artair had traveled enough. It was time to sleep and eat and maybe pick up the great walk later that night. Poor Bristol, his late horse. The adventure sure was a lot more fun when his mare accompanied him. He died like a warrior stallion all right, helping his master kill twenty stupid pirates that tempted fate, thinking they could overpower one of him.
No contest at all. The only regret Artair had, he thought as he gripped his sword and flared his nostrils, was that he couldn’t kill those cowardly bastards all over again.
Poor Nessia though, she was scandalized for the rest of the day after her chance encounter with a wandering brute. She reported the news back to the village but by the time they sent their spies out, he had disappeared in the forest.
His statements were alarming. That if he were another type of man he would just go and raid the village and take whatever women he wanted. A strange thing to say, and a discomfiting thought entirely. Yes, of course there were men that way but surely not in the peaceful province of Estandia?
William her husband was half-asleep inside their small cottage. It was a modest place, surely falling apart every which way, but a quaint abode nonetheless. The thought of losing it cast a shadow on the rest of the night.
“Do you think we should be worried, love?”
“Eh?” William replied, drunk as always and half asleep. “Are you still talking about that drifter?”
“The way he said it. It seemed like an omen of sorts.”
“Shut your geggie, woman. If you drag that bastard into one more conversation tonight me head’s going to explode. Did you fuck him?”
“No, don’t be foolish.”
“Did you think about fucking him?”
“I…of course not! Why are you putting all sorts of ideas in me head?”
“Because I know the way females think,” he said, stumbling up out of bed and walking around looking for another drink.
“All you ever want to do is fuck another man. No matter how hard I work for ye. Try hard to give ye a baby. None of it be good enough, right? You’d rather ride the cock of a stranger.”
“You’re talking madness!”
“I fucking hate you, Nessie. You slut. You foul-smelling bitch.”
“William, stop!”
“Are you telling me what to do? Am I your slave then?”
“No…” she said shyly, staring into his vacant eyes, fearing for her life. Again. If it wasn’t the threat of marauders it was William again. Always drinking. Always screaming about the sex he didn’t even want. She had to accept that one way or another, she was going to die. Probably in screaming pain at the hands of some barbarian. Either one who “loved” her or another man who just admitted he wanted a shag. The old romantic life her father dreamt for her years ago was surely a waste.
Marriage ruined her. Poverty ruined everybody.
“William, you’re hurting me,” she cried softly, as William grabbed her by the forearm.
“You can’t fool me, witch. I know the way you are.”
“I know that you’re drunk.”
“Riiight,” he said with an out of place laugh. “My drunkenness is the problem. The fact that I’m drunk invalidates everything I say. I’m drunk…I’m the problem!”
Nessie stared at him and he tightened his brow. Whenever he got like this, there was no right answer. All a woman could do was stare him down like a storm and hope it ended with him passing out on the bed.
“Well it ain’t helping,” she finally said. “Sometimes, William, when you speak to me like this…it makes me feel worse than any pirate raid ever could.”
William remained silent, absorbing her statement like a body blow.
“I just wish we could go back to the way things were.”
“Doesn’t everybody!” he said, right before he bashed in the table and lamp next to the bed with his shaking hands. “Why? Does that drifter remind you of me? When I was young? The way things were?
“Get out of here with your crazy accusations. Please let’s talk about something else.”
“No.” He stood up and walked towards her, backing her against the wall. “I want you to fuck him in front of me. I want to watch while you betray me.”
“William, please! You’re talking mad.”
“I just want honesty out of you. For once, you mangy cunt. For once in your life tell the truth. Tell me that you hate me. Tell me that you want to leave me and run off with some young handsome fellow. We both know it’s true. So just say it.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You…angry, sad little man.”
She stared him down, tightening her brow as she looked into his destitute
eyes. She braced herself for another punch.
Then William smiled. “You just described yourself, you know. Except for the man part.”
She shut her eyes in relief. Apparently, this was one of his good drunken phases where he just talked shit and then fell asleep in his own filth.
“Right then. I forgive you, muh’ lady.”
“Lucky me.”
“Just suck my cock and we’ll call it a night, yeah?”
Nessie sighed. Of course her heart wouldn’t be into it, but that never mattered. A forced sucking always hurt less than a slap to the face, William made sure of that. Honestly, she thought, hating the taste of her old shit of a husband, a raid wouldn’t be the worst of things…provided they had the decency to kill her afterwards.
**
II
Artair awoke from a bed of leaves. The day felt breezy and cool as always but the lack of a draft certainly alarmed him. He looked up into the open blue sky and sensed something was dreadfully wrong. It wasn’t the madness of the Game calling to him, but still an ominous feeling that he couldn’t shake. He looked around the forest to his left side, seeing nothing of interest.
However, as he stood up and looked over to his right he saw the source of his discomfort. A band of warriors, a raid, not by pirates this time but by armored men from England. They were staring at Artair, showing their broken teethy smiles and holding their weapons strong, ready to kill him at a moment’s notice.
Artair looked down to the ground, realizing his sword was a few feet away. A lunge for the weapon would give his enemy time to shoot an arrow into him or spear him. Not that such a wound could kill him, but it was still require a few hours of healing. Certainly enough time to slow down his onward trek. And it probably would hinder him in battle against the other highlander, wherever that arsehole was lurking.
“Well, well,” the leader said, taking a forward sprint on his horse and holding a pole axe in hand. “It looks like we woke you up from your beauty sleep.”
“Ah,” Artair said, laughing quietly. He wasn’t afraid of them and the band of marauders could see that, which only made them more cautious.
“Why are you smiling, fool? This could be the end of your life.”
Artair calmly turned his head side to side estimating how many horses and men there were in front of him. At least forty, with ten or twenty horses. They had plenty of weapons and certainly enough blades to take his head off—if he let them, of course.
But his instinct reminded him that maybe this was a fight he didn’t need under his belt. Pick and choose your battles, his mentor always said. The best way to remain undefeated was to forfeit the battles you know you might lose. Good advice, he said, nodding to himself and swallowing some pride.
“Tell me who you are, homeless man.”
“I will. But I want your name first.”
Some in the group laughed at his audacity. The leader looked provoked and stepped off his horse, a bit mad in the face. “Well, well. Quite the balls you have on ye, if you’re telling me what’s what. The man with the weapon.”
He walked up to Artair and grinned in his face. Artair stood strong, silent. If the man stabbed him in the gut, he would reveal himself and be forced to kill every last one. Or die trying, and eventually losing his head, as was usually the highlander’s life.
But the gentleman refrained, smiling and nodding like an out of control school boy. “My name is Emery. I lead this pack. And it’s fortunate that we are a growing army. We could use good men who know how to use a sword. I assume that you know something, since you have a mighty impressive specimen there. Maybe I’ll just reach in and take the specimen for myself.”
Artair shrugged. “Well I do have an impressive specimen, Emery. But only women are allowed reach in and take it.”
Emery kept a straight face until he realized some of his men were laughing, or trying to stifle laughter. The leader finally grinned and nodded, feeling camaraderie with the snarky bastard.
“I like you, old man. But my admiration is conditional. I only admire men who can fight. Liars and pretenders are no friends of mine. Show me that you know how to use this sword.”
“Very well. But just so you know, if someone duels me I don’t stop swinging until someone’s head comes off.” He slowly walked over to his fallen sword and scooped it up.
Emery smiled. “It’s a fair game. Someone do the honor of fighting Mister Lancelot here to the death.”
Reluctantly, a foot-bound warrior with barely any armor on stepped forward. Dying for the king was certainly a waste. But in the event that he won the duel, the warrior knew he would become the right hand man.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Heads will roll, stranger.”
The warrior and Artair went into their fighting stance. The warrior was less experienced, obviously, as he was moving his sword back and forth in panic, shielding his chest with his uneven shoulders. Artair barely moved but hovered his sword in the air ready to plunge.
“What is your name, by the way?”
“My name is Artair.”
“Nice noble name. Do you require full concentration to win a fight, Artair?”
“No, Emery. This fight is already over.”
“Is it now?”
In a snap, Artair grabbed the boy’s arm that was sticking out because of his awkward shoulder position and slammed the sword out of his opposite hand in one swoop. He spun in reverse and clipped the boy’s knees from under him with his sword, causing him to fall to the ground.
The boy scurried to jump up but by then Artair had thrown his sword into the air and grabbed the sharp end with one hand. He used the dull handle of the sword to knock the boy unconscious.
He looked back at Emery and nodded, minus a smile. “You want to kill him, kill him yourself. I grow weary of blood.”
Emery was impressed, stunned to a frown. But he did motion to his other warriors to go and kill the loser. Artair tilted his head in annoyance as they killed the screaming boy with their swords, punishing him for simply losing to the better man. If only they knew just what kind of a better man they were dealing with.
“I see what it is,” Emery said, taking back that look of madness. “You’re a virgin. Aye? Too afraid of blood? Stomach too weak to look a woman in the eyes before you rape her?”
The others laughed. Artair looked at the group before returning his face to Emery.
“You want me to kill you? Or shall we go our separate ways?”
An awkward silence followed until Emery decided to walk back over to Artair, trying to provoke a strong reaction.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, O Great Saint among men. You are going to come with us. We are going to raid the village of Estandia down there. And you’re going to help us. Because if you don’t, we’re going to treat you the same way we treat them.”
Artair sighed. He should have known these men were up to no good. But how could he fend off so many of them and keep his strength and concentration strong for the upcoming Game with the other highlander?
These men were not going to take no for an answer. It sounded like an easy job. And the promise of a meal and a place to sleep certainly sounded like a better idea than starving in the forest another night. After all, what obligation did he have to the people of Estandia? He hardly knew any of them.
Well, except one. He thought back to the little yapping woman he met the day before, showing her fierce teeth even while standing not a chance of survival, prayer or not.
“All right. On one condition. You spare the women and children.”
Some of the group laughed and Emery seemed insulted at the thought. “Are you insane, Artair? Look at these men. They have no women. That’s the whole fucking point of the raid! We take the women.”
Emery was slightly unnerved at Artair’s serious disposition. “Fine…we leave the children. We take the women. No more negotiation.”
“Aye. Oh and Emery?”
He looked over at Artair, having already mounted his horse.
“The Saints will know if you break a promise.”
Emery shook his head and took his horse down the valley. The gang of marauders followed, hollering and clanking their weapons, their thirst for blood and women obscenely apparent.
They were already marching in. This was the moment of truth. He couldn’t save everybody, but maybe he could save a few.
**
III
Men shouted at the top of their lungs as women sought shelter in the cottages and the wells. The marauders stormed the village quickly and the men there, as predicted, didn’t stand a fighting chance. They were a village of old men, young boys and drunken fools, the only alphas among them were men who could barely stand on two feet due to their liver disease.
Screams filled the air as the raiders looted and ransacked the village. True to his word, Emery and his men took the women. They tore their clothes off before they even finished killing the men. The men of Estandia themselves were cowards, running away in terror as the warriors pillaged. Some ran off into the forests with beer and wine, saving their most precious possessions instead of fighting for their women.
Artair could barely make it down to the village before he saw the carnage taking place. There were too many men to cease the takeover. But he did think back to the one curly-haired woman that plagued his conscience. All he remembered about her was her scarf and the fact that she was a married woman, available to no man.
The marauders couldn’t care less but Artair felt compelled to help her keep her promise. He ran past the carnage looking around for a familiar face.
In the corner of his eye, he saw a woman in a purple scarf seeking shelter in a small wooden home. Running with her was a child, not ten years old, the both of them terrified at certain death. Hiding out in a home was the least sensible thing to do, as the marauders were lazy bastards and only felt obligated to raid the village and not venture too far into the wilderness.
Stolen By A Highlander (Scottish Pregnancy Romance) Page 61
