Everything In Its Time

by Dee Davis

  The kid gave a grimace that Jeff supposed was meant to pass for a manly smile. As he began to maneuver his way back into a forward position, he felt a breath of air pass close to his neck. Unsure of its origin, or indeed whether it was real or imagined, Jeff scanned the brush lining the path they were following. Behind him there was a muffled cry, but before he had time to turn and investigate, Ewan clutched his side and fell from his horse, directly in front of him.

  Without further warning, pandemonium broke out. Arrows seemed to be flying from everywhere. Men jumped from their mounts and, using their horses for shields, scrambled for cover. Jeff sat frozen, watching the grim spectacle unfold. He felt a heavy hand jerk him from the saddle, then he fell to the ground in an undignified heap.

  "Keep yer head down, mon, or ye'll likely lose it."

  Jeff rose to a crouch, nodding thanks to his benefactor even as the man moved away. His heart was thudding in his chest and he assured himself it wasn't fear, just an adrenaline rush. Adrenaline rush, hell—it was more like raw terror. This was not Braveheart. This was the real thing. And a twentieth-century city boy, had no business being in the middle of it all. Jeff grabbed his sword and, holding it with both hands, began inching his way toward what he hoped was the shelter of a small group of trees.

  The arrows had stopped flying, and the clearing was eerily quiet. A few men lay on the ground, feathered shafts protruding from various parts of their bodies. Jeff scanned the area for signs of Iain and the others or for the as-yet-unseen enemy. Everyone seemed to have disappeared. He drew a shaky breath and was wondering what he was supposed to do next when a hand shot out of the undergrowth and pulled him to his knees. He scrambled to lift his heavy claymore and locate this newest threat.

  "Peace. 'Tis Ranald."

  The bushes parted slightly, and Jeff found himself almost nose to nose with Iain's cousin. He quickly crawled into the slight cover the brush provided and lay on his stomach next to Ranald.

  "What happened?" He whispered his words, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  "Alasdair's men, no doubt. The archers were merely a first wave. There'll be others just behind them."

  As if to emphasize the point, the ground suddenly rumbled and the air was filled with a cry that should have awakened the dead. Ranald moved to his feet, weapon drawn. Jeff marveled at Ranald's grace as he awkwardly tried to balance his own sword while lumbering to his feet.

  "Stay back a bit, and watch your back. I've no doubt you can protect yourself in your own time, but I fear you're no' well trained for ours. I'd no' want to see you get hurt."

  With that bit of wisdom, Ranald grinned and was gone, disappearing into the cloud of dust that marked the center of what was quickly turning into a full-fledged battle. Jeff stood on the edge of the fray, sword in hand, wondering what he should or could do to help. Hearing a noise to his right, he swiveled to find a man, roughly the size of Godzilla, rushing at him with an axe of some kind.

  Reacting strictly on instinct, Jeff pivoted left and used both hands to swing his heavy weapon to the right. He felt resistance and pushed against it. Godzilla opened his mouth in surprise and fell to the ground, his battle-axe dropping from a lifeless hand. Jeff gingerly pulled his blade from the body. Score one for the good guys.

  He planted his feet, sword held in front of him, and swung left and right as he surveyed the fighting and watched for danger. Across the way, he could see Iain in fierce combat with someone. He was amazed at the effortless way Iain used his sword. He held it aloft as if it weighed no more than a feather. Jeff stood, watching in fascination. A second man emerged from the fray, his claymore pointed at Iain's back. Jeff started to yell a warning and realized that with the din from the fighting, there was no way Iain could hear him.

  He rushed forward, his mind focused on reaching the attacker before he harmed Iain. As Jeff drew closer, the man swung around, his sword arm menacing.

  Standing his ground, Jeff looked deep into the eyes of his opponent, trying desperately to recall movements learned in a long-ago fencing class. He sent a silent prayer to Gram and her eccentricities. He'd thought she was nuts to insist on his learning swordplay when he'd rather have been playing football or soccer with his friends. It had seemed a sissy sport at the time. However, a quick glance at the physique of the man in front of him assured him that "sissy" was not a word that applied to Scottish warriors.

  Jeff saw the man's muscles tense a half-second before he moved. It was enough warning to propel his sword in an arc of defense. The two weapons met, clanging with the force of their contact. Jeff felt the power of the hit surge up his arm, shaking his body all the way to his feet. He jumped back, crouching a bit, bracing himself for the next blow. His opponent did not disappoint. With a snarl he leapt forward, his claymore raised high.

  Jeff saw his opportunity and, with a quick lunge, swung the heavy sword to the left, his move resembling baseball far more than fencing. He felt the sword connect with human tissue and dodged back, swinging the claymore upward to deflect the thrust of his opponent's weapon. The warrior yelled something, obviously enraged. Blood dripped from the guy's shoulder, but the wound had not incapacitated him. Jeff steeled himself for the next assault. His arms were tiring and he felt as if he'd been fighting twenty men rather than just one.

  With a roar, the man charged. Jeff swung defensively and once more felt the hard jolt of metal hitting metal. Again his attacker took the offensive. The mighty claymore swung high; Jeff actually heard it hiss by his ear. He parried another blow, but almost as quickly as he stopped it, the man was swinging again. Jeff tried to lift his weapon, but it seemed to have gained hundreds of pounds. Something wasn't right. He quickly glanced at his sword arm and realized the problem. His right bicep was bleeding and his hand was quickly losing all feeling. He had to think of something fast or he was going to wind up as buzzard bait. With an almost superhuman effort, Jeff raised his claymore in defense. He could see the other man's sword arcing down toward him. There was a ringing sound, and Jeff wondered briefly if it was the swords or his ears. The world started to spin and Jeff sank to the ground, his last conscious thought of Elaine.

  *****

  "Ladies, I do hope you are enjoying my hospitality." Alasdair entered the room and bowed mockingly at the two women. His eyes traveled from the top of Katherine's head to her rope-bound feet, and Katherine could have sworn he actually licked his lips in anticipation. Feeling as though he had already violated her somehow, she involuntarily pushed back against the wall, as though it could swallow her and provide some degree of safety. His gaze shifted to Sorcha, all the lust draining away, derision taking its place.

  "Sorcha, my dear, you should know by now that 'tis no' wise to cross me." He flicked a hand out and yanked up her chin. Sorcha stared defiantly back into his face, her hands twitching as she fought for control of what must have been a powerful urge to slap him. Katherine breathed with relief when it appeared she had mastered the desire. Sorcha's freedom was crucial if they were to find a means of escape.

  Alasdair turned toward Katherine, keeping his hand on Sorcha's chin. "Has she told you the whole sorry tale? I'll wager she has. No' one to keep secrets, our Sorcha. Did she tell you she killed Angus? Her one true love?"

  Sorcha shifted. Katherine held her breath again. Sorcha was no match for Alasdair even with her hands untied. Katherine sent a prayer to God for Sorcha's willpower to hold.

  "Ah, Sorcha, my stupid little ally. I'd no idea you had a soft spot for your new Laird as well as the old." His grip tightened on her chin. Sorcha winched in pain. "But even as we speak, Iain is most probably dead. I've left him a little surprise at Tùr nan Clach. Such irony that he'll meet his end trying to rescue his bride when in reality 'tis only my sister, the one he rejected, imprisoned there." Alasdair released Sorcha and turned his ice blue gaze back to Katherine. "It seems, my dear, that you are in need of a new husband. And I intend to remedy that situation."

  "Iain isn't dead." Katherine watched
him through narrowed eyes. "And even if he were, I would never willingly marry you."

  Alasdair's mouth curled into a thin, narrow-lipped grimace that never reached his eyes. "Who said anything about willing? I'll have you whether you will it or no'. There's no one to stop me, my sweet. I killed Angus and, if he's no' already dead, I'll kill Iain."

  Sorcha jumped to her feet and issued a soul-wrenching screech. "You killed Angus?"

  Alasdair waved a hand in the air in dismissal, too consumed with Katherine to notice Sorcha's unbound hands. "Aye, with great pleasure. The man cheated me out of what was rightfully mine." For a moment his eyes glazed over with loathing, revealing the depth of his hatred. Then, taking a deep breath, he visibly pulled himself together, snapping his mask of sanity back into place.

  "You see, my poor, pitiful Sorcha, when I found Angus at the bottom of the cliff—unconscious, but still alive—it was the perfect opportunity for my revenge. It was a simple matter to twist his neck and take his life." He clenched his fists around a neck visible only to him and jerked once in demonstration. Katherine flinched as if he were actually holding Angus.

  "Once I was sure he was dead, it was easy enough to convince you the fall had done the deed and that you, my dear Sorcha, were as good as a murderer." He turned to face her, a smile of triumph playing over his lips.

  Sorcha's face was twisted with blind rage. "You bastard." The words hung in the air as she flung herself at Alasdair, her hands curled into claws, grabbing for his throat. Alasdair laughed, deflecting her easily with one hand. She came at him again, shrieking Gaelic curses. With a vicious shove, he pushed her away again.

  This time, however, she fell backward, teetering on the edge of the opening in the wall. Katherine watched in horror as she stood there, arms flapping like a fledging bird, eyes wide with terror. The air in the room vibrated with Alasdair's maniacal laughter and then was split by Sorcha's cry as she toppled into the void, her scream fading, until, abruptly, it stopped.

  Katherine felt the bile rise in her throat and tried, in vain, to push the thoughts of Sorcha's crushed body from her mind. She leaned to one side and retched violently, emptying the pitiful contents of her stomach. She felt the tears on her cheeks before she even realized she was crying.

  *****

  "He'll be fine, now. 'Tis no' a death wound."

  Jeff tried to pull himself from the fuzzy blackness that surrounded him.

  "Saints be praised. Katherine would no' forgive me if I let anything happen to her brother."

  Iain's voice drifted to him, cutting through the blackness. With an effort, Jeff forced himself to follow the sound of the voice. Carefully opening his eyes, his first vision was of rain-filled clouds, crowding close to the horizon. He turned his head slightly, wincing at the pain radiating outward along his arm, and met the concerned eyes of his brother-in-law.

  "Welcome back." Iain smiled, but his eyes remained serious.

  "I take it we won?"

  Iain's smile widened into a grin, this time extending to his eyes as well. "That we did."

  Jeff gritted his teeth and pulled himself to a sitting position, wishing he had a really strong painkiller.

  "What happened? I seem to have checked out before the last act."

  Ranald crouched at his side, working on the linen bandage around his arm. "We bested them, but no' without loss. You fought well. I'd say you most likely saved Iain's life. I saw the man attacking, but couldna get there in time."

  "Yeah, well, it was just luck. What I want to know is who saved me? I thought I was a goner."

  "Actually, you saved yourself. When you passed out, you rolled forward and tripped the man. He fell on his own sword. No' a bad trick."

  Ranald sat back, his ministrations completed. Jeff noticed others in the group sporting bandages. But overall, it looked like everyone was in pretty good shape.

  "Did we lose a lot of men?"

  Iain took a deep breath, a cloud of anger marring his handsome features. "Aye, eight, three of them during the archers' initial attack."

  "And the bad guys?"

  Iain's look shifted to one of grim satisfaction. "Fifteen dead and the rest scattered. They'll think twice about attacking the Mackintoshes again. Do you think you could ride?"

  Jeff's interest in the battle quickly faded as he remembered their reason for being here in the first place.

  "Sure. How much farther to this ruin of the mist or whatever?"

  "Coire á Cheathaich. We're almost there. 'Tis o'er the next rise."

  "And Katherine? Do you think she's still alive?" Jeff asked.

  "I canna say for sure. But as I told young William, I think I'd know if she were dead." Iain stood then and gave the order for the men to mount, somebody having already gathered the horses. Ranald bent to help Jeff stand. He wobbled a bit, but soon found his balance.

  "You've no need to go if you're no' up to it. Iain will see to the rescue of your sister."

  Jeff took a deep breath, forcing his head to clear. His arm hurt, but not enough to stop him from trying to free Kitty. "I'll be fine. Just help me get on my horse."

  Ranald nodded and aided Jeff as he swung up into the saddle. Once seated, Jeff took the reins from Ranald, holding them in his left hand. With a grimace, he signaled that he was ready, and Ranald left his side in search of his own mount.

  Jeff felt a rising tide of urgency build inside him, almost as if Katherine were calling to him. He spurred his horse forward and pulled even with Iain. "I can't explain it, but I've got a strong feeling we need to hurry."

  The air was suddenly split with an agonizing scream. The sound lingered, hanging in the air. The hairs on Jeff's arms rose and he felt a shudder streak down his spine. The sound was a death cry if ever he had heard one. He looked at Iain and found confirmation of his worst fears in his brother-in-law's eyes.

  As one they spurred their horses, racing forward, the rest of the men following close behind.

  Chapter 24

  ALASDAIR ADVANCED ON Katherine, his blue eyes glittering with desire. Sorcha's death seemed to be acting as a stimulus, almost like an aphrodisiac of some sort. Katherine swallowed and used the wall to brace herself as she tried to stand. With her feet bound, running was out of the question, but she swore to herself that he wouldn't have her without a fight.

  His long fingers closed around her arms like talons, pulling her struggling body close to his. "At last I have you to myself." His whispered words washed over her like slime in a cesspit. His lips brushed against her cheek, his tongue tracing a pattern against her skin. She fought the urge to gag. Gritting her teeth, she rammed a shoulder into his chest. His breath whooshed out, but his grip on her tightened. He held her locked to him with one hand, while his other hand snaked around her braid then yanked her head back. She stared up at him defiantly through tear-filled eyes.

  With his gaze pinned to hers, he released her hair and leisurely reached between their bodies. Taking hold of the neck of her gown, he effortlessly ripped it open to her waist, baring her breasts. She felt his rough hand on her nipple, stroking and caressing and then, with a vicious smile, twisting it, until she whimpered in pain.

  But pain soon gave way to an all consuming rage, and she leaned into him, biting his shoulder as hard as she could. He released her instantly. The back of his hand slammed into her cheek, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She tried to inch away from him, but with her hands and feet still bound, it was impossible for her to get anywhere. Almost as soon as she started to move, he was there, grabbing her by the hands and pulling her up so that her back rested against his chest. His hand again claimed her breasts, and he toyed with them, his breath coming fast and hard against her ear. She struggled and tried again to turn and bite him.

  He pushed her forward, still holding her by the rope at her wrists, until she teetered on the edge of the crumbling window, her feet barely touching the floor. The pain in her arms and hands was nothing compared with the utter panic she felt facing the precipice an
d the dizzying drop to the ground.

  "Will you end up like Sorcha, then? Smashed to bits on the rocks? 'Tis no' a pretty way to die." In punctuation of his remarks, he shifted his hold, forcing her to look down. She bit off a scream and closed her eyes, but not before seeing the mangled remains of Sorcha's body far below.

  *****

  Iain and Jeff led the way through the small gap that guarded the hollow sheltering the ruined tower. Tentacles of mist wound sinuously throughout the little corrie. The old tower was in various stages of decay and disintegration, its outer walls reduced to rubble, having already lost the battle to water, wind, and vegetation. Jeff watched as Iain slowed his horse and picked through the fallen stones, his eyes on the tower.

  Fifty yards or so from the entrance, he dismounted and, with sword drawn, began to advance on foot. Nothing stirred—the ruin seemed deserted. But the memory of the terror-filled cry still lingered in the minds of all the men and cautiously they, too, dismounted, then followed their Laird. Jeff slid from his horse and pulled a knife, the pain in his arm making it too difficult for him to carry the claymore he'd used before.

  As Iain neared the tower, a huge man suddenly burst from the door, holding a battle-axe at the ready. He was flanked by two other men. They looked tiny in comparison to the brute in the center, but then Jeff quickly reassessed his observation, ruefully realizing that Arnold Schwarzenegger would have looked little next to the big guy. He watched as Ranald moved to Iain's side and three other Mackintosh men stepped into place behind them.

  The two parties advanced toward each other as though part of an intricately choreographed ballet rather than a prelude to battle. Jeff held his breath and began inching forward, too impatient to remain stationary while the warriors decided the outcome. If Katherine was in there, he wasn't about to wait around for a secondhand report, wounded or not. Slipping the small knife into the scabbard attached to his belt, he grabbed his sword. Shaking with a mixture of pain and fury, he succeeded in raising it and with grim determination moved forward to stand behind Iain.