Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  These were dark days for Scotland. If Thomas succeeded in his plan, the English Throne would take precedence over Scotland. But if that happened, what would remain of the Scots loyal to James? No doubt Henry, the English King would weed them out like rats and Scotland would forever lose the independence that it has struggled to retain for hundreds of years. What would their forefathers think? So many great men had died for Scotland’s freedom and now Scotland was at the hand of one man’s mercy.

  Thomas’s malevolence was sickening. She did not understand his motives or what he would gain by handing Scotland over to the English crown. His treachery must be worth its weight in gold, but Keira would not be surprised if the English failed to follow through with their promise.

  King Henry would, however, have the support he needed to advance his war against the France. Perhaps that is what all of this was about. It was common knowledge that England and France were at war against one another.

  Keira scolded herself for not paying better attention to the world of politics. Had she known at least a little more, she would have been better equipped before becoming a pawn in this game.

  The flap to Keira’s tent opened and her father stepped inside. Keira took notice of the guard standing post outside her tent. Did Chisholm not trust him either?

  Keira looked at her father as his expression remained unchanged. She hoped he felt shame and humiliation for disgracing his family. She hoped he felt riddled with guilt and that it clawed at him from the inside.

  Before he even stepped inside the tent, Keira had already decided she would accept no apologies or excuses from the man. There was nothing he could say that would make her change how she felt. To her, he was already dead, and she had already said her goodbye. This man who stood before her was just a mere shell of what was once her father.

  “I have nothing left to say to ye,” she said, looking at him in disgust. “The only question I have is did my mother know?”

  Keira’s father held his head high, which angered her more. She had hoped he would fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, but instead he stood tall and steadfast.

  “Nay and neither did yer sisters,” he responded. “I did what I had to, in order to protect my family,” he said, with no feeling in his voice.

  “Nay Father, ye did what ye had to, only to protect yerself. Ye thought naught of yer family or yer clan. Mother would be disgraced by what ye have done,” she replied, her words piercing like swords.

  Keira’s father stepped forward and slapped her across the face. She fell back a step by the force of his hand. Her eyes welled with tears as her cheek stung from his open-handed blow.

  “I will no’ have ye speak to me that way,” he said in a deep, angry tone. “Ye are still my daughter.”

  Keira clenched her teeth, desperate to lash out at the man, but for the first time in her life she feared him. In a life-changing moment, he stripped her of her words. Her father had been a hard man but never once did he strike her or her sisters. She grew up admiring him as any child would adore their father, but this man was no longer her father. He was a monster!

  “Ye will do what Laird Chisholm tells ye to and that is final,” he barked his order, his eyes as cold as ice.

  “Laird Sinclair,” the guard said, poking his head inside the tent. “We have company. Riders have been seen along the ridge heading this way.”

  Magnus gave a sharp nod and glanced back at Keira, his look of warning that she yield to his words causing her to hate him even more. He coldly turned from her and exited the tent.

  Keira’s heart leapt at the knowledge of riders approaching. She wanted nothing more than for it to be Ian. She didn’t know whether to leap for joy or keep herself grounded to save herself from disappointment. Folding her hands and bringing them to her chest, she prayed, pleaded and begged for it to be him.

  Nothing would please her more than being back in her husband’s warm and safe embrace. She swore that she would never leave his side again.

  ~*~

  As Magnus stepped out of the tent, Thomas charged toward him, blade drawn, heated with fury like a raging bull.

  “Ye bloody eejit! Ye led them right to us!” Thomas yelled, his voice resonating around them.

  “I did no such thing!” Magnus loudly defended.

  “How else would they have found us? This hideout is far from the road and from peering eyes! Ye were careless!”

  “I did exactly as ye instructed. They were supposed to head north and be greeted by the Sutherlands. Perhaps it was Sutherland who can no’ be trusted! Ye even said it yerself that Sutherland is a lying, cheating bastard! Do ye remember what I told ye at Inverness? I ne’er trusted the Sutherlands!”

  Thomas eyed Magnus suspiciously. Perhaps, it was Thomas who could not be trusted. When Thomas first approached him about the alliance Magnus was hesitant to agree, but who could blame a man who was not of a sound mind? He had given up on caring about the world after the death of his wife and his mourning led to the breakdown of his own clan.

  Thomas offered salvation. The world was ever-changing and Magnus was eager to change with it. Thomas promised him many things, including the protection of his daughters and an estate in England where he could peacefully live out his days away from the politics and pressures from the church.

  After five long years, it took him until just now to realize that he was not fit to be Laird of his clan. He couldn’t even take care of himself, let alone take care of his clan. He looked at Chisholm as a mentor who would lead Clan Sinclair into victory. But he was wrong. He should not have let Chisholm help him escape the clutches of the King’s guardsmen at Inverness. He should have died that day on the gallows instead of allowing this farce to continue on.

  Magnus stood proud in front of the Sherriff of Ross-Shire as he admitted his crimes. He knew his crimes would one day have to be answered; but he deeply regretted getting his daughter Keira involved. She was never supposed to be involved. It was the only reason he agreed to the marriage with Thomas Chisholm. He was meant to keep her safe.

  Magnus looked over his shoulder to steal a glance at his young beautiful daughter. The moment he saw her red eyes he felt pain-stricken. God, she looked like her mother. Magnus clutched his fists at his side. Full of shame and remorse, he would never forgive himself. No child should have to watch their father shamefully hanged by the noose. The image he imaged would haunt her forever, no matter how mad she was at him.

  Until the king’s guards stepped in, he accepted his fate at the end of the noose. If he was going to die, he would maintain his honor and integrity until his very last breath. But as the guards approached, one man stood out from the crowd, Laird Thomas Chisholm; disguised as one of the King’s guards. No one recognized him, other than Magnus.

  He stood with a crooked smile staring at Magnus. Silently, he nodded and Magnus knew that his saving grace had arrived and death would not greet him this day.

  Thomas and another guard grabbed onto Magnus’s arms and led him out the back door of the courtroom, but instead of heading towards the gallows, they turned down a dark corridor that led down to a small open shaft outside of the castle.

  Magnus peered down the open hole and glanced at the murky waters of the moat that circled the castle.

  “Jump,” he heard one of the men behind him whisper.

  Magnus did as he was instructed and leaped into the waters below. With the impact of his weight and size the water made a loud splash but was muffled beneath the loud chants of onlookers near the gallows. The other two men jumped in the water behind them and the three men swam down the small channel until they were a safe enough distance away out of view from the castle guards who stood post atop the castle walls.

  “Trust is becoming something of a rarity these days, would ye no agree?” Thomas asked. “I have put trust in many men and do ye know what I have learned?”

  “What is that?” Magnus impatiently asked.

  Thomas stepped closer. Letting out a breath, he
stood quietly and stared at the ground.

  “That if ye want something done,” he said as he took his dagger and forcefully thrust it deep in Magnus’s side. “Ye have to do it yerself.”

  Thomas’s twisting the knife back out hurt worse than the initial impact. Magnus’s hand flew to Thomas’s shoulder as he felt faint from the pain and loss of blood as it pooled down his leg. Digging his fingers hard into Thomas’s shoulder, he let out a breath and violently tumbled to the ground. With his eyes barely open, he watched as Thomas stepped back and wiped off his blade with his sleeve.

  Thomas looked at him with no emotion. Wiping his brow, he bent down and gently placed his hand on Magnus’s back. Magnus grunted at the contact though his body was too weak to move. He was dying.

  “Tis a shame my old friend that things had to turn out the way they had. But the truth is, ye needed me more than I needed ye,” Thomas whispered.

  They were the last words Magnus Sinclair would ever hear.

  Chapter 29

  Standing atop the cliff, Ian looked down the long expanse of the ravine below. It took him nearly an hour to climb the steep face to the summit but he knew it would allow him to see the landscape below for miles. The moment he saw the smoke rise from the trees, he knew for certain that was where they held his bride.

  Had Ian not journeyed up the mountain, he might have missed it as their camp was nestled between hills in a deep valley with no visibility beyond the mountain that encircled it. His enemies likely never thought he would make such a climb, for it was no easy feat, but Ian was full of madness today. And he would go to any length to find Keira, his heart ached for her.

  The grade of the vertical summit was nearly straight up. Without rope or a harness, fueled by adrenaline, he made the journey alone. Once he reached the top and could survey the land, he would make his way back down and return to where his men waited below.

  The location of the smoke was not going to be easy to get to on horseback, but it wasn’t impossible either. Ian had ridden his horse in worse conditions. He didn’t name her Storm Fighter for nothing. She was a tough and spirited horse who had earned her name.

  Making his way back down the incline he rejoined his men.

  “What did ye see?” Leland asked.

  “I saw the camp where they are holding her, but it is no’ easy to get to. Tis on the other side of the mountain nestled deep in the ravine. We will have to follow the river to get there,” Ian advised.

  With his men loyal by his side, Ian rode ahead following the shallow, meandering river that weaved around the hilly terrain. The smell of burning wood grew stronger. They were close.

  Ian drew his claymore strapped to his back as he approached the trees. As they climbed the hill they were met by nearly a dozen warriors standing on the top of the incline, each one armed with a loaded rifle in his hand.

  Ian’s heart pounded thunderously. The last time he saw weapons like those was during a brief journey to France. He had seen firsthand their capability and deadly potential. They were not a Scotsmen’s choice of weaponry as Highlanders lived by their sword, but the firearm, known as an arquebus, had the ability to shoot at great distances, and gave the bearer the advantage. And now, Ian stood staring at a dozen barrels pointing directly at him. Twelve to one odds were not in his favor.

  Ian kept his eye trained on the twelve warriors that were about to engage. Though they had the upper hand, he could sense the fear in their eyes as Ian’s men approached. He could see their hands tremble as their fingers hovered over their triggers. These men did not show signs of being seasoned warriors and clearly were even afraid of their own weapons. An advantage Ian would be happy to exploit. They were, however, Scotsmen, so he knew they would be relentless.

  So focused on their weapons was he, Ian never noticed the red and green color of their kilts until now. Red and Green. Ian repeated the colors in his head. Why had he not realized that until now? These were not the blue and green colors of Sutherland men. They were Chisholms! Scanning the area and the men who would soon meet their deaths, he spotted Thomas Chisholm at the far end of the encampment. Rage burned in his blood like boiling water. He knew the man who claimed to be Chisholm at trial was a fake. He knew catching him would never have been that easy. Chisholm had successfully planned his own death, but it was all for naught, Ian thought, as he imagined he would enjoy taking the man’s life.

  Gripping the hilt of his sword, Ian charged forward as ear-piercing shots fired around him. He felt the wind on his face as he drove his horse forward breaking their line, causing the men to scatter. As they reloaded their weapons, the momentary relief gave Ian the opportunity needed to strike.

  Raising his sword high, he turned his horse around for his second wave of attack. His men fought aside him, knocking several of their enemies to the ground. Ian could hear the swooshing of his blade slice through the air as he impaled his sword deep in one of the men.

  As metal clashed and the wind howled, a feminine voice penetrated above the noise.

  “Ian!”

  Ian spun the horse around, his eyes searching frantically until they locked onto Keira standing on the far end of the encampment. One guard held her back from running toward him. Ian was about to charge when a close range, low sounding boom from an arquebus abruptly immobilized him. He did not feel the pain at first as it came in waves and grew intense with each beat of his pulse. Ian’s sword clattered to the ground as he wrapped his arm over his stomach and pressed his hand firmly against his side. He was bleeding freely though he was unable to detect how deep the bullet had gone. His eyes stayed fixed to Keira’s as he fell from the horse. For a moment, time stood still.

  ~*~

  At the sound of thunder unlike anything she had ever heard, Keira bolted from the tent but was quickly stopped but a guard standing watch near the canopy. From across the field she could see Ian and his men charging toward the armed guards, their swords raised in the air.

  After another ear-piercing blast, Keira’s breath caught in her throat when she saw Ian fall from his horse after being shot by one of the assailants. The blast from the rifle was deafening as if a lightning bolt had struck the ground around her. The noise startled her as bright light accompanied the sound. Her chest squeezed tight as if she had suffered the blow herself.

  Her mind and pulse raced faster than horses. She could see the blood spewing out from his side. The lead needed to be removed, and he needed to be bandaged; and quick. If he lost too much blood, she worried he would blackout and never wake.

  Struggling to break free from the guard who held her arm, she watched as Ian’s men circled around him, fighting off Chisholm’s guards. They were holding the line of warriors back but she did not believe Ian was going to be able to last much longer.

  Keira looked up at the tall giant holding her captive and was reminded of Brodie and the story of David and Goliath.

  The bigger they are the harder they fall, she said to herself.

  Keira angled herself to face him. Lifting her leg back, bending at the knee, she kicked him as hard as she could on his shin. The man yelped in pain, releasing his hold on Keira’s arm and dropped his hands to his shin.

  “Ye bitch!” he shrieked, after letting out a mass of curses.

  Scooping the air with his hands, he tried to grab her but was unsuccessful as Keira ducked. Momentarily, she glanced back at Ian. It was her intention to run toward him but to do so would be absurd. Men circled around him like a ring of fire. She would never make it.

  Time seemed to slow as if the last grain of sand had gently fallen from the top half of an hour glass. The thunderous clamor of battle seized, and the only sound she heard was the sound of her own hard breaths.

  Keira had to think fast. She had to have faith in Ian’s men that they would save him. She had to have faith in Ian. He would not allow death to take him so effortlessly. In all things, she knew that God had a plan for her and she refused to believe that that plan did not include Ian. She could not
picture a world with him no longer in it. Simply put, she was meant to be with him.

  Keira looked away from the fight out toward the trees. To run would not be cowardly but staying would only put her in unnecessary risk. She had no weapons to fend off an attack, nor did she have the strength to run into battle. The only way to save Ian was to save herself. Once Ian’s men managed to fight off the warriors, she trusted they would help him; keeping him safe from further harm.

  She began to run toward the trees, her long muscled legs pumping fast in an effort to flee her assailant. He was gaining on her but she was smaller and more agile, dodging the trees and shrubs, weaving in and out like a wee banshee. She had no idea the direction she ran. All she knew was she was heading in the opposite direction of Chisholm’s men. Tripping and stumbling over exposed tree roots and forest debris, fear boosted her adrenaline.

  Keira came to a wall of rock at the base of the mountain. Looking up, she felt like an ant beneath a tree. Offering up a prayer, she accepted the challenge and started to climb. Using the cracks in the wall and bits of rock that unnaturally stuck out, she scaled the mountainside. As she was nearly twenty feet from the ground, her assailant started to climb, but his weight and large feet prevented him from getting good footing, and he slipped back down to the ground.

  Keira continued her ascent until she reached a flat outcropping of rock. Looking down, she was relieved to see that the Chisholm guard had given up, as he was nowhere in sight. She rested for a few moments until she continued her way up the tall incline. She estimated that it would take at least a quarter past an hour until she reached the top.

  The wind blew strong at this height, which worked against her. It was a good thing she did not have a fear of heights for if she had; she would have never attempted this grueling climb.