There was no doubt in Ian’s mind that given the chance, Malcolm would do just that. Mustering up more courage than he knew he had, Ian balled his hand into a fist and swung at Malcolm’s face. His blow, though admittedly it wasn’t a mighty one, landed between Malcolm’s eye and nose. It was enough to send him into a fit of rage.
When the boy’s fist landed on Malcolm’s face, Findley’s stomach lurched. He didn’t need the boy angering Malcolm to the point of murder, but the look on Malcolm’s face was a good indicator that he was to that point.
“Ye little bastard!” Malcolm shouted as he let loose his grip. Ian began to fall from Malcolm’s arm, but Malcolm caught him by the back of his tunic. In one swift motion, he lifted him into the air and stepped closer to the short railing.
“Ye’ve a death wish, lad?” his voice dripped with menace and seething anger as he lifted Ian up and over the railing. If he let go, Ian would surely fall to his death!
“Nay!” Findley yelled as he stepped toward Malcolm.
Malcolm grinned maliciously at Findley. “Stop!” he shouted. “Come closer and I’ll drop him!”
Rage simmered just under the surface. Findley hadn’t come this far only to have the boy die now. His jaw clenched as he gripped his sword tighter. He looked at Ian, whose eyes and mouth were agape with fear. Even from where he stood, some good eight to ten feet away, he could see the boy tremble, his face turn pale with fear.
“If ye drop that child, ye’ll be dead before he hits the floor below.” It was a promise he fully intended to keep.
Findley could see a few of his men making their way quietly up the stairs but the fighting below did not cease. He shot them a look and a slight shake of his head, fearing they’d do something to either startle or anger Malcolm that would cause him to let loose of Ian. The men held their positions.
“If ye want the boy to live,” Malcolm said, as a thin sheen of sweat began to break out over his face. “Ye’ll step aside.”
“There be no way out fer ye Malcolm,” Findley warned.
Malcolm was growing quite impatient. With a tilt of his head, he said, “Do ye think I fear ye?”
Findley shook his head. “Nay. But I think ye fear death.”
Fury exploded over Malcolm’s face. “Fear death?!” he shouted. “I fear nothin’! I merely want that which is mine! Let me pass now!”
“Nay,” Findley said, shaking his head, again attempting to keep his voice level and calm. His insides however, were anything but calm. He wanted nothing more than to run his sword through Malcolm’s heart.
“I can no’ do that, Malcolm. Give me the boy and we shall let ye live this day, that I do promise.” He’d hang the bastard tomorrow, so ’twasn’t a full out lie.
Though the lad was small, holding him by his tunic and dangling him out over the railing was a strain on Malcolm’s muscles. His arm began to shake slightly and he knew he couldn’t hold on to the boy forever.
Malcolm turned his head to look at Ian. The boy had grabbed Malcolm’s forearm in a death grip, holding on with both hands. He could feel his sweaty little palms and fingers and could see the panic in his eyes.
It angered Malcolm to no end. ’Twas the brat’s fault he was in this predicament. Had the little shite not fainted at the sight of his scarred face all those many days ago, had he not awakened long-buried feelings of compassion and kindness, then Malcolm would have proceeded in a far different manner.
He would have hunted Maggy down and forced her to marry him. His seed, he was certain, would have already been firmly planted in her belly and his dreams of a title, lands, and power would well be on their way to fruition.
But nay! The brat had to faint! He opened old wounds, old feelings and turned Malcolm’s life upside down. Admittedly, he had begun to grow fond of the lad. And that, he realized, had been his downfall. The beginning of the end.
There was no way out. He’d not be marrying Maggy. He’d not gain a title, lands, or respectability. All because of the lad who now dangled precariously from his hand.
Malcolm turned, very slowly, to face Findley and Findley did not like the look he saw in the man’s face. ’Twasn’t anger or fury or rage but something far worse; ’twas the look of a man resigning himself to death.
“Give me the boy,” Findley pleaded as he held out his shaky hand and prayed that God would somehow intervene and change Malcolm’s mind.
“I’ll see ye in hell,” Malcolm said quietly before he closed his eyes and let go of Ian’s tunic.
Ian gasped and tried to hold on to Malcolm’s arm, but his hands were too damp with sweat! He tried digging in with his fingernails but to no avail.
The world seemed to slow down, everything moved in slow motion as Ian slipped from Malcolm’s grasp. Findley shouted, a gut wrenching, “Nay!” He could do not reach him in time to grab him! As Ian fell through the air, he took Findley’s very soul with him.
~~~
Findley froze with gut-wrenching grief as the cruelty of the situation set in. This was going to kill Maggy! ’Twould be an anguish she would never recover from.
His grief was quickly replaced with fury, rage, and hatred as he lunged toward Malcolm, a low, guttural growl coming from deep in his belly. Grabbing Malcolm by the shoulder with one hand, Findley thrust his sword into the man’s chest, tearing through bone, muscle and flesh until the hilt of his sword was buried to Malcolm’s breastbone!
The sound of death gurgled in Malcolm’s throat a few moments before blood spilled out of his mouth. Malcolm’s body grew limp as his life quickly faded away.
Using his shoulder for ballast, Findley shoved hard, pulling his sword from Malcolm’s chest. The force of it hurled Malcolm head first over the railing. Findley heard the sickening sound of bones crushing when the body hit the stone floor below. Findley had made good on his promise; Malcolm was dead before he hit the floor.
His stomach churned and the sour taste of bile rose in his throat. ’Twasn’t the death of Malcolm that made him feel this way. ’Twas the thought of Ian lying dead on the floor below and what this news would do to Maggy.
His head began to spin and his heart pounded mercilessly in his chest. His hands shook and his legs were beginning to give out. Everything sounded muffled and disjointed as he stooped over and put his hands on his knees. Taking in great gulps of air in hopes of settling his stomach, he felt the world rapidly coming undone around him.
There was a hand on his back and someone was speaking to him. It was difficult however, to hear what was being said and it took several moments to clear his thoughts. Maggy was still chained to the wall and there were still men fighting to free her. He needed to get his wits about him before one of Malcolm’s men ran him through or worse yet, any harm came to Maggy.
“Findley!” Nial was shouting at him and trying to shake some sense into him. “Findley! Get yerself together ye eejit!”
Now was not the time for his friend to act like his normal foolish self! Findley took another deep, steadying breath and righted himself. “Nial, I’d advise ye to hold yer tongue,” Findley warned, his voice shaky and filled with anger.
“And I’d advise ye to take a look below!” Nial was smiling at him and it made no sense to Findley how the man could find anything to smile about at this particular moment.
“Wipe that smile from yer face or I’ll run ye through, Nial!”
“Just look!” Nial said as he guided Findley toward the railing.
The sight below him nearly made him faint!
~~~
Wee William had no doubt that it was an act of divine intervention that had just taken place. He had fought his way into the keep with nary a scratch to his own person. Aye, the Buchannan men might be a fearless lot of the devil’s own, but most had taken one look at Wee William and had run in the other direction.
There had been several, however, who had tried, albeit unsuccessfully and to their own detriment, to slay him with sword, dagger or mace. As Wee William made his way into the keep,
he had paused long enough to see that Malcolm held a wee lad over the railing! Knowing Malcolm to be tetched, Wee William had no doubt that the man would drop the lad. His pulse quickened as he looked up and saw the expression on Malcolm’s face -- one of disgust and anger. It was the flicker of fear in Findley’s that warned this night would not turn out as they’d planned if anything happened to the boy.
A sigh of relief escaped Wee William when saw that Richard was standing under the walkway, ready to catch the lad. The relief was short-lived however, when he saw a Buchannan man running toward Richard with his sword drawn. Richard was too focused on the child dangling in the air and could not see the man coming toward him.
Wee William grabbed a knife from his belt and flung it through the air as he raced toward Richard. The knife hit its intended target, in the middle of the man’s back. The shock from being stabbed knocked the man forward and into Richard! The two fell to the ground and slid a few feet, coming to a stop under the walkway.
Known for his size, girth, and strength, but not at all for speed, Wee William practically flew through the great room to stand where Richard had been just a moment earlier. He reached the spot under the walkway in time to catch Ian in both hands just moments after Malcolm dropped him!
Wee William could not stop his forward momentum. Wrapping his arms around the boy, he spun in the air and landed on top of Richard and the now dead Buchannan man, crushing them both under his great weight and causing them to slide into the far wall.
As they slid into the wall, Wee William saw a body fall through the air and land where they’d just been standing. The sound of crushing bones and tearing flesh made Wee William’s stomach lurch.
Wee William felt his heart quit beating for several moments, as he lay in the heap and fought to catch his breath! The little boy was clinging to him, trembling and quaking with fear. Wee William finally caught his breath, willed his heart to beat, and rolled to his side to stand. He whispered soothing words to the boy as he patted his back.
“Och!” Richard said as he rolled from under the dead man. “How many stone do ye weigh Wee William?” he groaned as he kicked away the body that draped over his leg.
Wee William smiled down at Richard who was covered in blood and sweat. “All of ’em!” he said as he tried to shift the lad around so that he might extend a hand to Richard. The little boy had a death grip around Wee Williams neck and torso and would not let go. Letting out a sigh, Wee William let go of the boy, shook his head and smiled for the boy still clung to him like a leech! Wee William reached his hand out to help Richard to his feet.
“Lad, ye can let go now,” Wee William encouraged him.
Ian shook his head quickly, increasing his grip instead of loosening it. There was no way he’d let go! If he let go, he would die and his mother would be very disappointed in him.
When the trio stepped from under the walkway, Wee William felt an intense sense of joy fill him to the core. The dead man was Malcolm Buchannan.
Wee William smoothed the boy’s hair with the palm of his hand and continued to speak soothingly to him. “Ye must be the Ian we’ve come for,” he asked, hoping to calm the boy’s fears.
Ian nodded his head as the tears began to flow. He could still hear the fighting taking place all around them and he wanted nothing more than to find his mum and leave.
Wee William looked around at the death and destruction and decided it was probably best that the lad keep his eyes shut.
“Wee William! Richard!” Findley was shouting from the floor above.
They turned and looked up to see a very happy and relieved Findley staring down at them. Though he looked a bit green, his relief was quite evident. “Search Malcolm fer a key!”
Richard gave a nod of his head and bent to one knee. Around Malcolm’s neck was a thin leather necklace holding one key. Using his knife, he cut the strip of leather and pulled the key from it. He rose and threw the key up to Findley who shot back his thanks.
“Get the lad out of here!” he called down to his brother and friend.
Wee William and Richard gave quick nods of their heads and raced out of the great room. Findley stood at the railing and watched as Wee William and Richard safely made their way out of the keep. His gaze then set upon the dead body of Malcolm Buchannan.
The man lay on his back, his body twisted and broken, his dead eyes staring back up at Findley. From his vantage point, Findley could see a dark pool of blood as it oozed from Malcolm’s head. One of Malcolm’s legs was bent in an unnatural fashion, the calf bone poking through the flesh.
Relieved as he was that the whoreson was now dead, Findley sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the good Lord. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the bit of bloodied fabric that he’d been carrying around for all these days.
He tossed it over the railing and watched as it slowly fell through the air. It flittered slightly in the breeze that blew through the open doors, before landing across Malcolm’s dead, milky eye. It rested there briefly before the breeze lifted it ever so slightly, tossing it into the pool of Malcolm Buchannan’s blood -- the blood of innocents now avenged with the blood of the evil and guilty.
~~~
Richard flung open the door of the waiting carriage as arrows flew through the air. Wee William lunged in through the open door with Ian still clinging to him for dear life. When he landed, he nearly toppled the carriage over from the force of his landing. Richard didn’t bother with trying to shut the door as Wee William’s legs were dangling out of it.
Swiftly, Richard climbed up and into the driver’s seat, grabbed the reins and snapped the horses into action. Soon they were racing away from the keep, driving over dead bodies as they made their way through the gates. No one gave chase as they flew through the dark night to safety, all the while Wee William was half in and half out of the carriage.
~~~
With key in hand, Findley raced back to the room where Maggy was shackled. Rowan looked very relieved to see Findley approaching with key in hand. Nial and three of his men were not far behind.
“Maggy!” Findley said as he rushed into the room. “I have the key!”
Moments ago she had been convinced that she had no more tears to cry, but seeing Findley return with the key, unharmed, brought a torrent of them spilling from her eyes.
With shaking fingers, Findley managed to unlock the first shackle. Weak from thirst, hunger, and being hung on the wall like a banner for far too long, Maggy groaned. Sharp jolts of pain shot through her arms and feet as she began to fall away from the wall. Findley caught her with his arm as he handed the key to Rowan.
When she was finally free of the shackles, Findley scooped her up in his arms. “Och! Maggy, love!” he whispered into her ear. “I’ve missed ye!”
She wanted very much to wrap her arms around his neck, but the pain was too much. She could only fold her arms over her chest and grab onto his tunic. Between sobs she asked if they’d found Ian.
“Aye, Wee William and Richard have him,” Findley said as they made their way out of the room. He decided it best to leave out the part where Ian was dangled over the railing and dropped. “He’s safe and well, Maggy, and ye will be as well.”
With Maggy in his arms, Findley hurried down the hallway with Nial and his men leading the way and Rowan bringing up the rear. Swiftly but cautiously, they made their way down the stairs as the fighting appeared to have died down considerably.
Findley took note of the dead and dying men all around him. He allowed a sense of pride to wash over him as he saw that his men, along with Caelen’s and Nial’s, had things well under control. In short order they were out of the keep and heading toward waiting horses.
Rowan held Maggy long enough for Findley to mount his steed. He handed her up to Findley who settled her on his lap, wrapped an arm around her waist and kicked the flanks of his horse. In no time, they were all riding through the gates of the keep at breakneck speed. Mud flew up from the pounding hoofs, the damp ai
r cool against their skin.
With her head pushed against his chest, Maggy could hear his heart beating, even over the din of the racing horses. The sound of it soothed her as if she were a babe in her mother’s arms. The only way she knew she was not dreaming was from the pain shooting through her muscles as they sprinted through the night. She didn’t care where they were going as long as it was as far away from the Buchannan keep and its men as possible.
’Twas then that she thought of Andrew and Robert and another sense of dread came over her. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
“Findley!” she managed to squeak out. “We still need to find Robert and Andrew!” She’d not be able to rest or even breathe until she had all of her sons safe and in her arms.
“They’re safe, lass,” he told her as he dug into the flanks of his horse again. “We came across them on our way to get ye,” he hugged her closer, glad to have her in his arms again.
Now she could breathe. They were safe, at least for now, but she knew tomorrow would hold a different story. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow or all the morrows that would follow it. The only thing that mattered now was that their ordeal was over and they were all safe.
But she knew that tomorrow would eventually come and she’d be forced to face her new reality; the life she’d fought so hard to keep, was no more.
Turning her face into Findley’s chest, she wept bittersweet tears. Though relieved and happy to be wrapped in his arms and away from the Buchannan, she knew it would not last. As soon as Brockton learned she was alive, her life as she’d known it for three years would be over. In its place would be a life she had no desire to live, for there would be no place in it for Findley.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A low fire crackled in the massive fireplace in her room at Laird and Lady Kinleigh’s castle. Maggy and her boys had arrived a sennight ago and were more than grateful for the refuge and safety the Kinleigh's had so graciously offered.
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