Heart of the Highlands: The Beast (Protectors of the Crown Book 1)

by Holthaus, April

  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.

  Once she reached the top of the hill, Keira was able to see the entire expanse of the landscape from the cliff. She would find refuge here and wait until she saw Ian and his men.

  ~*~

  The pain radiating in his side burned like the fires of Hades. With his men shielding him, Ian carefully ripped off his shirt and tied it tightly around his waist. It would stop the bleeding but do little for the pain.

  Relief rained down on him when he saw Keira run off into the woods. She was away from the fight but still in danger with one of the guards chasing her.

  Seeing his sword lying on the ground only a few feet away, Ian leaned toward it and picked it up with his left hand. The sword felt heavier in his non-dominant hand as he gripped the handle but not so that it would render him useless. Pushing himself to a standing position, he rejoined the fight.

  Men scattered, swords clashed and his men fought victoriously. It would be a story told for generations. As his men slayed many of the Chisholm warriors, others fled in fear.

  Thomas, however, stood his ground; refusing to withdraw. Ian walked toward him, sword in hand. He wanted that man’s head on a stake; James wanted him alive. At least long enough to kill the man himself.

  Charging toward Ian, Thomas swung his sword in the air. He fought with rage but not with his head. He swung wildly, missing his mark. Ian’s sword met his, the clang of metal colliding, the force of the collision vibrating down his arm. Thomas circled Ian, swinging his fist and making contact to Ian’s wound, causing Ian to stagger in pain, dropping his sword.

  God damn bloody hell!

  Thomas held an appalling, sinister look then tossed his sword to the ground as well. Raising his fists, he waited for Ian to make the next move. There was nothing rawer, more elemental than fighting in hand to hand combat. To kill a man with only their bare hands offered a certain kind of dignity and power no sword could ever provide. It was savage but exactly how a true warrior would want it. It was a more honorable way to die. But death would not come for Ian this day.

  Ian tackled the man to the ground. Fists swung, blood spilled, and moans and grunts echoed around them. Like two wild dogs, they fought to the death. He felt yet another blow from Chisholm and barely held on to consciousness as his vision blurred, but thoughts of Keira renewed his strength. He drew back his arm and with all the energy that he could muster he swung a mighty blow to the bastard’s head. Feeling Chisholm’s body go limp beneath him, he knew victory was his, at last.

  Covered with blood, grime and sweat, Ian collapsed to the ground, next to the corpse of Thomas Chisholm. His hands were bloody and swollen, his ribs and side ached like the devil, and a swollen right eye nearly blinded him. He heard shouts and noises as they came near, but could not make out the words. The world above him spun as darkness pulled him under. He fell into a peaceful sleep as he dreamt of bathing in a vat of whiskey. He must be dead and this must be heaven!

  ~*~

  Keira’s heart sank deep in her chest when she spotted Leland and the others ride toward her. She searched their faces but there was no sign of Ian. Their mournful expressions stole her breath. Keira’s head lowered as she focused on her breathing, feeling faint. Her knees trembled violently. Her husband was dead.

  Leland rode to her side, Ian’s body draped over the back of the horse behind him. She ran to him and placed her hand gently on his cheek. It was still warm under her touch.

  “Is he…”

  “Nay! No’ yet but he sleeps harder than a rock,” Leland assured her.

  “I was afraid of that. I must tend to his wounds.”

  “It’ll have to wait, my Lady. Chisholm’s men are still verra near. We are no’ prepared fer another attack.”

  Keira assessed Ian as best as she could. His skin had paled.

  “He cannae wait, Leland,” she whispered. “I need enough time to stop the bleeding.”

  Leland let out an annoyed sigh.

  “Alright, do what ye must but be quick about it.”

  Leland and two of the guards helped lay Ian down on the ground. The shirt he had tied to his waist was soaked in blood. Carefully, she removed it, exposing
the open wound. Thank God, the projectile had gone clear through. She wouldn’t have to dig in his side to get it out. Fever and bleeding were the only risks, and they were grave.

  “Does anyone have a flask of water? I must clean it first before I attempt to close it.”

  One of the guards rushed to her side and handed her his open flask. She poured the contents on the wound. Using the torn, bloody shirt as a bandage, she instructed on of the men to start a small fire.

  “Lass, we dinna have time fer this,” Leland warned.

  “I must seal the wound. Once the fire is lit, take yer dagger and hold it over the flames. Make sure it is good and hot. Be quick about it unless ye want Ian to bleed to death or die from fever after all this,” she instructed.

  Leland did as she asked and held the blade in the flames. Several moments later, Leland returned to her side and handed her the knife. Keira exposed the wound once more and pressed the hot metal against this wound. The smell of burning flesh enveloped her as his skin sizzled.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Leland said, walking away quickly with his hand covering his mouth.

  Keira waited a few moments longer until she peeled the blade from his skin. It would leave a horrific scar but at least if her were to die it would not be because he bled to death.

  Running her hands down his chest, his arms and his legs, she searched for additional wounds. She noted less serious wounds such as three cracked ribs, two broken fingers and a possible sprain to his ankle. But those things would have to wait till later. Once they found shelter and she had the proper supplies, she would reset his fingers and wrap his chest so the ribs would heal. It would be a long recovery but once she fixed him, the rest was up to God.

  As she continued to minister his wounds, her mind went to her father. Ian wasn’t the only man she worried about. Even though she was madder than a crazed rabbit, Magnus Sinclair was still her father. He’d managed to escape one death, but she feared he had not been given the luck of the saints to escape another.

  Softly she asked, “Leland, did my father survive?”

  She was unsure whether she wanted to know the answer but thinking of her father left for dead disturbed her thoughts.

  “Nay, lass. We found his body after the fight. But ‘twas none of my men. He was already dead before we ever got there,” Leland replied.

  Keira nodded her head. She figured that had he not died in the fight, he would have simply ran off, but after her brief time with Laird Chisholm she knew that neither she nor her father would be allowed to live. Sending up a silent prayer to the heavens, she asked God to forgive his sins and pray that he would now rest in peace in the company of her mother.

  Leland led them to a nearby abbey that offered them shelter. With the help of the monks, Keira bandaged Ian’s wounds and left him alone to rest. Each day Keira paced anxiously across the floor at the foot of Ian’s bed waiting for him to wake. It had been nearly three days and he had still not wakened.

  “Ye be worrying yerself sick, lass,” Leland said. “Ye should get some rest. I can fetch ye if he wakes.”

  “I can no’ sleep Leland. I know his body needs the rest to heal, but if he doesn’t wake soon, I’m afraid he will starve to death.”

  Leland lowered his head. He too worried greatly over his brother though he tried to keep optimistic. Ian was a hard man and a fighter; he was not one to easily give up.

  “I promise I will rest soon. I just wish to stay a bit longer,” she said as she went to sit near Ian’s bedside.

  “Alright, lass. Come find me if ye need anything. I will be down in the kitchens. I will come to check on ye and Ian later.”

  “Thank ye, Leland. Ye are a good brother,” she said thinking of her own siblings. “Leland, if Ian does no’ wake, I wish fer ye to take me home to Castle Sinclair.”

  “Ye cannae be talking like that. He will wake!”

  “I know, but if he doesn’t. I need to be home wit’ my sisters. They are all alone and they dinna know what has happened. Promise me, please!” she said somberly.

  Leland regarded her with sad eyes.

  “Lass, dinna worry about yer sisters. If it makes ye feel better, I will go myself and bring them back wit’ me to Invercauld,” Leland offered.

  “Ye would do that?”

  “Of course, ye are my brother’s wife, and I dinna like just sitting here waiting to find out whether or no’ Ian is going to get better. I could use the distraction. Besides, how much trouble could four young lassies be?”

  Keira stood from her chair and wrapped her arms around Leland.

  “Thank ye Leland! Ye dinna know how much that means to me!”

  “Tis no problem, my lady.”

  Leland offered her a slight smile and left the room. With the comfort knowing her sisters will be safe in Leland’s capable hands, she felt some relief. Keira leaned over to grab a wet rag from the basin. Wringing it out, she blotted it along Ian’s forehead, grateful he had not succumbed to fever. Setting the rag under his chin, she grabbed a small cup of broth and held Ian’s head as she forced the liquid down his throat.

  “Ian, ye must wake up. Ye must eat,” she said in desperation.

  She felt drained of energy, and emotionally exhausted as she had not slept in almost three days. Dark smudges had begun to appear under her eyes, her skin was pale, and her cheeks were sunken. But she refused to leave Ian’s side. Every few hours, she would redress his bandages, wipe the sweat off his brow and try to get him to drink some broth. His wounds, remarkably, were healing much better than she had initially anticipated. Now all she needed was for him to wake.

  Keira placed her hand on top of Ian’s.

  “It was my fault that ye got hurt. I should have told ye what I had planned. I should have trusted ye. Ye have lost so many things in life that I just wanted to see at least one of those things returned to ye. I am sorry I failed ye. Please wake up, Ian. I am no’ ready to say goodbye,” she said softly, hoping he would hear her words and wake.

  Kissing him on his forehead, she rested her head on his shoulder and placed her hand on his chest. Closing her eyes, she listened to the strong beat of his heart.

  “I love ye, Ian MacKay,” she said as she ran her fingers up and down his chest.

  “I love ye too,” Ian responded with a dry, scratchy voice.

  “Yer awake!”

  Tears filled Keira’s eyes as she flung her arms around him.

  “Easy lass!” Ian said, calmly.

  “I thought I was losin’ ye. Oh Ian, I am so sorry fer what I did. Will ye ever forgive me?” she asked as tears fell from her eyes.

  “I am no’ mad at ye lass. It took me some time, but I understand why ye did it, but it was no’ necessary.”

  “But what of yer home? How will ye get it back?”

  “Ye are more important to me than a castle, Keira. I dinna ever want to lose ye again. Ye are my wife and I love ye. Ye are the reason fer every beat of my heart, every breath I take, every smile. I promised ye from the beginning that I would do right by ye. To love and cherish ye fer all my days. My word is my vow and someday we will return home, I promise ye that.”

  Keira held her husband tightly in her arms knowing that whatever challenges they faced, they would face them together.

  Other books by the Author

  Protectors of the Crown Series

  Book One: Heart of the Highlands: The Beast (2015)

  Book Two: Heart of the Highlands: The Wolf (2015)

  Book Three: Heart of the Highlands: The Dragon (2016)

  Book Four: Heart of the Highlands: The Lion (2016)

  Book Five: Heart of the Highlands: The Stag (2016)

  The MacKinnon Clan Series

  Book One: The Honor of a Highlander (2013)

  Book Two: Escape to the Highlands (2014)

  Book Three: Highland Daydreams (2014)

  The Dark Fae Saga

  Book One: Legend of the Fae (2015)

  Book Two: Prophecy of the Fae coming
soon

  About the Author

  April lives in central Minnesota with her husband and son. She developed her passion of historical romances through her love of history and genealogy. Over the last several years she has compiled her family tree finding over 350 bloodline grandparents dating back to the 900’s from England and France.

  When not working or writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading and being outdoors.

  Check out the author’s website, Twitter and Facebook page for updates on upcoming books, cover reveals and giveaways.

  www.facebook.com/author.april.holthaus

  https://twitter.com/AprilHolthaus

  http://myromanticenchantments.blogspot.com/