Anger and panic shot through Will at once. It had to be the men he’d fought at the hut. They had been on a hunting trip alright, but not for animals, like the man suggested.
“They were getting a whole group of men together when I left,” the man continued. “Saying they were going down to the village to get revenge. Campbells are a bloodthirsty lot at times, if ye dinna ken.”
“No,” Isobel whispered, horror on her face. “Will, we have to warn them!”
“No use in that, lass. They left not long after me. By my guess, they only have half a day before the lot of them arrive in the valley. Ye’d have to ride at a full gallop non-stop to get there in time. Even then, ye might be too late.” The man shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Such a waste. Maybe, one day, the feud between yer people will end and ye’ll be able to live in peace.”
Will’s heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing as he thought of what to do. The attack was all his fault. He’d been the one who killed the Campbell man. The revenge they sought was with him, but he wouldn’t be there to face them, to stand up for his family and take responsibility for his actions.
Feeling sick, he looked to Isobel, who was watching him with a pleading look. “We have to try,” she said, glancing back at the stranger.
“I ken,” Will said, trying to clear his mind.
“If ye have it in yer mind to die, I’ll not stop ye,” the man said, shrugging. “God be with ye.” Nudging his horse, he continued down the road, not seeming to care about the slaughter he knew was going to happen.
“All those women and children,” Isobel said, watching as Will remained frozen beside her. “Will they let them go?”
“No.” Will swallowed hard, desperate to be at his family’s side at that very moment. “The Campbells will kill them all.”
“Then there’s no time to waste.” Grabbing the ties holding her chest onto Arth’s back, she undid them and pulled the box off, setting it on the side of the road, beneath a bush. “We only have a small window of time. At the very least, we can warn them a few minutes beforehand.” Climbing onto the horse, she motioned for Will to join her, Sheila and his sword resting across her lap.
Numbly, he nodded and did as she asked. The thought that this was all his fault wouldn’t leave his mind, no matter how much he tried to focus on other things. Within a few moments, he’d gone from thinking he would never see his family again because he’d left them to hoping they wouldn’t leave him for the world beyond this one.
Arth flew over the ground once more, running as fast as he could, Isobel and Will holding on for dear life. The road was empty, thankfully, and Will said a silent prayer of thanks that they’d managed to stay on a path that had a straight shot to the valley. They darted over hills and across streams, through the mountain pass and, finally, down the incline and into the valley.
For a moment, Will thought they had made it in time. He could see the roof of the house peaking just over the top of the hill ahead of them, smoke curling from the chimney. There was nothing to suggest that a war was taking place in front of it, except for the shouting of men and the clanking of metal meeting metal. Pistols fired, their popping sounds bouncing off the mountains around them. Finally, the whole scene came into view as they paused at the edge of town, looking on in horror.
It was instantly clear that they had never stood a chance of beating the Campbells here. The fight was winding down, with many bodies already laying in the streets. Smoke hung in the air, masking the small parties of men still fighting, like a fog trying to keep the event a secret. Blood spattered the walls of his own house, the animals dead in front of it. The dogs had been slaughtered on the front step, their bodies bleeding out slowly. The door was wide open, shouts coming from inside, the sound of crashing items causing his heart to leap into his throat.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Will jumped off Arth, brandishing his sword and shouting as he ran toward the house. A Campbell man appeared from inside the barn, and Will recognized him as one of the men who had assaulted Isobel. In a rage, he charged the man, running him clean through with his sword.
Turning quickly, slipping in the muddy earth, he ran into the house, searching for the source of the screaming. He found it in the kitchen, Maw beating a man over the head with a pan, tears streaming down her bloodied face. The man was already dead, whether by her hands or someone else’s Will didn’t know. Upon seeing her eldest son, she fell to the ground, clutching her chest and sobbing, pointing toward the back.
“A-A-Alastair,” she stuttered. “In the back w-w-w-with R-Rowan.”
Not needing her to ask him twice, he ran through the house, bursting through the back door in time to see Alastair fire a pistol right in the face of one of the enemy, dropping the man like he was a hot rock. Behind him, Rowan cowered, his tiny knife clutched in his hands, tears streaking his face.
“Will!” Alastair stared at him in surprise.
“Where’s Da?” Will demanded, looking them over and making sure they were okay.”
“He was in the fields when they attacked. I saw a whole group of men go up there, but they were swarming the houses so bad, I couldn’t go help.” Alastair’s hands were shaking, his face pale, eyes staring at the man he’d shot. It was the first time he’d ever killed someone and Will could see he was going into shock.
“Go inside with Maw, both of ye,” he ordered. “She’s bleedin’ and needs yer help.”
The boys nodded, moving stiffly to follow his command. As Alastair passed, Will put his hand on his shoulder.
“Ye did the right thing, Al. They needed yer help here.”
Swallowing hard, a tear ran down Alastair’s face as he pressed his lips together tightly. The comment seemed to steel him some, though, and he grabbed Rowan’s hand, towing him inside.
Isobel appeared in the doorway, eyes wide as she looked at the two boys.
“Stay here,” Will told her firmly.
“Like hell,” she shot back, Sheila resting over her shoulder. “If there’s a group of them up in the fields, ye’re going to need all the help ye can get.”
Feeling like there wasn’t any time to argue with her, and knowing she was more than capable of defending herself, he nodded, quickly darting through the barn and up the hill toward the fields. There was still a good deal of clashing sounds coming from there, giving him hope that Da might still be alive and well, teaching the Campbells what it meant to attack a MacDonald.
His hopes were dashed as he came upon the field. The attackers were destroying the crops, laughing as the remaining few MacDonalds fell under their swords. Glancing over to the stand of trees that he and Da had rested under so many times, he felt a pang in his chest, his legs giving out underneath him.
Da was sitting under the branches, his face blank and unmoving, a large sword shoved through his midsection. His head leaned against the trunk, eyes looking up toward the sky, vacant and lifeless. His hands were still covered in dirt from working, his entire person screaming that he had been caught off guard by the attack. He might have even been one of the first ones to die. It was then that Will realized the banshee had not been calling to him in his sleep; she was there to take Da.
Shaking, Will shoved to his feet, feeling an anger that demanded blood to state his need for revenge. Shouting, he charged into the fray of Campbell men, swinging and chopping, crying over the loss of his father. His rage made him sloppy, though, and the invaders soon gathered their bearings, fighting him off with ease.
A slice across his back brought him to his knees, the stinging cut not too deep, but extremely painful. Next, one of the men punched him with the hilt of their sword in the nose, shattering it with ease. Will cried out, falling over backward, realizing he was losing any ground he had on them. He was going to die here, like his father, forever condemned for causing the slaughter of his family and friends.
A bright, purple light shot through the group, catching two of the men and flinging them backward. Another foll
owed, flames licking over the skin of the man that it hit, causing him to scream as he fell to the ground and rolled, trying to put the flames out. They kept burning, though, as if by magic.
Sitting up, Will looked over to where the orbs were coming from, feeling his heart stop once more.
Isobel stood at the edge of the field, her hands waving in a circular pattern in front of her. Light shone in her eyes and gathered in her hands, forming the orbs that attacked the men. The purple substance formed out of nothing, turning black as she held it in her hands, shaking violently until she released it.
She really was a witch, he realized. The powers she possessed were frightening real, not just a dabbling of herb work and chanting.
As she released another orb, Sheila suddenly flew from the ground into her hands and she swung the hammer around, knocking back a man as he charged toward her. Will had never seen her like this, her dress fluttering in the wind, hair blowing back from the strength of the power in her hands.
Another man ran toward her, grabbing Sheila’s handle and trying to yank it away. However, the mallet didn’t budge, and Isobel placed her free hand on his chest, blowing him away with another blast of purple light. Will instantly thought of how Isobel had told him Sheila couldn’t be taken by anyone who meant her harm. Apparently, that had been true as well.
The Campbells were running away now, frightened by the witch they’d unearthed, shouting for aid from their brothers in other parts of the town.
Struggling to his feet, Will fought the urge to run as well, staring at her in wonder. He wasn’t afraid of her; he found the magic unsettling, but he could see that this was the person she had always been. She’d never told him she wasn’t a witch. In fact, she had often referred to herself with that very term. He just hadn’t been listening well enough to discover the truth.
She was rushing toward him now, waving her hand over him, the light from his dream shining overhead once more. In an instant, he felt his nose and back heal, stitching themselves back together without hardly an effort at all. The ridge of his nose was crooked now, but the blood had stopped flowing from it completely.
“Get up, Will!” she shouted, shooting another blast toward the men. “They’re running away! We have to stop them before they get back into town!”
Grabbing his hand, she hauled him to his feet, passing Sheila to him. Raising her hands, she shot out another blast of purple light, the magic manifesting as flames that encircled the area, trapping the Campbells inside.
“What do ye want me to do?” Will asked, not knowing how to help an all-powerful witch.
“Fight back!” Running forward, she continued her attack on the men, spinning and firing, the air around her sparkling with the magic she possessed.
One of the men broke past her, running toward Will and the small break in the flaming wall behind him. He looked terrified, but raised his axe as he neared Will, shouting a war cry.
Hefting Sheila into the air, Will struck out with all the strength he could muster, catching the man in the stomach. He fell to his knees and then flat on his stomach as Will slammed the hammer into his back.
Staring at the weapon in his hands, he thought he could feel the magic in her now, swirling through the wood and pulsing in his hands. Wonder filled him. How had he never noticed these things before? It suddenly struck him that everything he knew about the world was wrong. The proof was in his hands and standing in front of him.
Taking a breath and clearing his head, Will swung Sheila again, as a practice swipe, and smiled. Launching himself forward, he joined Isobel on the front lines, beating back the Campbells with his brute strength and Sheila’s weight. They crashed through the plants and stepped over bodies, pushing against their foes with a force that would have made anyone marvel.
Suddenly, a pistol shot rang out and Will jerked back, looking at Isobel. Her body jerked strangely, the power in her hands fizzing and disappearing. Shock covered her face, her gaze moving toward Will, fear in her eyes. As if in slow motion, her legs gave out, her dress pooling around her as she crumpled to the ground, her head bouncing off the earth as it hit, her mouth open in a painful gasp.
The man that had been standing in front of her turned, the gun clutched in his hands, terror written all over him. As the flaming barrier went out around them, he ran, throwing the gun on the ground and crossing himself as he went.
Will’s feet felt like they were stuck in the mud, moving so slowly as he ran toward her. All other sound in the world had stopped, the ring of the shot the only thing he could hear. The scent of gunpowder reached him and he stumbled, the image of Isobel’s body jerking as the bullet hit her replaying in his mind. He knew he must have been shouting her name, Sheila forgotten behind him, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the woman on the ground in front of him.
Falling to her side, her took her in his arms, touching the hole in her chest. Blood gurgled out of it in waves, soaking through her clothes and coating his hands.
“It’s okay,” Will said, trying to console himself as much as he was her. Fear clouded all his thoughts, the racing of his own heart pounding in his ears now. Words felt thick in his mouth, his brain scrambling to think of anything that would help her. Finally, he took a deep breath, putting pressure on her wound and nodding. “Relax, Isobel. Ye can heal yerself, like ye did with me.”
Shaking her head, she coughed.
“No?” he asked, taken aback. “Why not?”
Struggling, her body bucked in his grasp, trembling horribly as she coughed, gasping for air. “I can’t do magic for myself,” she whispered. “Against . . . rules. Only good for others.”
Confused, Will stared at her, not understanding what she was saying. As he watched her, the last bits of her life fading away, he felt as helpless as he had when he saw Da, dead beneath the tree. “What do ye mean?” he asked, his voice shaking.
She sputtered in reply, her gaze moving to the sky behind him, hands gripping him so tightly that he felt she would leave bruises.
Death was claiming her, he grasped with a start. She was dying right here, in his arms, unable to do anything to stop it. She had revealed herself to save him and his family, only to be cut down as a reward.
It was impossible, what was happening. Just hours ago, they had been on their way to their new life, on the other side of the world. There had been no fighting, no disaster they needed to defend against. Visions of their children had played in his mind, not a care in the world bothering him, so long as she was with him. How could so much have changed in such a short amount of time?
“Isobel, no,” he stammered, panicked. Shaking her, he got her to look at him again, her heartbeat fading beneath his touch. “Don’t go. I can get ye help, ye just have to stay alive. Only for a few minutes. Can ye do that for me? Can ye?” Looking around, he searched for anyone who might be nearby. There was no one, though; he would either have to leave her here or carry her back to the house before anyone could look at her.
She didn’t respond, blinking slowly, her head resting against his chest. “Take Sheila,” she whispered again. “She’ll protect ye. All the magic of my family is stored in that hammer. My magic.” Tired, she stopped talking, closing her eyes for a moment longer than was needful. Then, looking back up at him, she smiled softly. “I love ye, Will.”
Tears washed down his face and he shook his head, clearing his throat forcefully. “Dinna say goodbye. Please, Isobel. Stay with me. Hold onto me. Ye canna leave me like this.” His voice cracked, the world around him cold as he stared down at her, trying to remain strong for her, to show her that he was still here.
“I’ll never leave ye, Will.” She grimaced, her breath catching, the statement barely perceptible to his ears as her eyes closed again.
“Never is an awfully long time,” he said back, sucking in a loud, painful gasp as he continued to cry.
Her body shook with silent laughter before she looked at him, one last time. “Never,” she said, a finality to her tone.
>
One last breath filled her lungs and she looked at the sky, eyes glassing over. Slowly, the air left her, the beat of her heart stopped beneath his hand. Will felt as if a breeze brushed by him, the air ruffling his beard, and then it was gone.
Isobel was gone.
Epilogue
Will grabbed the barrel, hoisting it off the ground and into his arms, carrying it up the gangplank of the ship. It was tedious work, but it was simple, which he liked. The action kept his mind busy on menial things, like making sure he didn’t step in the wrong spot or drop the cargo. He’d already loaded at least one hundred of the items into the ship’s hold and there was at least that much left to go.
Sea air filled his lungs as he crossed the wooden slope down to the dock once more. Wind ruffled his hair, reminding him that he needed to have it cut, and the sound of seagulls rustled all around him. It was a change from the scenery he’d been used to his whole life, but it was good.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
“William MacDonald?”
Stiffening, he turned toward the voice, cautious. No one called him that anymore—no one here knew that name. “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Bevard,” the young Frenchman said, bowing slightly. He wore fancy clothes and looked around the dock like he thought it might break off and fall into the ocean at any moment. Despite his evident distaste, he looked at Will with interest.
Trying to judge if it was a good idea to acknowledge his given name or not, Will frowned. There couldn’t really be any harm in admitting his name, could there? “Monsieur,” he replied, nodding in greeting. “They call me Cameron around these parts, because of my nose.” Tapping the slightly crooked part of his face, he turned back to the barrels, not wanting to relive his past.
“Yes,” Bevard mused. “I suppose it must have been broken once. Say, by a sword pommel?”
The question made Will freeze, memories of the day Isobel had died flashing through his mind. His heart raced, the scent of blood filling his nose, followed by the smell of burning flesh. He’d burned Isobel’s body on an alter built for a queen. It was impossible for him to think of her now without remembering how he had killed her.
Taken Away_A Swept Away Saga Origins Story_A Scottish Highlander Romance_The Swept Away Saga Page 11
