A Knight For Her Highland Heart (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

  Gavina smirked as the barricade became illuminated, two of the knights on horseback engulfed in flames and falling to the ground as Sir Jessup ordered his archers to fire.

  Sir Jessup’s archers’ arrows, flying in unison like a swarm of hornets, arced through the sky and landed in several parts of the village. Three villagers were struck immediately, falling to their deaths as the other arrows missed the other villagers by feet and mere inches.

  Gavina, an arrow landing squarely between her and Christian, shuffled to her right and found cover behind a parapet. “Keep yer head down!” she shouted to Christian.

  Lord Torstein, rushing between buildings and ordering the archers to concentrate their fire on the first wave of riders, shouted out: “Keep it up! Do not let your guard down!”

  The archers in the village continued to fire, exchanging shots with Sir Jessup’s archers as fighters on all sides slowly began to take hit after hit.

  Isla, residing near the front of the barricade, noted that the first wave of riders was slowly being dwindled down. The barricade itself, still engulfed in flames, was slowly breaking apart, as expected, as Sir Jessup then ordered his second wave of knights to engage.

  “Circle the village!” Sir Jessup ordered. “Flank them on all sides!”

  Finlay, posted up on horseback next to Rory, turned and pointed to four different points throughout the village. “Take yer men,” he said, “cover the entry points tae the village. Sir Jessup will try tae flank us!”

  Rory nodded, bucking his horse as he removed his broadsword. “The barricade will nae hold fer long!”

  “Aye! Be swift!”

  Rory shouted to his riders and began to cover the four entry points to the village, shouting out war cries and laughing with delight as several more riders on Sir Jessup’s side fell from a flurry of well-placed arrow shots.

  Sir Jessup, posted up with his third and final wave of riders, watched as the second wave rushed toward the village and joined forces with the dwindling number of first-wave riders. A knight, positioned to Sir Jessup’s left, said: “Sir! We should launch our counter-attack!”

  Sir Jessup focused his attention on the three catapults that they had brought along with them. The catapults were positioned to fire directly onto the village, loaded with barrels of flammable oil and preparing to be lit by two knights with torches.

  Sir Jessup pointed to the barricade at the front of the village. “Position one of the catapults at the barricade!” he cried out. “Take it down!”

  The catapult in the center was adjusted and positioned to take aim at the front of the barricade. The knights operating the wooden devices waited for Sir Jessup to give the command.

  “Do it!” Sir Jessup shouted to the two knights. “Fire the catapults!”

  The knights abided, lighting the barrels and then giving the order to fire. The catapults launched; three barrels filled to the brim launching and flying in an almost slow-timed pace toward the village.

  Gavina, her eyes wide as she saw the barrels hurtling toward the village, shouted out at the top of her lungs: “Incoming!” as the barrels made their final descent.

  The first barrel, aimed directly at the front of the barricade, exploded upon impact and covered the surrounding area with a fiery display. It blew a hole directly into the barricade, the remnants of the flammable oil spreading and igniting several of Rory’s men.

  The other two barrels landed not far from each other in the center of the village. The first destroyed the tavern, igniting it in a blaze that was so blinding that the warriors standing guard outside of it were immediately blinded by the light.

  The other barrel, landing not far from Finlay and Isla’s cottage, spread like a wildfire for twenty meters throughout the village. The explosion blew Gavina and Christian off of their feet, Gavina landed on top of Christian and knocking the wind out of both of them.

  “Are you okay?” Christian said, checking Gavina over for injuries.

  Gavina nodded. “Aye. I am fine.”

  They stood up, the flames licking the sides of Isla and Finlay’s cottage and slowly spreading upward toward the roof.

  “We must go!” Christian said. “We cannot stay!”

  Christian and Gavina wasted no time, quickly descending the rooftop as the house then became fully engulfed in flames.

  Rory, his men now at the front two corners of the village, stood guard as the second wave of riders began to close in on the hole that had been blown into the front of the barricade. “Stand fast!” Rory shouted.

  Finlay, now at Isla’s side, glanced over and saw that their cottage was now slowly burning to the ground.

  “Finlay,” Isla said with a depleted tone.

  Finlay squeezed her arm. “We will rebuild. The fight is nae over yet.”

  Isla nodded, gathering her strength and using her anger to fuel the fight as the second wave of riders closed in.

  Gavina and Christian, working their way to the front of the barricade, began shouting at the archers that were still standing to aim their arrows toward the front of the barricade.

  “Concentrate yer fire there!” Gavina said. “Dinnae let any man in!”

  The archers focused their shots on the front of the barricade and began to fire. Several riders on Sir Jessup’s side fell immediately, the others working their way around the fallen knights as they began to slowly trickle into the village.

  Rory’s men began to engage the second wave of riders. They were ferocious fighters, pressing back and taking down the incoming second wave with a significant amount of ease.

  Finlay, grabbing Isla by the arm, said: “Mount yer horse. Noo.”

  Isla obliged and joined Finlay as they mounted their steeds and began to engage the riders. The second wave of Sir Jessup’s knights were slowly dwindled down, much to the dismay of Sir Jessup.

  Sir Jessup, still positioned outside the village with the third wave, gritted his teeth and cried out his displeasure at the top of his lungs. “Enough!” he shouted out to his men. “Attack! Give them hell!” He charged, pointing his broadsword in the direction of the village and charging with full force toward the barricade.

  Several of the knights in the second wave were moving through the village, slicing down villager after villager as Christian and Gavina moved in to intervene. Christian, having tackled one of the knights off of his horse, began to engage the man one-on-one.

  “Traitor!” the knight said as he held up his sword and prepared to fight.

  They exchanged blow after blow, Christian nearly losing his head twice as the knight took swipe after swipe. The knight then let his guard down after attempting to take off Christian’s head, and Christian countered with a scything swipe that tore open the knight’s chest and dropped him to his knees.

  The third wave of Sir Jessup’s knights closed in on the village. Several of them were dropped by well-placed arrows. Gavina, seeing the approaching Sir Jessup, struck down a knight she was engaging and shouted out to the archers: “There! Sir Jessup is in the lead! Take him down!”

  The archers positioned their arrows and began flinging them toward Sir Jessup. Sir Jessup, however, was able to weave in-and-out of his flanks, dodging arrow after arrow and watching several of his men fall as he came to the opening of the barricade.

  Rory, fighting alongside his men, sweating profusely and displaying his swordsmanship skills well as he took down two more riders, focused his gaze directly on Sir Jessup.

  Sir Jessup, focusing on Rory from ten meters out, raised his sword and prepared to fight. The two men then clanked their swords together as they sat on their horses, swiping and stabbing and trying to best the other.

  Gavina and Christian, still weaving their way through the village, began to see the fire from the barrels slowly engulfing all around them.

  “The entire village burns,” Christian said.

  “Stay engaged!” Gavina yelled back. “Dinnae let yer guard down!”

  They continued to fight, taking down kni
ght after knight and barely able to keep a step ahead of the attacks.

  Rory and Sir Jessup, still fighting, eventually found their swords entangled. They pushed and pulled, falling off of their horses and struggling to stand as they continued to fight. On their feet, they exchanged several blows and parries, both of them evenly matched in skill as they fought with all of their might.

  Rory attempted to take a swipe at Sir Jessup’s—but he was caught in the chest by the tip of Sir Jessup’s blade and brought down swiftly to his knees. Rory bled out, his eyes wide as the life fleeted from him. Sir Jessup then stabbed him once more, stepped around him, and rushed his way through the village as Rory died.

  It was an all-out frenzy at that point, the entire village covered with multiple fighters carrying out several attacks at once. But the Baird and McManus clan had the advantage, striking down more than half of Sir Jessup’s men. After several minutes of fighting, and dozens of Sir Jessup’s men killed, the remaining knights in Sir Jessup’s employ began to retreat.

  “Where are you going?” Sir Jessup yelled. “Fight, damn you!”

  But the knights continued to retreat, only a few loyal members still sticking it out as they fought their way into the heart of the village.

  Sir Jessup killed two more villagers with ease, his eyes scanning for signs of Finlay or Gavina or Christian or Lord Torstein. After striking down another villager, he heard a familiar voice cry out from the left: “Jessup!”

  Sir Jessup turned around and spotted Christian, standing tall with his broadsword in hand and ready to engage.

  “You will pay for your transgressions, boy!” Sir Jessup said.

  But Christian replied with nothing—he merely moved in and began the attack. Him and Sir Jessup exchanged swipe after swipe, blow after blow, both of them evenly matched. Sir Jessup then caught Christian in the arm, ribbons of red flowing from Christian’s wounds.

  They pressed, and pushed, and gritted, taking swipe after swipe as the metal of their swords clanked and singed with their fiery-hot efforts. At one point, Christian was cut in the leg, dropped to the ground as Sir Jessup stood over him and prepared to make the killing blow.

  “You should not have betrayed us…” Sir Jessup said as he raised his blade.

  He came down for the strike—and then an arrow protruded from his chest. Sir Jessup, eyes wide, dropped his sword and looked down at the arrow. He went slack, the grit and fury from his face fading as he fell to his knees, and standing behind him was Gavina, the bow that she had used to launch the arrow still in her hand.

  The remaining knights were expelled from the village by arrows and swords, their numbers dwindled down to nothing as they retreated. Finlay and Isla, ordering the villagers who were still standing to fetch water to douse the flames, began to salvage the buildings that were still left standing.

  Lord Torstein, spotting from a short distance away that Sir Jessup had fallen, dropped his sword and approached Sir Jessup as he laid on his back. Christian and Lord Torstein stood over him as Sir Jessup’s skin began to take on a pale shade.

  “It…” Sir Jessup said, blood trickling out of his mouth, “it…is not…that bad…”

  Christian got down on one knee, looking Sir Jessup squarely in the eyes.

  Sir Jessup held out his hand. “Stay…” he said. “Stay…with me?”

  Christian nodded and took the man’s hand into his own. They embraced, Sir Jessup holding his gaze on Christian as he slowly slipped away into the unknown.

  “I-I…” Sir Jessup stammered. “I am sorry…for everything…”

  Christian shook his head. “Rest now, friend…Your fight is over.”

  They held their embrace for several moments as Sir Jessup slipped away, the lost thought that ran through his mind was that of his deceased wife and child. As his eyes rolled back, the simplest of smiles stretched across his face as he slipped into a warm nap and never woke up—completely at peace.

  The village, in the midst of being doused out, was in the final throws of the retreat as a silence began to settle. Isla, Finlay, Christian, Gavina, and Lord Torstein converged in the center of the village, exchanging nods and smiles as they watched the last of Sir Jessup’s riders flee into the distance.

  It was over.

  They had won.

  Epilogue

  A half-day had passed since the battle. A third of the village had been destroyed by the fire, and thirty-three of the villagers had perished. Their bodies were collected, along with the fallen knights, and burned on two different pyres as the smoke rose to the sky. The remaining villagers stood and watched, hanging their heads and bidding silent prayers as members of their clan ascended into the heavens.

  Among the dead was Eirlys, having been trapped inside the tavern when it was set ablaze. This chagrined Lord Torstein deeply, a few tears shed as he saw nothing but the smoldering remains of the tavern. Not a trace of Eirlys could be found anywhere.

  Isla and Finlay set about consoling the members of the clan who had lost loved ones. It was a day spent licking wounds and offering up words of solace. A few hours later, the children and those who were unable to fight returned to the village and were met with hugs and laughter and joyous cries of relief as families were reunited.

  Much of the village was destroyed, but Finlay took note that it could be rebuilt. All in the clan were encouraged, eager to start anew as wounds were tended to and the process of rebuilding slowly began.

  The next day, sensing a weary demeanor throughout the clan, Lord Torstein said to Finlay: “Perhaps some words of encouragement are necessary.”

  Finlay nodded. “Aye. I will gather the villagers.”

  Lord Torstein squeezed Finlay’s arm. “I wish to speak with them,” he said. “I wish to be the one to offer up words of comfort.”

  Finlay nodded. “Of course, me friend,” he said as he called all of the villagers to attention.

  The villagers gathered around Lord Torstein. It took him a few moments to clear his throat of the strain that Eirlys’s death had brought about. He also looked aged, much more so than he had when the battle first began. All of them had.

  “I…” Lord Torstein began, searching for the right words. “I do not know what I can say that will ease the burden that some of you are currently carrying…This was…a most vicious fight. But we nonetheless came out the victor.”

  Heads were held high. Chests were puffed. Hugs were exchanged throughout the crowd.

  “I feel the need to apologize,” Lord Torstein continued, “for all that my countrymen have put you through. You have lived lives that have been oppressed under their rule, but this fight, this sterling display of fury that you have brought to their doorstep has now set the tone—they know that they are outmatched. They know now that you glorious Highlanders are not to be trifled with…”

  Lord Torstein shed a tear, trying his best to compose himself as he took a breath. Christian, standing nearby, looked at the man and offered up a consoling nod. Lord Torstein, feeling inspired by his man, continued on.

  “I am proud,” Lord Torstein said. “To have served with each and every one of you. I cannot image a finer group of people to have taken up arms with. However…” he choked on his words, “it is my time to go, and I shall return to my homeland to tell the king that this plight against you and your lands has drawn to an end. There is no assault he can mount, no words he can speak, nothing he can do to convince me otherwise. I shall spread word far and wide of what transpired here, and it shall be a beacon of hope to other Highlanders that the tide has turned, that the war against you people has swung in your favor.”

  Lord Torstein took note of the faces in the crowd—proud, strong, and unrelenting. Spirits soaring so high from their victory that they could fight again ten times as hard if need be.

  “Take care of yourselves,” Lord Torstein said. “Look after your families. Live in peace. By God, you have earned it. You have earned a life free of oppression, and I will make damn sure that every living soul
on the earth knows of the Baird clan and its might, and of the people who have set the tone for what a warrior is, what a Highlander is…Thank you…”

  Lord Torstein stepped down and was greeted by several members of the clan. Christian and Gavina, standing next to one another, felt inspired by his words, a newfound sense of hope giving them wings as they looked into each other’s eyes and found relief in the fact that they were still alive.

  Gavina nodded to Christian’s wounds. “Are ye healing?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Healing well.”

  She leaned in close to his ear. “Well…perhaps I should take a look at yer scars up close tae make sure…”