“As you wish, my love.” Logan turned a feral smile on Andrew. “A pity about your choice in women. That one…” He nodded toward Sabrina. “…cared nothing about you or your father. You were both merely pawns in our little game. And this one…” He grabbed a handful of Gwenellen’s hair and tugged her head back sharply, causing even more blood to spill from the cut along her throat. His voice rose, so that everyone in the meadow could hear him. “This one is going to die slowly before your eyes, so that you will see and understand the wrath of Fergus Logan. After the witch and your laird are dead, you will be given the choice of kneeling and swearing allegiance to me, or joining them this day in death. Now, Andrew Ross, you will kneel to my woman and to me.”
Instead of doing as he commanded, Andrew stood tall, his voice causing all heads to turn toward him. “I’ll not kneel to a coward.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed with sudden fury. “You dare to call me a coward, when you are the one standing here with neither weapon nor army?”
“Only a coward would take out his vengeance on a helpless woman. As for me, I need no army. Nor do I need a weapon. If you were a true warrior, you could prove it by ordering your army to step back and allow us to fight man to man, with nothing but our fists, until only one is left standing.”
“I need prove nothing, Andrew Ross. I am already the victor in this battle. And to the victor belongs the spoils.”
Andrew could feel his strength ebbing, and was desperate to goad his enemy into a fight before it was too late. Perhaps it was already too late for him, but a distraction might save Gwenellen’s life. “There has been no victory here, because you refuse to fight.” He could see his enemy considering. To drive home his point he added, “Unless you’re such a coward you’re even afraid to face a wounded man who has no weapons.”
“I have no fear. Of you or of any man.” Logan turned to a hulking warrior and thrust Gwenellen into his arms. “Hold firmly to the woman and see that she doesn’t try any more of her witchcraft.”
To his men he shouted, “You will stand back until I’ve vanquished my foe. Then, any of these peasants who refuse to kneel and swear allegiance to me are to be killed at once.” He turned to Andrew with a chilling smile. “Know this. As soon as your death is accomplished, your woman will be passed among my men for their pleasure. Before they have finished with her, she will beg to join you in death.”
He leaned over and cupped Sabrina’s chin in his hand, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “This won’t take long, my love.”
“A moment.” Sabrina took a ribbon from her hair and tied it around his arm, then gave him a dazzling smile. “Remember that before you end his life, Andrew Ross must kneel to me. It will bring me much pleasure.”
“I’ll not forget.” Logan slid from the saddle and stood a moment to study his opponent. Pointing to the blood-soaked ground at Andrew’s feet he gave a laugh. “You could save yourself a great deal of pain, and spare me the effort of exerting myself, if you would simply kneel now, before it’s too late.”
“And miss the satisfaction of planting my fist in your face?” Andrew stood even taller. “I make you this promise. Never will I bend my knee to you.”
“Then I’ll have to be satisfied with your bloody body prone before me.” Fergus pulled a knife from his waist and sprang.
The crowd gasped, and many of his own men were heard muttering that it wasn’t a fair fight, for the agreement had been to fight with fists, not weapons.
Andrew was able to dodge the attack, but just barely. As he sidestepped, the blade of the knife caught his arm, adding another layer to his pain. He twisted back and closed his hand around Logan’s wrist, squeezing until the knife slipped to the ground.
“Now, Fergus, despite my wounds, we’re evenly matched.”
“Why, you…” Angered that he’d lost his weapon, Logan brought his knee to Andrew’s groin. With a grunt of pain Andrew dropped to the ground and sucked in several quick breaths, struggling to clear his vision.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Logan poised to kick. He caught the booted foot and tugged, causing Logan to land on his back. Like a cat Logan twisted free and rolled aside, evading Andrew’s hands as he made a grab for him.
When the two men regained their footing and faced each other, Logan was clutching the bloody sword, which he’d snatched from the grass.
Andrew eyed him warily. With each movement he was losing more blood. Soon, he knew, his body would simply fail him. “I see you’re incapable of fighting with honor. Are you so afraid of my fists that even now you must resort to weapons?”
“Honor is for fools and dead men, Ross. I’ll use whatever I must to defeat you. And defeat you I shall. Do you know why?”
Andrew began to circle slowly, waiting for an opportunity to spring.
Fergus kept him in his line of vision. “The queen has long favored your clan, Ross, while choosing to ignore my offer of counsel. I wonder how long she can ignore me when she learns that her precious Highlander was too weak to defend his own land and people? When she learns that I am now laird of lairds? I wager that Sabrina and I will be given a royal welcome in Edinburgh, and your warriors will be replaced by mine.” He chuckled. “I will become the power behind the Throne.”
“Is that what this is about?” Andrew paused, his head swimming. “It isn’t just my land you covet, but the power of the Throne?”
“My father told me that there was a time when we were highly regarded, until he angered Mary’s father, James. Now she has returned from France, and has continued the slight against our clan. I’ll not stand by and let that French king’s whore humiliate me.”
“I’m not surprised that you would slander our queen.” Andrew’s words were slurred, and he knew that the pain would soon take him down. “But even if you spend a lifetime at Court, you’ll never be a noble, Logan. You’re undeserving of the title.”
Infuriated, Fergus thrust his sword and Andrew managed to duck before coming up behind him. With a viselike grasp on his throat he caught Logan’s arm and twisted until the sword dropped to the ground.
“You’ve broken my arm.” Logan’s howl of pain had the crowd of onlookers moving closer to form a circle around the two men.
“Do you concede?” Andrew’s breathing was labored.
“Aye.”
At Logan’s whispered words Andrew released him.
The moment he was free Logan turned and butted his head into Andrew’s chest, driving him backward. As soon as his opponent was down he leapt on him and began pummeling him about the face until Andrew’s eyes were swollen shut.
“An old trick my father taught me,” Logan muttered. “I had no intention of conceding, you fool. I simply do whatever it takes to win, even if that means lying, cheating and taking advantage of my enemy’s weakness. And your greatest weakness is that honor you wear like a badge.” His hands closed around Andrew’s throat and he began to squeeze. “You’ve no more strength left to fight me. Now will you taste my vengeance.”
Gwenellen, nearly crushed in the arms of Logan’s warrior, was forced to stand by and watch as Andrew slid closer and closer to death. His face was bloodied beyond recognition. His strength throughout this ordeal had been unbelievable, but she could see that his wounds were taking their toll. Though his will remained strong, his body was quickly failing him.
“Oh, Andrew.” Her cry seemed to stir him momentarily. “Please, my love. You mustn’t die.”
The sound of her voice wrapped itself around his heart. What would happen to her if he failed? It was more than he could bear to contemplate.
Calling upon every ounce of strength he possessed, he gripped Logan’s hands and managed to pry them loose. With a snarl Logan curled his hand into a fist. Before he could make contact Andrew rolled aside, and heard his opponent’s grunt of pain as his fist encountered hard-packed earth instead.
There was a ripple of approval from those around them. Even Logan’s warriors seemed to be silently cheering for the man
who refused to die.
Andrew staggered to his feet and stumbled backward.
As Logan got up and started toward him, several in the crowd began to murmur aloud.
“That’s it, m’laird. Don’t let him get too close.”
“Stay on ye’r feet, m’laird. Ye mustn’t fall now or he’ll be on ye like a dog.”
“He’s a coward, m’laird. Afraid to fight ye with just his fists. Watch now. A show of strength and he’ll run.”
Their words were lost on Andrew. All he could hear was a strange buzzing sound in his head. All he could feel was pain. Still, all his training as a warrior had taught him to focus completely on the enemy.
Fergus Logan came into his line of vision, and he heard the ripple of voices raised in alarm a moment before he saw the glint of a knife in Logan’s hand, which he’d retrieved from the grass.
“Too weak to fight me without help, Logan?” His taunt, spoken between bloody lips, had his opponent lunging.
This time Andrew was ready. He planted his feet, determined to absorb the blow. As Logan swung the knife in an arc, Andrew’s hand clamped around his wrist and twisted. The two men fell in a heap and began rolling over and over in the grass.
While the crowd watched and waited in breathless silence, the two men went as still as death. Finally Fergus Logan pushed himself up and took a halting step toward Sabrina, who was still astride her mount.
Her smile was dazzling. “Go back and fetch him, for you promised me that Andrew Ross would kneel before me this day.”
“Aye. But I…” His words trailed off.
The villagers gasped as a breeze rippled his tunic, revealing the hilt of his knife protruding from his chest.
He took another step toward Sabrina, then suddenly dropped to his knees before falling prone before her. As he gasped his last breath, blood spilled from the wound and soaked the ground beneath him.
The air rang with the cheers of the villagers as they watched their enemy fall, and the shouts from Logan’s warriors as they milled about in search of a leader to tell them what to do.
“Attack, you fools,” Sabrina shouted.
“But we have no leader, my lady,” a brawny warrior called.
“I will lead you now. These peasants are no match for our strength. We must kill them. All of them.” Seeing some of Logan’s warriors running toward the shelter of the nearby forest, she cupped her hands to her mouth. “Kill any man, even our own, who attempts to flee.”
The warrior holding Gwenellen released her as he struggled to slip his sword from the scabbard. Gwenellen used that moment of distraction to rush to Andrew’s side.
Her heart nearly stopped as she cradled the limp, bloodied body in her arms. “Oh, my beloved. Please, Andrew. Speak to me.”
Just then there was the sound of thunderous hoofbeats, and an army of Highlanders wearing the Ross plaid appeared over a rise in the meadow. With the sound of bagpipes from the rear of their column, they approached, causing Logan’s warriors to turn and flee, with Sabrina in the lead.
A tall, handsome warrior caught the housekeeper in a fierce hug and listened as she relayed to him all that had happened. Then, with his arm firmly around her waist he approached the place where Gwenellen knelt still holding Andrew in her arms.
“My lady, I am Drymen MacLean. My wife has told me of Logan’s treachery. I’ve sent my men in pursuit of his woman and his warriors.”
When she didn’t respond he knelt beside her. “My lady. Did you hear me?”
She looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Forgive me, sir. I’m most grateful that you’re here. But I fear it’s too late to save Andrew.” Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs. “He is lost to us.”
Chapter Twenty
“Here now, my lady.” Mistress MacLean caught Gwenellen’s slumped shoulders and helped her to her feet, while Drymen lifted the body of his laird in his arms and began the trek to the castle, with the villagers trailing behind.
It was a solemn procession that wound its way across the meadow, through the garden, and into the castle.
Once inside, the housekeeper pointed a finger. “We’ll lay the laird out in the great hall.”
Before her husband could do as she asked, Gwenellen stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “Nay. Take him to the library in the old abbey.”
“But, my lady…” The housekeeper’s protest died when she saw the tears shimmering in Gwenellen’s eyes.
When her husband looked to her for direction, she gave a brisk nod of her head. Sucking in a breath she straightened her shoulders. “I’ll go ahead with some of the servants and have a fire started. It will take some goading, but I’m sure we can persuade the villagers to put aside their fears long enough to do their duty by the laird.”
By the time Drymen and Gwenellen stepped into the room there was a fire burning on the hearth, and the chaise was draped in furs. The warrior gently settled his laird in the nest of fur before taking a step back. “The people will want to pay their respects.”
Gwenellen nodded, grateful for this man’s quiet strength.
As he took his leave, his wife approached with a basin of water and several linen squares. “I’d like to clean him up, my lady, before the people see him.”
“Thank you, Mistress MacLean. I’ll do it.”
“It won’t be an easy thing to see his wounds, my lady.”
“Nay. It won’t be easy. But what he did was so brave, how can I do less? I need to do this, don’t you see?”
“I understand.” The housekeeper stood a minute, watching as Gwenellen wrung out a cloth and began to wash the blood. Then with a sigh she turned away and began directing the servants. “I’ll need a fresh tunic and plaid for the laird. Ale for the warriors. And a meal laid out in the great hall for the villagers who will no doubt remain through the night.”
There was a flurry of footsteps as the servants scattered. And then there was only silence as Gwenellen bent to the gruesome task of cleaning the body of the man she loved.
The man she loved.
Her hands stilled, and she felt a fresh round of tears building.
“Oh, Andrew. I never thought to find love here in this place. I foolishly thought your world a place of hatred and fear. A place of hunger and cold. Of chaos and bloody battles. It is all that, but it’s also a place of goodness and great kindness. A place where people work together to overcome whatever obstacles lie in the path of life’s journey. A place of laughter and love and such incredible joy.” Tears spilled over and trailed down her cheeks. “I would have been content to remain in this place forever, as long as you were here with me. But now…” She covered her face with her hands and began sobbing. “Now I can’t bear the thought of being here without you.”
“Nor… I…without…you, Imp.”
At the raspy, whispered words her tears fell faster. “I thought it a blessing to be able to speak with those who have crossed to that other world. But now I know it to be a curse.” Blinded by tears she dipped the cloth in water and began scrubbing viciously at the blood that stained his chest.
“Burns…like…fire…of…hell.”
“You see? How can I bear to hear your voice and not be able to hold you? To love you? Oh, Andrew, what am I to do without…?” She went very still as the meaning of his words dawned on her. “But it can’t hurt you now. You’re beyond pain.”
“Someone neglected…to tell the pain.”
“Andrew?” She studied his eyes, tightly closed. Did the lids flicker? She lay a hand on his chest. Did it give a feeble movement? Or was she imagining it?
She pressed her ear to his lips. There. The smallest hint of a breath. Anxious now, she listened to his chest. Was that a heartbeat? Aye, she was certain of it. Though it was feeble, thready, it was a sign of life.
“Oh, Andrew.” She threw her arms around him and felt him flinch in pain.
“Help me, Imp.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, my love.” Desperate, she looked aro
und for some guidance. “Father. Can you summon Mum and Gram?” Hearing no response she called, “Morgan Ross. Please wake the holy women who dwell in this place.”
In the silence that followed she whispered, “I know you’re here, for I feel your presence. I know so little about healing. Please show me what to do.”
There was a shimmer of light, and then, as it began to take shape, she recognized Morgan Ross standing beside her.
Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. “He’s alive, my laird. Your son is alive.”
“Aye, lass. I told you he was a warrior.”
“You must show me what to do to help him.”
“I’ve brought the finest healers I know.” Light began shimmering all around them, and Gwenellen watched as robed women took up positions around the chaise. Then she spotted her father standing just behind her, peering over her shoulder at the man who lay as still as death on the chaise.
“Father.” She gave a sigh of relief. “I knew you’d come.”
“How could I not, my daughter? And I’ve summoned help.”
There came a sound as of a great rush of wind, and Nola and Wilona appeared, their jewel-colored gowns billowing about them.
“Oh, Mum. Gram.” Gwenellen fell into their arms and embraced them fiercely before turning to the shadowy figures who had gathered around. “I ask your help, for Lord Andrew Ross hovers near death.”
“You need not fear death, lass.” One of the holy women spoke for the others. “If this man has lived an honorable life, his time in eternity will be a time of great peace.”
“You don’t understand.” Gwenellen chewed on her lip to keep it from trembling. “I don’t think I could bear losing him so soon after discovering just how I feel about him.”
Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “And just what do you feel about this mortal?”