22
Drew left the tent feeling energized. There was nothing like the love of a woman to put a fire in one's soul. His leg was feeling better too, and he looked forward to rejoining the warriors on the field of battle where he could make the English pay for their crimes.
His sword hung at his side as he walked over to his trusty steed and got him ready for battle. The black horse had been present for the entirety of his relationship with Sarah.
“Thank ye for taking me tae her,” Drew whispered in the horse’s ear. The horse whinnied a little. For a moment it would have been easy for Drew to believe that the horse understood him.
Along with Drew and Blair, there were a number of other warriors looking to return to the field of battle. They had all been wounded, but had been treated now, and were ready to get back to what they did best; fighting. Declan was there too, looking at Drew with great ire. The young man was naive and didn't understand the way of the world, but Drew couldn't look at him with too much disappointment considering that he too had once thought the same, not being able to understand how anyone could love an English girl over a Highland woman.
Blair strode among them all, looking tall and proud, unmarked by war. His prowess was such that no Englishman had been able to mark him, and Drew felt stupid that he had been wounded so casually by an errant javelin. Not again. He wasn't going to stop until Lord Flynn's head rolled beside his feet.
“It is time tae end this war! Let us take the last of their blood and show them that they should never come back here!” Blair roared. The rest of the Highlanders roared with him, and then the force of men galloped out onto the field, the hooves of the horses throwing up mud.
Drew was astounded at the piles of dead men that lay around the battlefield. He'd always thought of war as a glorious thing, but now his father's and Sarah's words echoed in his mind. Neither of them had liked the idea of war, and Sarah didn't see it as necessary, and now Drew was beginning to see her point.
It could so easily be him laying on this field, lifeless, with no hope of ever returning. He'd been fortunate in that Sarah had saved him from death once, and he wasn't about to tempt fate again. This battle was going to be ended soon, and Drew was going to return to the love of his life.
They charged in, yelling their battle cry. Drew drew his sword and felt the fury rise within his heart. He felt stronger now, and put it down to the love he felt for Sarah. He wasn't only fighting for glory, or for his clan, he was fighting for the chance to return to his beloved.
There were still plenty of English soldiers ready to be killed, but Drew's eyes were peeled for Lord Flynn. In the distance was the English camp, and he surmised that Lord Flynn was waiting there, lurking behind his army, avoiding a direct confrontation. Drew cut his sword across a soldier who rode up to him. The Englishman dropped down and blood sprayed from his chest.
“It’s good tae see ye are nae swayed by your new love,” Declan said, riding beside him. Blair had already charged ahead in another direction and was swarmed with the English.
Drew scowled.
“Ye should never hae doubted me,” Drew said.
“You're just as bad as him, ye know,” Declan said, wielding his sword in a manner that befit a man twice his age. He was a fine warrior, and yet another symbol of the good breeding of the McClair clan, but there was still much troubling his soul.
“We are nae bad, Declan. Ye must start tae see that. Deirdre hae twisted your thoughts. Dinnae give in tae her wild beliefs.”
“All I know is that ye and Blair hae both shunned the clan in favor of English lasses.”
“I'm going tae say the same thing tae ye as Blair once said tae me. When ye find someone ye love, ye will realize that it disnae matter if ye're Scottish or English. Ye need tae let go of this grudge, Declan. It's nae going to lead anywhere good.”
“I would never love an English lass,” Declan sneered.
“Watch your tone, son,” Drew warned as he slashed at another English soldier, decapitating him.
Declan and Drew, divided by their opinions, united by the common enemy, continued forward. They flung death from their swords and more English fell at their feet. The Scottish army swarmed over the field and soon the English were quite outnumbered.
Drew loved every minute of being in the heat of battle. He smiled widely as he thought of Sarah and how proud he was that he had earned her love. She had saved his life for a reason, and this was that reason. He wasn't going to rest until the English were driven back across the border and returned to their lands, so the Highlanders could get back to living in peace.
The sound of horses galloping thundered in his mind. The anguished moans and cries of wounded soldiers filled the air. Some of them were crawling back to their respective camps. Not all of them would make it.
Drew looked forward and saw Blair swinging his sword violently, cutting down English soldiers. He saw other Highlanders being killed as well, and occasionally when he looked down to the ground he saw a face he recognized.
Indeed, war was a sobering affair. Now, in the midst of all this death and destruction, Drew thought he understood his father better than ever before. The image Drew had had of his father had always been one of a mighty warrior, relishing the cries of his enemy in the throes of death.
But now he saw the truth. Aife had not been a man who welcomed war. He merely did his duty, and Drew wondered of the pain the man had suffered at the thought of his children seeking to be warriors. Drew knew that war was necessary, but it came at a cost. There was no need to glorify it, and there was no way he could shy away from the grim truth of the matter.
War was hell, and there would be too many to mourn.
But there would be time to think about that later, when he was back in bed with Sarah. There he could spill all the troubled and conflicting desires in his heart. Presently, he had to remain focused. The battle raged. There was still an enemy to fight, and every inch they gained was another inch closer to Lord Flynn, who would pay for what he did to Sarah.
The Scottish warriors were routing the English and their numerical advantage was such that victory was an inevitability. Drew regretted missing the biggest chunk of the battle, for it would have been glorious to see the Highland army throttle the English.
“For Gall! For the Highlands!” Blair yelled as he led the final charge. Most of the English were getting scared now. And Drew couldn't blame them. The sight of a Highland army riding at you with swords drawn was enough to strike fear into the heart of any man, especially the English.
Drew cut down any Englishman who stood in his way, and the battering ram of their men broke through the final line of the English. All that stood between him and Lord Flynn now was distance, and an eager smile played upon his lips at the thought of seeing him brought to justice.
Drew urged his horse on until he was level with Blair. The brothers nodded at each other. This was how it should be, the two brothers united, leading the allied clans into the final phase of the battle, the one that would see an end to all this.
Drew's sword gleamed as the sunlight reflected off it. Crimson blood trailed behind, dripping off the edge of the blade. The Highlanders were hungry to see the English fall to their knees.
“Lord Flynn! Show yourself!” Blair roared. His words bellowed, striking fear into the hearts of the English. Drew took a moment to look at them. Many of them were just boys. This was a place for men. The English scrambled back, dropping their swords and raising their hands in meek surrender. The camp was filled with activity, people rushing out to try and escape, but there was no chance.
A stray arrow was fired, but it hit nobody and was met with a flurry of arrows from the Highlanders. A small force of the English remained.
“Lord Flynn! Come and meet your defeat,” Blair boomed again. His horse moved back and forth in front of the English camp. He was making himself a target. Anyone with an arrow could have hit him quite easily, but nobody dared. It was a sign that the English had been completely demoralized and defeated. Their surrender would be sweet.
The English looked back towards their camp, their eyes searching for Lord Flynn just as much as the Highlanders’. Drew waited with bated breath, eager for the final duel, but Lord Flynn did not present himself.
“Are ye a coward?” Blair called out. “Are ye going tae keep hiding? Nae wonder ye have been beaten! Ye cannae even muster the courage tae face us.” The Highlanders laughed at the cowardly English. Before this battle the Highlanders had not had much respect for the English. They thought them devious cowards, and the actions of their leader had not changed their minds any.
“We are nae going anywhere, and if ye take much longer we're going tae come intae the camp and drag ye out by your breeches,” Blair said. The whole thing was becoming a joke. The English had panicked looks on their faces and they too looked back at their camp, calling for Lord Flynn to present himself. The two armies were united in their search for Lord Flynn.
It took a few moments, but eventually a figure strode out from the camp. He looked strange, wearing a posh tunic that had no sign of wear and tear on it. His blade was smooth and shining as well.
“Either he's had his blade polished or he didnae stay in battle for long,” Blair said in a low voice.
“I know which one I think is more likely,” Drew said, his face twisting in anger. So here was the man who had treated Sarah with such cruelty. The man who had scared her and made her feel as though she had to run away from all she knew.
“I shall accept your surrender,” Lord Flynn said in his high-pitched, reedy voice. Drew and Blair laughed. Blair nodded to Drew, indicating for him to take the initiative. Drew leaped down from his horse and stayed a moment to embrace the pain in his leg. Although he could walk there was still a dull pain present, and his mobility had been dampened.
Drew let his cloak fall beside him and then strode out to meet Lord Flynn.
“As I said, surrender and you can go back to your homes.”
“I'm nae surrendering, lad. Ye'd better watch your mouth.”
“I beg your pardon. I am Lord Harold Flynn and you shall address me as such!”
“I shall address ye with all the respect ye deserve,” Drew said, and promptly spat on the ground. Lord Flynn stepped back.
“What do you want, you barbarian?”
“I want tae fight ye, Flynn. I want tae know that your cruelty is nae going unpunished.”
“My cruelty? What do you mean?”
“The woman who was betrothed tae ye. She hae told me all about what ye did tae her. How ye treated her. Now it's time for me tae repay the debt she owes.”
“You have her?!” Lord Flynn thundered. “I demand that you return her to me this instant!”
“Ye are in nae position tae be making demands, Flynn.”
“I knew she had disappeared into your clutches. You vile brutes! You have won this battle but you have not won the war.” Lord Flynn spun on his heels, wanting to storm away.
“Where are ye going, ye coward? We hae unfinished matters.”
Lord Flynn paused. He walked straight back up to Drew.
“Did you call me a coward?” he said menacingly.
“Aye, and I'll call ye much more before the day is out,” Drew said. Lord Flynn snarled. Drew was laughing, and then before Drew could do anything else Lord Flynn lunged forward with his head, smashing his forehead into Drew's face. Drew staggered back. Stars danced around his head and he heard Flynn's blade being drawn. Instinctively, he raised his own sword and blocked Flynn's blow. The Highlanders all cheered for Drew.
Drew shook the blurred vision from his mind and fought back, parrying Flynn's blade. Although he was a coward, it became quickly apparent that Lord Flynn was adept in the song of steel. Drew twisted his blade this way and that as sparks flew from the meeting of their blades.
“I may not be able to beat your army on this day, but I can at least leave one of you dead on the ground!” Flynn cried. The two of them locked blades and came face to face with each other, barely inches apart.
“Yer blood will be spilled on the Highlands. This will be your resting place,” Drew said. They pushed back against each other and circled slowly, testing each other with sharp thrusts of their blades. They looked from different worlds. Drew was a warrior, wearing barely any clothes, his muscular body glistening in the sun. Lord Flynn's body was covered in bright, fancy clothes. He was slender in build than Drew. The battle was over and the Scottish had won, but this was to kill the English leader.
Drew had a fierce look on his face as he raised his sword and cried out. He summoned an image of Sarah in his mind, the thought of her being cruelly treated by this man spurring him on. Like a wolf who had tasted blood, Drew was on Lord Flynn with great animosity, his blade slicing through the air. But Lord Flynn was equal to him, meeting his ferocious thrusts and jabs with skill and a nimble agility. Many times Drew thought he had Lord Flynn, but Flynn managed to dodge or lean out of the way. Drew's blade only met air.
Lord Flynn's skill only served to enrage Drew more. The anger surged through him, boiling his blood. The two men came together again, their blades scraping against each other, filling the air around them with an unnatural screech of metal against metal.
Drew soon came to realize that although Lord Flynn may not have been the best general, he was indeed a fine swordsman. In a large tactical battle he was easily defeated, but in a duel he could hold his own. Drew tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and gritted his jaw in a look of pure determination.
He was stronger than the Englishman, and had to make that count. The rest of the world melted away as the two of them were caught in a flurry of jabs.
“Ye are going tae lose!” Drew cried through clenched teeth.
“And why do you think that, you brute?”
“Because I am fighting for my clan and my woman, while ye are only fighting for yerself!”
Drew swiveled to his right and slammed his shoulder into Lord Flynn, using the full force of his weight to make the man stagger back. Flynn's sword dropped and Drew pressed the advantage, cutting Lord Flynn above the shoulder.
First blood to the Highlander.
Lord Flynn paused for a moment, examining his shoulder. He looked shocked at the sight of his own blood, but the sight of it faded as the red matched the color of his tunic.
“You made me bleed,” Lord Flynn said, his voice hollow. Then he attacked Drew with greater resolve.
Drew could barely keep track of the swords, they were moving so fast. He and Lord Flynn had left the real world and were in a zone of their own, completely lost to everything else. The only things that existed were each other and their swords. Drew was working on instinct alone, using all his training and experience to predict where Flynn was going to strike next.
Drew's chest was on fire, and his leg was throbbing so badly it threatened to undermine his concentration. Sweat beaded on his temples and trickled down his face. There were moments when he had to step back to blink away the sweat.
Lord Flynn was enraged. His face flushed red, his eyes were wide like a madman. When Drew met his gaze he knew he was looking into the soul of a depraved mind, of someone who did not have a firm grip on reality. But his skill did not suffer. The man wielded his blade well, twisting and jerking to dodge Drew's heavy strikes, then nicking Drew along the arms and legs. It was not enough to draw blood, but Drew was afraid that one of them would find a vulnerable point and end his life.
The longer the duel continued the more Drew knew his chances of losing increased. He had been on the verge of death, while Lord Flynn hadn't exerted himself much in battle, so he had all the energy, and was using it to his full advantage. Flynn ran around Drew, making the Highlander turn as quickly as he could. Eventually Drew had to resort to holding his sword behind his back, proving to Flynn that he was not as rigid as Flynn supposed.
“You'll fall soon, Highlander. I can see it in your eyes. You're tired!” Flynn cried.
His words were met with jeers from the Highlanders. The English were already too demoralized from their defeat to cheer on their leader, but their lack of support did not seem to faze Flynn.
Drew was too tired to reply. He heaved his sword around and lunged at Flynn again, but his arms were heavy and his movements were slow. He struck where Flynn had been standing moments ago, the blade digging into the ground. Drew pulled it back, but something was wrong. Panic struck his heart.
His sword was stuck in something.
He heaved with all his might, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Flynn coming at him, eyes gleaming as the Englishman knew that this was his chance. At the last moment Drew turned and fell to the ground. The sword nicked his arm and a jet of blood sprayed out. The Highlanders gasped. Drew's eyes shot open in pain as he crashed to his back.
A shadow passed over him. Lord Flynn's shadow, circling him like a vulture.
“I have you now!” he cried, and struck instantly, wildly with his blade. If he had taken another moment to steady himself and focus his strike it may well have proven to be the end of Drew, but because Lord Flynn brought his blade down without any hesitation Drew was able to roll away. The point of the blade pierced the ground beside him, throwing up a handful of dirt.
Drew scrambled to his feet and moved around to find his blade again. He could hear Lord Flynn behind him, cursing that his blow had missed. Drew breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his fingers curl around the hilt of his sword once again, although his leg was troubling him. His breathing was labored, and he knew that if he didn't end this soon Lord Flynn would be the end of him, and he would have to be avenged.
He thought of Sarah, and how difficult it would be to never see her face again, to never feel her body against his. The joy he felt at being close and intimate with her was something he wanted to hold close to his heart for the rest of his life, and he wasn't going to let Lord Flynn prevent him from enjoying that happiness.
Drew used his sword almost as a cane, supporting his weight as he got to his feet. He then picked it up and held it in front of him, beckoning Lord Flynn to come towards him. Flynn had retrieved his own sword from the ground. The tip was covered in dirt. Drew's blood dripped off the edge of the blade.
Both men had wounded each other, but neither wound had been decisive. However, Drew had a feeling that the battle was just reaching its zenith. It only took one true strike to end a man's life.
“You look tired, Highlander. You can yield if you like,” Flynn taunted.
“Never,” Drew said, and raised his sword, looking to end this as quickly as possible. He surged forward and put all his weight behind his blows, trying to unsettle Lord Flynn with the sheer brutality of his attacks. Flynn managed to meet his blows, using his sword to defend himself, although Flynn had to use every ounce of his skill purely to defend against Drew, not to counter-attack.
Drew could sense that the end was near. He looked down and saw fear in the eyes of the Englishman. It was a delicious sight, one that Drew would cherish forever. Drew towered above Flynn, putting the Englishman on his knees.
“Ye are about tae meet death,” Drew said, but just as he drew his sword back and was about to deliver a fatal blow his leg buckled under his weight, sending him to his knee. Drew howled in pain and Lord Flynn wasted no time in pressing his advantage. He tumbled into Drew, sending both men to the floor.
The agony in Drew's leg was excruciating. His hand went to tend to his wound. He felt the warmth of sticky blood seeping through the covering that had been placed upon it. There was no time for pain. There was no time to tend to his wound. He had to continue the fight. He had to win.
Drew rolled over and picked up his sword again, moving more quickly than Lord Flynn. The rage of Drew's attacks had shaken the Englishman, and even though Drew was in more pain, Lord Flynn was slower. Drew moved in for the attack, but he hadn't seen that Flynn had gathered some dirt in the palm of his hand. He turned and flung it in Drew's face, blinding him.
Drew clawed at his eyes, staggering back, wielding his sword awkwardly in one hand while the other rubbed his eyes, trying to get the dirt out as quickly as possible. He only had a few moments before Lord Flynn pressed his advantage, and Drew had no choice but to forget about his eyes and fight blind.
Drew's vision was limited. He was forced to rely on his other senses, on the sound of Flynn's heavy breathing, on the smell of his sweat and blood, and on the sense of Flynn's movements coming towards him. As Drew blocked his blow Flynn gave an astonished moan.
“This is the work of the devil,” he gasped, unable to believe that Drew could still fight when his vision had been impaired to such an extent. The moment was all Drew needed to shake his head and blink away most of the dirt, giving him most of his sight back. But Lord Flynn had also gained another advantage. He had seen how Drew's leg had given way beneath him, and how blood was seeping out, the dark red stain blooming around Drew's thigh.
Flynn first struck high, forcing Drew to raise his blade above his head, then Flynn swept his leg into Drew's thigh, hitting the wound. Drew cried out in anguish and fell to one knee. Now there was a reverse of position. Lord Flynn stood over Drew, forcing his strength down upon him. Drew tried to blink away the pain while still using all his strength to hold his sword above his head, preventing Flynn from making the killing blow.
“I bring you to your knees! This is the rightful place of the Highlanders! You should all look at this man and realize this is where you belong,” Lord Flynn cried out at the top of his lungs. As he said this he kicked Drew in his wounded thigh again, making him buckle.
“Drew!” a voice called out. A familiar voice. A look of realization came over Flynn's face as his attention turned from the Highlander for a brief moment, to see Sarah standing there. Drew was relieved for the brief respite as he could embrace the pain, make it a part of him, then summon the strength to come again.
Lord Flynn's voice turned from one of amazement to a cruel, snarling tone.
“You would weep for this savage? I have brought him to his knees. Just as I will bring all of you to your knees!” he shouted, his cries having all the strength of a petulant child.
Drew pushed himself to his feet.
“I am nae done with ye yet,” he said, his voice hoarse and raw. He stood, bracing the pain, using it as fuel. He looked past Lord Flynn towards Sarah. The sight of her was all he needed to give him the strength to carry on. Being in love did not make a man weak, it made him stronger than he ever was before.
“Let us end this,” Drew said.
That was all the encouragement Lord Flynn needed. He charged towards Drew, eyes ablaze with fury, sword shining in the soft sun. Drew exhaled. Time slowed as he watched Lord Flynn rushing towards him. Drew set himself, bending his knees slightly. In his mind he knew exactly what was going to happen, where Flynn was going to strike, and how Drew was going to kill him.
Flynn came towards him, striking low, aiming for the leg again as Drew had predicted. Drew quickly shifted his leg back and struck Flynn's blade with his own, interrupting the man's momentum. Lord Flynn twisted around and Drew quickly stabbed Flynn in the side, blood pouring out. Flynn slumped to the ground, his sword dropping harmlessly.
Flynn's hands groped at the sword, trying to summon the strength to keep fighting, but the color drained from his face, and the life slipped from his body. One hand fell to his side and was soon covered in blood. Yet more English blood for the ground to slake its thirst with.
Drew looked at the man pitifully. He was covered in blood now, and didn't look like a noble at all.
“You...you dare! I will...kill you!” Flynn said, managing to keep himself upright. “And you,” he said, turning towards Sarah, seeming to want to use the last of his energy to viciously assault those he perceived to have betrayed him. “You dare make a mockery of my love? I would have...I would have given you everything,” he said, his words punctuated by a heavy cough.
“You could never have given me everything,” Sarah said, “because you are not capable of true love.”
“And this savage is? Rosemary, you are a lady. Your mind has been warped.”
“Actually, she is not Rosemary at all,” Rosemary said, stepping forward. By this point Drew was resting on one knee, unable to keep his strength up any longer. He wasn't sure exactly what had transpired between these three people, but he did enjoy the look of shock on Lord Flynn's face.
“When I learned of your cruelty I ran away, not wanting to subject myself to the same treatment from a man who would hang another just for the crime of being Scottish. I am only sorry that my friend, my handmaiden, had to endure your company. Yes, that's right, Lord Flynn, Sarah was not of noble blood at all, although in my opinion she is of the noblest character.”
“What?! No...” Lord Flynn gasped. Hearing that Rosemary would rather have run away to the Highlands than entertain the thought of marrying him seemed to sap the last of Lord Flynn's strength. He sank to the ground, a look of disbelief on his face. That look was etched on his face for eternity as the life finally ebbed away.