Master of the Highlands

She started to flail madly, bucking her legs and wriggling her arms, but it was no use. They had a firm grip on her and it would be impossible to wrestle her way out of it. The orange -haired man loomed over her, the bald top of his head slick with sweat, panting and grunting like an animal. So that’s where the phrase rutting swine comes from, she thought, and her stomach turned. Ignoring stabs of pain from her old injury, Lily flinched her shoulders to try to pull out from under him, her mind not accepting that this man who was so short could be so strong.



Her hands were untied now. How had they managed to pin them above her head so quickly? Newsam stood once again over her, his legs straddling her waist, and sheathed his rusty blade into a small scabbard at his waist. Lily was lying spread-eagle, her feet being crushed down hard into the rocky soil. She looked down to see Neal restraining her as he tried desperately to catch a glimpse up her torn skirt. Fury engulfed her anew, and unable to kick or to hit, Lily started spitting and screeching like a rabid cat. She might not be able to escape, but she would go down fighting.



“Who gets a go first then? ”



“I’d like me a piece. I can’t remember the last time I had me cock in a lass.”



“Neal, the last birdie you had was your sister. ”



“Bugger off, Burton, you bald whelp. How would you know? I ’ll wager this is your first, eh?”



Newsam kicked Lily’s skirt up above her knees. “You can both bugger off. I ’m the senior officer and I get me a taste before you sorry lads. ”



“Why not try me first, gentlemen?” The voice was low, calm—and distinctly Scottish. Lily was flooded with relief at the sight of the Highland warrior. Ewen had emerged from nowhere, rising out of the fog of the hills, seemingly born of the rugged land around them as if he were a primeval Celtic spirit. While the three soldiers gave the impression of being trespassers in this landscape, the Scot stood firm and erect on a rock above them, rising from it as if he were carved from that ancient stone. Lily thought she had never seen a more beautiful sight.



The sun slipped behind the mist -shrouded peaks in the distance, sky dappled with moody grays and purples. Ewen ’s grave face was completely still, claymore already silently drawn, held unwavering before him. The only movement around him was his long, black hair billowing about his shoulders and his tartan flapping softly about his legs in the gentle breeze.



Lily drank in the vision of this man who was the spirit of the land incarnate—unyielding, powerful, self-possessed. It gave her strength. Her breath became rhythmic, deep. She stared hard into Ewen’s eyes, hungry now for the power that he offered her.



Ewen ’s eyes met hers and a faint smile touched the corner of his lips. This was child’s play to him.



It all happened in a split second. Newsam, still standing over her, was caught off guard. Turning to look at Ewen, his feet tangled in Lily’s skirts and he tumbled to the ground like a felled tree. Trying to get out of his way, Neal momentarily loosened his grip on her feet, and that was all the opportunity Lily needed.



She felt one with Ewen, one with this hard and lonely land, and she felt herself brimming with a renewed strength . Rocking her hips back as best she could with her heavy skirt, she swung her feet up and slammed them into Neal ’s face. She could feel the crunch of cartilage as her heel connected with his face, and somewhere on the edge of her senses pain seared through her as his broken nose cut through the skin of her bare feet. If anything, the sensation drove her fury to a fever pitch.



Her hands were still pinned, the tiny bones in her wrist crushed under the pressure. She began to writhe madly, trying to wriggle free from Burton ’s grasp. He released one of her hands, a momentary triumph for her that was quashed when, just as quickly, his hand appeared at her neck, a dagger cutting into her throat. Lily stilled. She looked up into his face. His orange hair had turned a dark russet with the sweat that now drenched him. A bead of perspiration rolled slowly down the flushed fat of his neck, dangled there for a moment, and then Lily felt it drop onto her temple.



She heard Ewen’s sword before she saw anything. There was a distant tonal sound, the razor-sharp blade humming as it cut through the air. The delicate whoosh belied its enormous size, and reminded Lily of a bird flying down, lightly, surely, to land. Lily averted her eyes as the claymore connected with Burton ’s quivering neck. She heard the hollow thunk as his head hit the ground near her shoulder.



The horror of witnessing a man’s head being separated from his body was too much for her mind to wrap itself around. Instead, peculiar details filled Lily’s thoughts. How odd, she thought, for Burton to stay kneeling upright for so long. Odder still that the sensation of his hand applying pressure to her wrist remained. It was the ghastly smell that tore Lily from her musing. Burton’s bowels had released. She spun to her side and was up on her knees in seconds, spasms shuddering through her as her body tried to sick up its few remaining fluids.



She felt a pair of hands grab her roughly underneath the arms. For one brief moment, Lily imagined, hoped, that it was Ewen whisking her away from the gruesome scene. She was hauled upright and the stench of sour liquor and sweat hit her like a wall. Neal had recovered from the shock of his broken nose and held her tightly against him with one arm. A loaded pistol trembled outstretched in the other, as he used Lily’s body as a shield to buffer himself from the maelstrom that was Ewen.



The laird’s eyes sought hers. Fear lined Lily’s face, the plea in her eyes clear. Ewen ran to her. She tried to shout a warning but it was all happening too fast. Newsam leapt like a feral dog onto Ewen’s back and planted his rusty blade on the warrior’s throat. Ewen froze in place, a thick rope of blood already running down his neck. The crimson flowed down to touch the coarse fabric of his shirt and veins of color exploded in all directions, forming an absurdly delicate red blossom on the cream-colored linen.



Ewen ’s gaze was distant. Lily sensed his deliberation. His enormous sword was completely ineffective at such short range. Trapped like an animal, he seemed to Lily pure instinct, sizing up his opponent, the situation, what his strategy would be. They only had moments before Newsam, shaking in anger and shock, would finish what he had started.



The warrior’s eyes once again sought hers and found silent accord. Grasping the arm that was wrapped across her chest, Lily sprang up and, once again rocking her hips, used gravity and Neal’s own strength against him. The knees, she thought, connecting with the knees would be her only hope against a stronger opponent. Ignoring her already injured heel, Lily slammed her feet down and back. With a sickeningly audible pop, she found her target.



Neal’s arm went slack, and screeching, he crumpled to the ground. She lurched after the falling soldier, diving for his pistol. Seizing it, she was back up onto her feet in one fluid, determined motion.



She was a force to be reckoned with. Holding the gun steady in front of her, left hand supporting the right, legs planted firmly, she heard herself declare, “Let…him … go.” Lily felt invincible.



Newsam’s laughter came as a shock. “Isn ’t this rich? The bird thinks she can fire a gun. Put ’er down, woman, that ’s as like to kill you or your friend here as to even touch me. Birdies don’t fire guns. ”



She had only shot a gun once in her life. Her college roommate had been writing an article for the school paper about women and guns. Lily gamely went with her to the shooting range for a lesson in how to handle a firearm. Though she wasn ’t shaken by the experience, Lily had never had any desire to try it again. She did take away enough from her lesson to know that guns kicked back hard. Antique pistols packed full of gunpowder surely more so.



Stiffening her elbows, she anchored her right leg firmly behind her and reminded herself to breathe. The pistol was larger and cruder than the one she’d shot before, with a number of confusing levers along the top. Lily realized now she ’d heard Neal fumbling to load it while Ewen dispatched the red-haired soldier. She hoped that it operated under the same general mechanics as its modern -day counterpart. Using her palm to pull back the long hammer, Lily cocked the gun.



Heart pounding, she did her best not to betray her fear. “We shall see about that, shan ’t we?”



The soldiers looked dumbfounded at the foreign sound of her voice and she smiled for effect.



Lily knew enough to understand that seventeenth -century weapons didn ’t shoot straight. Now that she had so boldly made her threat known, she wondered how exactly they were going to get Ewen out of the path of any bullets she might be firing that evening.



The Highlander solved that problem for her. Newsam was momentarily taken aback by Lily’s apparent acquaintance with a weapon, not to mention her peculiar accent. Using that split second to his advantage, Ewen’s hands shot to his neck. Sliding out from under the blade, Ewen was forced to slit his own throat in order to break free. The cut, though shallow and slight, bled even more profusely than before. Unflinching, Ewen rolled to the ground toward his fallen claymore, hands grasping the hilt midroll.



Forgetting Ewen, Newsam lunged toward Lily. Disgust disfigured the soldier’s already ugly features, and Lily realized that her courage had shocked him. A woman who could pose a threat was a foreign and repugnant concept. The thought steeled her.



They locked eyes, and she saw his lust had turned murderous. She knew what she had to do. The wood handle of the pistol began to feel unsteady in her grip, palms now slick with sweat, muscles in her arms twitching from the exertion of holding such an awkward weight outstretched. The gun felt warm in her hands, like a living thing. The once cool metal of the trigger was now hot under her index finger. Lily gritted her teeth. She pulled.



The effect was devastating. The hammer sprang forward, its flint striking a nub of metal atop the weapon, sending a shower of sparks down to ignite the gunpowder. There was a deafening shot, and Lily was thrown violently backward from the force of it. Ears ringing, she shut her eyes and struggled to make her rib cage rise and fall as she tried to remember how to breathe.



Her right hand twitched involuntarily. Blistering pain shot from her fingernails up to her shoulder. Lily wondered if she had somehow fallen into the small bonfire the soldiers had set. She forced her eyes open and gasped at the sight of her index finger, scorched and bloody from the gunpowder.