He used his strength to hold her down. One hand on her neck, the other holding the blade to her cheek. She couldn’t find it in her to move as she stared up at him. This was the man that had given Kane more grief than he deserved, and this was the man that would kill her.

She felt it in her gut as he smiled down at her. His face was filled with malice. He pressed the blade down and let it dig into her skin. Then he began to pull, slicing her cheek open with a meticulous cut. She felt the warm trickle of blood slide down her face.

A scream broke from her lips, one of pain and fear, but it came out choked. It was more of a muffle, and the fact that it was so quiet, with no chance of reaching anyone else’s ears, killed her inside.

The MacLeod grinned as he pulled away, putting the blade to his lips. His gray tongue slid over the sharp edge. Bile rose as she stared at him.

Then the hand that had been holding her down loosened. Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him remove himself from her.

“Run,” he said, laughing. Saeran didn’t think about doing otherwise. There was a chance that she could escape. Even though it was clearly a game for him, she knew this was her only chance. Tears trailed down her face as the fervor of her prayers for Brodrick or Connor to notice her absence increased. If they could just search for her…follow the tracks…

She got as far as the edge of the forest, the same spot he had pulled her out of, when she heard him from behind her. He was on a horse. She screamed with frustration around her panting, pushing forward. She was just there. She could literally reach up and touch a low-hanging branch. The trees made for coverage. His horse was too big and burly to maneuver the sharp turns the trees would give her. Thanking the Lord that she was within the perimeter of the forest, she ran forward, pumping her arms.

Connor.

Brodrick.

Kane.

Someone, if they could just notice her missing from the battle. That was all it would take. The MacLeod would be dead within a moment if it were any Shaw warrior that saw her, and this could end.

Something slammed into her heel. She dove for the ground, hands out to catch herself, as an agonized scream ripped from her throat. The shock of the hit didn’t hurt, but what happened immediately after did.

The horse didn’t stop at her heel, and neither did the MacLeod. He dismounted the horse, arm and sword raised above his head. With a movement so sudden she didn’t have time to evade it, he slammed the hilt of his sword into her shoulder, a heavy foot landing on her leg to hold her still. A pulsing pain grew from her shoulder down. The agony was too great for her to bare—and then it all became numb.

Everything. The hoarseness of her voice from screaming. The turning of her stomach from where his foot landed as he dismounted the horse. The searing agony from her broken arm. She turned her head, staring at it as a dark shadow fell over her.

The MacLeod. Going to kill her. Right then. In the corner of her eye, she could see the gleam of metal held high. She could feel the swish of air as he stood over her, pointing the tip of it to her neck.

“Not fast enough, bitch.”

Then he swung. She closed her eyes, praying that Kane would be…alright. A tear slid down her cheek. Alright. He would be alright. She stilled her breath, bracing herself for the impact of the sword—and then the most blood-curling, spine-churning cry broke through the field.

Kane.

A sob of relief broke from her lips—just as cold, blood-covered metal sliced through her mid-section. Saeran screamed, eyes rolling into the back of her head as the shadow was jolted away, and replaced by a completely new one. The darkness consumed her, washing away…everything.

* * *

That sorry piece of shit.

That was all Kane could think of as he charged through the tree line, across the clearing, and straight at Alasdair. In the back of his mind, he knew that Saeran needed help, but Connor and Brodrick were there, right behind him. They would take care of Saeran, as soon as he finished off Alasdair.

His uncle laughed harshly, pointing his sword at Kane. It was coated in a dark sanguine liquid, dripping to the ground. Saeran’s blood—the blood of a lad he should have protected. But then, if Alasdair had not been such a sick bastard, he would not have to take revenge for Saeran.

It didn’t matter if the lad died or lived.

Alasdair had had this coming for him for the longest time—and now Kane was finally going to show his uncle why Kane Shaw had one of the strongest clans in the Highlands. He rushed forward, swinging his claymore in a giant arch over his head. When Alasdair moved to block him, Kane let the sword fly away from them and dropped low, lunging.

No matter what, Alasdair was family.

One never used their own weapon against family.

Kane drove his fist into his uncle’s jaw. He didn’t give another thought before he wrapped his hand around Alasdair’s wrist, wrenching it up. The sword in his grip followed Kane’s, clattering to the ground.

“Yer disgusting,” Kane growled, shoving his uncle back. The older man roared, clutching his hand to his chest.

“And yer a sorry son of a bitch. My sister never should have let ye’ into the world. Yer nothing but a tainted—”

Kane let his uncle taste his fist again, slamming it into his face repeatedly.

“No,” he growled when he finally pulled back. He spat on the ground beside Alasdair’s face, sneering when he flinched.

“No? She whored herself out to that bastard Duncan. The clan should have been destroyed, Kane. Yer weak—”

“If ye’ want to keep the rest of yer two teeth, I suggest ye’ quiet yersef now, uncle.” If there was one thing Kane hated the most, it was people saying unjustified things. Alasdair had not seen his sister in nearly twenty-Five years. He had no right to talk of her, to defame her and the name of a great Highland clan, in front of Kane.

“I should kill ye’,” he snarled, leaning down so that his face was nose-to-nose with Alasdair’s. “Ye’ve insulted me. Ye’ve stolen from me. Ye’ve tried to destroy my lands. Not only that, but ye’ attacked a lad who obviously canna defend himself.”

Alasdair stared at him with hard eyes. Blood was sliding down the corner of his mouth. His eyes were glazed, dazed from the shock of being hit, and he was clutching his hand. Kane knew without looking that he’d broken Alasdair’s hand. It served the bastard right.

Kane had been just on the edge of the trees when he’d seen the blonde haired lad befallen. If he hadn’t have shouted and distracted Alasdair, Saeran would be dead.

Kane took too much pleasure in striking his uncle in the face. He fell, unconscious. One of his men would find him soon. There were plenty of bastards riding around the area, waiting for Kane and his warriors to engage in battle with them. The first wave had been the thickest, but most of the men who had dared to go against Kane were dead. For the Campbells to side with a weak clan such as the MacLeod’s, it was their own fault.

He shoved himself up, stalking to Saeran.

Connor and Brodrick were moving rapidly. Brodrick was ripping pieces of his own plaid into strips. Connor was holding Saearn’s upper back off the ground with one arm, and his other hand was wiping blood, grime, and tears off the unconscious lad’s face.

“Kane. We need to get Saeran to the inn. Her arm is broken, and the gash to her abdomen is flowing,” Brodrick said, voice cracking.

Kane stilled.

“Mabel will know what to do with her,” Connor added quietly. Without another word, the two of them picked the fallen lad up. Kane, without thinking, whistled for his horse. All he could stare at was the blonde locks as they slid over frail shoulders. His arm hung loosely, bent at an odd angle. Brodrick adjusted him in his arms, and that was when the clean, familiar, innocent face turned towards him.

Ash blonde lashes swept over pale cheeks. Her skin looked like wax, and even in her sleep, her breathing was abnormally deep. This was not a lad. This was not the Saeran he had come to know and train. This was not the lad he had sent to battle unprotected.

This was the woman he had trained, the woman he had sent to battle.

This was Alice.