Page 80 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

It was not long before they came in sight of the island, and following the detailed instructions given by Finn and Séamus, were soon inside the tiny cove, some distance from the soldiers’ encampment.

Pebbles scraped the hull and Everard and Maxwell slipped soundlessly over the edge. Aileen was on her feet, one leg extended over the side of the boat when Maxwell seized the hull and pushed the boat out. With a muted oath, Aileen stumbled back, landing with a thud on the deck. Arne grabbed the oars and with a few strokes was rowing them into deeper water.

As Maxwell waded ashore, he heard Aileen and Arne’s frantic whispering. Without her knowledge, the three had made the decision that it was too risky for her to join with them on the next leg of their journey to Sutherland’s camp.

Maxwell well knew that, should she be captured, her life would be the leverage Sutherland would hold over them. Arne accompanying them to keep watch on the boat that wouldtake them safely back to Barra, had agreed to act as Aileen’s temporary jailer, ensuring she did not attempt to follow.

Wading to shore, Maxwell smiled grimly to himself as he joined the waiting Everard, already picturing Aileen’s furious remarks once their mission was complete.

After a short walk along the pebbly shore, they found the small track Seamus and Finn had described. This would lead them higher, circling the island, and eventually bring them to the main path that would take them to Sutherland’s tent.

They set off, still sheltered by the cloud cover that kept the moon from shining brightly on their way. As they progressed, the faint sounds from the encampment drifted in the air and before long they found themselves at a vantage point able to look down on the men from the cover of large rocks. Obviously, this was the main encampment, lit by a large fire in the middle of a grassy area.

Maxwell did a quick head count. There were at least fifteen guards patrolling the camp or seated by the fire. He assumed there were at least as many asleep in the numerous tents dotting the grassy area.

There was no doubting they would have the devil’s job getting Sutherland down the path if they succeeded in capturing him. His slightest sound would alert his men he was under attack.

It was a grim prospect: two lads against at least thirty men. Although Maxwell and Everard were both battle-hardenedwarriors and strong, resourceful and fierce fighters, the odds were definitely not in their favor.

They exchanged glances, each aware of the other’s thoughts.

They crept on, their scrappy path finally merging with the well-used track that would lead them to Sutherland. Finn’s and Séamus’s directions had, so far, been accurate. He could only pray the remainder of their quest would prove to be as smooth as their arrival had been.

Finn was adamant that Sutherland’s insisted only one guard should stand outside his tent. According to her, this foolhardiness was due to Sutherland’s supreme arrogance and his unswerving belief in his swordsmanship.

Crouching low, they approached the tent. Sure enough, there was only a lone figure standing guard. Moving slowly forward, Everard signaled he would take the guard, leaving Maxwell to undo the fastenings and enter.

If Sutherland was sleeping, their job would be straightforward. If the man was awake there would be a whole world of difference. Even at a distance, a cry from Sutherland would bring the guards down on them in minutes.

Luck was on the side of Sutherland.

As Everard stepped behind the guard, a twig underfoot snapped loudly enough to alert the man. He turned, crying “Who goes…?” before Everard’s dirk silenced him forever.

But the snapping twig was all it took to wake Sutherland. and, by the time Maxwell had fumbled the tent fastenings aside, Sutherland had seized his claymore and dirk and was crouched in his britches shirtless. Ready. His shouts alerted the guards at the encampment.

Gripping his claymore and buckler with an iron grip, Maxwell strode forward to face his

enemy. “Come without a fight or taste steel,” he hissed. The answer came in blazing sword strokes.

Sutherland’s blade cut air as Maxwell sidestepped to avoid being run through. On came Sutherland, a lunge with the dirk drawing blood from Maxwell’s side before his buckler deflected the killing stroke, its studded boss connecting with Sutherland’s jaw, snapping his head back.

For a moment they edged back and forth, testing the distance within the shadows of the cramped space. Maxwell felt nothing but cold fire in his blood, catching the grim light in his enemy’s eye.

He was dimly aware of the clashing of Everard’s sword against a new foe outside.

Then all was action as Maxwell feinted left to draw his adversary’s sword, then counterstruck with a blaze of slashing attacks that drove his man back, the claymore in his two fists slamming through Sutherland’s defense with savage force. The momentum drove his blade in an arc down the length of Sutherland’s arm, shoulder to wrist. The dirk clattered to the ground as Maxwell pressed what would have been a killing stroke, held in check only by the sudden shock of Aileen’s piercing scream.

Aware that outside a retinue of guards were forcing Everard back, all Maxwell saw was Aileen writhing, helpless, in the grip of two brutes. Glimpsing the fresh, bloody claw wounds on the men’s bloated faces he felt a moment’s satisfaction before the full horror of the situation dawned.

“Oh, your liability.” Sutherland gloated in bitter disbelief at this sudden turn of events. “There is nay luck in this fer ye, but fer me there is.” He followed as Maxwell retreated into the firelight.

Maxwell groaned. By all the saints in heaven and the demons in hell, this was the very reason he’d commanded Aileen to stay with Arne in the boat. She’d played straight into Sutherland’s hands.

Of course, that stubborn, single-minded, unstoppable Aileen MacAlpin would never dae as she was told.

Sutherland’s arm hung limp, fresh blood dripping from his fingers, but his sword arm was held high as he jabbed the air in front of Maxwells face. “Lower yer sword and shield...”

Everard stepped toward his brother and was checked by a poleaxe from one of the men holding Aileen just as Sutherland crossed to her and laid the flat of his blade against her breast.

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