Page 55 of The Love Leap

“So what’s next?” I whisper, peeping out from behind our rocky hiding spot.

“We need a diversion,” he muses, deep in thought.

An idea hits me like a lightning bolt. A fallen tree trunk across a stream nearby could serve as a makeshift bridge and help us put some distancebetween us and our enemies. It’s risky, but it might work.

“Trust me?” I ask, my eyes locking with his.

“With my life.”

I draw deep breaths, bracing myself for what’s to come. “Then follow my lead. And whatever happens, don’t look back.”

My hand finds his, and we entwine our fingers in a silent pact before stepping out from our hiding place. “There,” I whisper, nodding towards the log that bridges the river. “We’ll cross there.”

He offers a small nod. “Lead the way, Mills. I’m right behind ye.”

Taking a deep breath for courage, I step onto the log, arms outstretched for balance. The wood groans under my weight but holds firm as I move towards the far bank. Cal’s presence is a comforting warmth at my back as he follows closely behind.

We’re halfway across when shouts slice through the night air—it’s them again; they’ve found us, and they’re closing in fast.

“Hurry!” I call urgently, though my voice barely rises above a whisper in the stillness of night.

The moon is full and bright above us, casting an otherworldly glow over the river and dense forest surrounding us. My mouth is dry, my breathing jagged as we traverse this precarious bridge one careful step at a time.

The log creaks under our combined weight yetremains sturdy until we reach the other side. Relief floods me as I glance back at Cal, who now stands on solid ground, too, wearing an expression of grim satisfaction.

“Well done,” he says, “but we need to make sure they cannae follow us.”

With all the strength I can muster, I lift one end of the log while Cal does the same on his side.

The log is surprisingly heavy, a testament to its age and resilience. But with our combined efforts, we dislodge it from its perch, sending it crashing into the river below. The splash echoes through the tranquil forest like an impromptu concert.

A triumphant grin spreads across Cal’s face, his fist jutting out towards me in the time-honored tradition of modern-day Brohood. Without a moment’s hesitation, I meet his knuckles with mine in a satisfying fist-bump. As our fists pull back, an unspoken electricity crackles between us. Our eyes meet again—this time not fueled by mutual resolve but something far more intimate.

My heart does a little somersault as Cal and I lean into each other, our faces so close that I can count the flecks of gold in his eyes. The world around us blurs into nothingness as I close mine, ready to give in to the magnetic pull between us. But just then, the serenity is shattered by shouts and curses from across the river. Talk about crappy timing.

Our heads whip towards the sound, spottingGregor and a man who could be his twin swinging across the river like they’re auditioning for a low-budget Tarzan remake.

Our almost-kiss moment? Yeah, that’s gone with the wind now. We break apart and take off running again, but we’re late to the party. With a thud that rattles my teeth, the brothers land right behind us.

And then they’re on us, their swords glinting in the moonlight like ominous disco balls. Cal pulls out his blade—Fergus’ parting gift —and steps forward to meet them head-on.

“Stay behind me; we’re almost at River Ness,” he orders in a voice that’s all grit and gravel.

But there’s no way I’m sitting this one out. After everything we’ve been through, there’s no chance I’m letting him face this danger solo. Pulling out my rolling pin, I line up next to him, ready to kick some Campbell butt.

The battle starts with a roar that seems to shake the earth beneath us. Cal lunges at Gregor, his sword slicing through the air towards the older man’s broad chest. Gregor blocks him just in time, their swords colliding with a sound that echoes across Loch Ness.

The air practically crackles with danger, every clang of steel against steel or wood echoing ominously through the night. Cal and I move together like we’ve been practicing for some Early Modern dance-off championship. His sword gleams under the moonlight while his eyes stay locked on Gregor, Clan EnemyNumber One, with a beard sharp enough to match his cruel intentions.

Meanwhile, I square off against Malcolm, who looks like he could benchpress a small car without breaking a sweat. He quirks a brow and laughs when he sees my kitchen utensil-turned-weapon and doesn’t bother to wield his sword. Instead, he swings one fist at me, but I duck and swing my pin upwards with all the strength my adrenaline-fuelled body can muster.

I may be small and swordless, but I have a head full of moves from modern dance and kickboxing classes. Our fight’s a complex choreography; every jab of mine is met with a counter, and every swing I make is returned in kind. Come to think of it, it must look like we’re performing a strange, violent ballet.

I’m bobbing and weaving around Malcom’s awkward lunges as if I’ve suddenly transformed into Muhammad Ali wearing boots, my fist landing quick jabs and hooks with pinpoint accuracy while avoiding his lumbering attempts to hit me. My rolling pin feels like an extension of my arm as I twirl it around, whipping up mini tornadoes of leaves and dust.

Cal holds his own against Gregor, their swords clashing under the moon’s ethereal glow. I can hear the raw power behind each strike, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. From the corner of my eye, I watch Cal move with an almost deadly grace.

The battle intensifies with every second; mymuscles scream in protest, and sweat trickles down my back, but there’s no way I’m giving in.

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