Page 53 of Bound to a Highland Beast
Tiernan would save her; she had faith in him. If only she could get his attention, if only her voice could reach him, even if her hands couldn’t, then he would come for her.
When their gazes met, Tiernan looking at her through the clash of swords and bodies on the battlefield, Isabeau’s heart leapt in her chest, a spark of hope igniting inside her. That spark only grew and grew as she watched Tiernan push his way through the crowd, making a laborious trek towards her—only to be extinguished when Beag stepped in front of her, cutting off his path.
Nay… what if he kills him? What if Tiernan dies?
Isabeau didn’t think she could bear it. If he died, then she might as well meet her end as well.
Tiernan looked at Beag in silence, taking in his sharp, hazel eyes, the many scars covering his face and arms, the stocky build that was enough to intimidate any man who came near him.
But not Tiernan; he knew better than to be scared of Beag, to fall into the trap of thinking he would be impossible to defeat because of his size and his reputation.
If he was truly that fearsome, then he wouldn’t be sending Tiernan and others to do his bidding. On the contrary, he would be like Constantine, throwing himself in the middle of the fight with no hesitation.
As it were, this was the first time Beag had even stepped into that battlefield. Tiernan could tell from his skin, his clothes, bothof which were for the most part still clean, only soiled by a few spatters of blood. In contrast to him, Tiernan was covered in it, his skin tacky, the metallic taste clinging to his tongue. Some of it, he knew, was his own; most of it belonged to others, to men he had struck down without mercy.
And now Beag would be one of them, too.
The first clash of their swords echoed around the clearing, ringing loudly in Tiernan’s ears and covering the shouts and screams of the men around them. Orange light reflected from their blades, the incandescence of the flames bathing the forest in an eerie glow as dawn had yet to break on the horizon. Above, the dark sky was like spilled ink, the stars and the moon obscured by thick clouds. Tiernan saw Beag as a flurry of movement, outlined by the flames of the torches, like a living shadow that lost its solid shape once illuminated.
Beag made sure to never once stand still, light on his feet despite his large size and stocky build. He knew that the moment he paused would be the moment Tiernan would strike for good and kill him, and so he kept dancing around him, leaping and twirling away from the reach of his blade. With every leap, with every movement that brought Beag farther and farther away from him, Tiernan’s rage flared inside him, threatening to bubble over despite his best efforts to remain calm and act strategically. Not only was Beag making it impossible for him to reach him, but Tiernan couldn’t help but feel like he was toying with him, trying his best to frustrate him just for the sake of it.
“Fight me!” Tiernan roared, his foot kicking up a cloud of dust behind him as he stomped his leg. “I didnae come here tae play an’ neither did ye, so either leave or come kill me!”
It wasn’t just the fact that Beag was toying with him; he was trying to tire him out, to draw out the fight until Tiernan had no breath left, until his body protested every single movement. He was already tired out from the battle, every muscle in his body sore after trying so long to stay alive, striking others down, while Beag had only just entered the conflict. He was doing his best to use it to his advantage, but the more frustrated Tiernan became, the more he forgot about the strain of the battle on his body and the injuries he had sustained that threatened to slow him down.
And the more Beag moved out of his grasp, the more he wanted to strike him dead.
Beag laughed, the sound bright and sharp like a well-oiled blade in the chaos of the clearing. He stopped moving, coming to a halt near Isabeau, but Tiernan didn’t attack—not yet.
“Are ye certain ye want that?” he asked, raising a curious eyebrow. Under his salt-and-pepper beard his mouth twisted into a cruel grin. “Ye dinnae seem tae be in very good shape, Tiernan. Ye look tired tae me.”
“I’m fine,” Tiernan spat, drawing quick, ragged breaths through his parted lips. His lungs, his muscles, and his eyes burned like the coals of the fires, but he refused to be slowed down by such things. “It is only ye who fears the blade. If I am tae die by yer hand, then so be it.”
“Very well,” said Beag, and in the slight, almost imperceptible shift of his stance Tiernan saw that he was finally becoming serious, surrendering himself to the fact that he would have to fight now. Tiernan had never fought the man himself before and had always known him to be someone who always forced others to fight his battles—Tiernan himself, his men, anyone but him—without ever taking a sword in his hands. But now he could see that he was wrong. Perhaps Beag didn’t prefer fighting his battles, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t. “Let us fight, then.”
Just as he had finished his sentence, Beag threw himself at Tiernan with surprising speed, a cry escaping his lips. Tiernan barely had the time to plant his feet in the ground, the soil soft under his boots, before their swords clashed fiercely in the night air. Each breath Tiernan took, each sharp inhale was almost painful and he tasted blood on the back of his tongue, his lungs reaching their limit. A cough tore itself from his chest, loud and rattling, shaking his ribcage with its force. Across from him, Beag grinned and waited as Tiernan caught his breath, clearly enjoying the state he was in.
Drawing in a deep breath, Tiernan was then the one to attack, charging towards Beag at full speed. Their swords met again and again, each man delivering attack after vicious attack, snarling at each other like rabid dogs. Tiernan’s focus had narrowed down to one thing: Beag and the blade of his sword.
With a furious growl, Beag lunged forward and swung his blade, the recklessness of the attack catching Tiernan by surprise. He barely had the time to dodge the worst of it, the sword catching him over the left shoulder and cutting through tunic and skin.Instinctively, he turned his left side away from Beag, his mind barely registering the sting of the cut but knowing that if he had been any closer, he could have cut down to muscle and sinew.
The bold, cocksure grin Beag gave him spoke of how pleased he was to be seeing Tiernan like this. This was more than a simple task Beag had given him, Tiernan then knew—it was more than a way for him to pay back Beag for stealing from him. Beag had never forgiven the slight and now he had come to exact his revenge. And since there was nothing precious Tiernan owned, he had gone for the most precious thing he had: his life.
At least it’s me life he wants an’ nae Isabeau’s.
Behind Beag, his men were still holding on to Isabeau, whose strength had now left her. She simply stood there, eyes wide with horror, body sagging in the men’s grip. He had her but she was alive, which could only mean he had given his men explicit instructions not to kill her. If he wanted her dead, Tiernan thought he would have already taken her life.
“All this fer a sword?” Tiernan asked, each breath burning his lungs. “If ye planned on attackin’ Constantine yerself, why send me? Why dae all this?”
“A sword?” Beag asked, shaking his head with a laugh. “Ye’re still so obsessed with that damned sword! I dinnae care about yer sword! I care that ye fooled me an’ then escaped me grasp fer so long that others thought they could dae the same. What dae ye think will happen if I let ye live? More an’ more runts like ye will try tae steal from me an’ that is troublesome, Tiernan.”
Once again, Tiernan was reminded of just how impossible it was for him to escape his past. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t stolen anything in months. It didn’t matter that he had done his best to leave all that behind him. His past would always chase him. Beag was not the only man he had wronged—far from it, in fact. Perhaps he wouldn’t be the only one to chase him, even if he survived this, and so what would follow would be a life of fighting or hiding—a life he would have to live away from Isabeau.
He had come so close to tasting true freedom for the first time. He had come so close to happiness, only for it to slip right through his fingers.
“Ye could have simply killed me when ye caught me,” Tiernan pointed out. “Is this nae more trouble fer ye?”
“It is now,” Beag said. “I didnae think ye an’ Constantine would take a likin’ tae each other.”
