Page 45 of Highlander's Secret Heiress
“Well, that can be arranged,” he said, raising his sword so that it was pointing straight at Lachlan’s chest.
Lachlan did not hesitate for a second more before charging towards his enemy. He was in danger of being impaled on Robertson’s weapon, but his strength came to the fore as he swiped his sword sideways and knocked Robertson’s blade out of his way, leaving his chest open to Lachlan’s attack. However, his foe was nimbler than he looked, and he sidestepped at the last moment.
Lachlan stumbled, then deflected a stroke of Robertson’s sword, leaving them standing at a stalemate, glaring at each other thunderously.
Alyth stood looking at them helplessly, trying to find a way to help Lachlan. However, she had no weapon, and to try tointerfere with the raging battle between two experienced fighters wielding swords would have been tantamount to suicide.
If her hatred could have killed Robertson, he would have been stone dead by now, she thought.
As she watched, Lachlan parried towards his opponent, but Robertson blocked it and brought his blade down in a chopping motion on Lachlan’s. Lachlan took a step backwards, then, with a roar that shook the whole chapel, he ran at Robertson, the point of his sword aimed straight at his chest.
Again Robertson sidestepped, but while he did so he grabbed the front of Laird MacAdams’ waistcoat, dragged him to his feet and pushed him in front of himself as a shield, holding a sword to his throat. The smile on his face was an evil sneer, and Alyth, who had been about to run towards Lachlan, froze in terror.
“Let him go,” she begged. “Please, I will do anything. Call the minister back, and we can finish the wedding service—but please don’t harm my father. He has done nothing to you.”
Robertson threw back his head and laughed heartily at that. “No, indeed he has not,” he agreed. “He has done nothing at all because he is as weak as water, and he could not win a battle with my pet dog!”
He turned Colin MacAdams around so that he could look him in the face. “I have always despised you,” he sneered. “Ever since we were boys I knew you to be too feeble to stand up for yourself, and when my wife died and your daughter came of age I was determined to take her away from you—and I have succeeded!” His voice was ringing with unholy triumph. “Now she is mine, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Laird Colin MacAdams looked at the floor. He was filled with fury, and although most of it was directed at James Robertson, a lot of it was for himself. He was equally filled with shame because he was a wretched, spineless coward who had allowedhimself to be intimidated by a greedy and spiteful man whom he had been stupid enough to think of as his friend.
Now he was getting exactly what he deserved, but his beloved daughter was suffering too, and she deserved none of this. He glanced up at her fleetingly before looking at the floor again to avoid her eyes. She looked afraid, but her fear was for him. Inside, he knew she had a core of steel.
Alyth turned to Lachlan, her eyes wide and desperate. “Lachlan, please help him!” she begged.
Lachlan, however, was powerless as long as his enemy’s sword rested against her father’s throat. He stood, helpless, as Robertson cried, “Men, take my woman away to her room and stand guard over her. I will deal with her shortly.”
He turned to Lachlan and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, a dozen more of Lachlan’s men burst into the chapel. It took them a matter of moments to overcome the remaining Robertson guards, who were completely outnumbered. They dragged their wounded and trapped enemies away, but one of them, who had managed to break free, was efficiently dispatched by a swipe from Gavin’s sword.
Yet, Robertson still stood with his sword against Laird MacAdams’ throat, and as they watched, he moved it slightly sideways so that a little blood trickled over the blade and ran down the Laird’s neck. Alyth let out a scream of fright, and Robertson gave her a satisfied smirk.
Colin MacAdams looked utterly terrified, which, of course, he was. He knew that these were his last moments on earth, and his gaze settled on Alyth, begging her to forgive him. He had always assumed that he would die in battle or in bed with his family around him, not trapped by an enemy, humiliated and filled with shame.
He mouthed the words, “I love you”, to Alyth, and she nodded slowly in acknowledgement, then shifted her gaze back to Lachlan. Now that he had the advantage, he wasted no time in using it.
“Well, Robertson,” he drawled. “It seems you have a choice to make between life and death. My men are all around you. They have captured, wounded or killed yours, and there is no one to save you if you try to run or kill your captive. How far do you think you will get, even with your blade at his throat, if you try to leave? You will be cut down, and I will take great delight in doing it.
So I suggest this. Let go of Laird MacAdams and I will spare your life. You will be treated well and given a fair trial—on that you have my word. The alternative, as I have said, is death. You choose.”
The two men glared at each other for a moment, neither moving a muscle, before Robertson sneered, “Your word? You think I trust in your word? Give me one good reason why I should.”
Lachlan smiled and shrugged, looking utterly unconcerned. “It is very simple. Because if you don’t, you will not escape here alive.”
The first sign of fear appeared on Robertson’s face and the hand holding his sword started to tremble. Then suddenly he turned to make a dash for the side entrance of the church.
However, Lachlan was too fast for him. Acting involuntarily and without thought, he rushed to intercept Robertson and struck him down with the point of his weapon straight through his heart. He fell onto the stone-flagged floor and there was an audible thump as he struck his head on it, but by that time he was already dead.
Lachlan had killed before in self-defence and in battle, but he usually experienced some remorse. This time, however, hefelt nothing but satisfaction that he had rid the world of a truly dangerous and loathsome creature. He could not even think of Robertson as a man.
Laird MacAdams had dropped to the floor in a dead faint, and Alyth rushed over to him, thinking the worst. She patted his cheeks and cried, “Da! Wake up! Oh, please wake up!” Tears began to stream from her eyes again as she shook him, but he showed no sign of regaining consciousness.
Presently, Lachlan appeared beside her and knelt down by her father’s side. He touched the pulse at the Laird’s throat and said, “He is alive. I think he might have fainted from shock.” He looked closely at her. “Are you all right? Did Robertson harm you in any way?” He looked anxious.
“No,” Alyth replied, shaking her head. “But I dread to think what he would have done to me afterwards.” She sighed and shook her head, then covered her face with her hands.
Lachlan had to use all his willpower to stop himself from taking Alyth in his arms, kissing her, and telling her exactly how he felt. However, there was still work to be done and he needed to help with the cleaning up, removing bodies and taking care of the wounded.
“Is there a healer in the castle?” he asked.
