Page 87 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
Edward’s eyes went wide, but there was simply not enough time.
God, no!
Captain Bolton let loose a guttural snarl of rage and pain. His sword arm paused above his head. His face was drawn in shock and affronted agony.
He rotated slowly around.
To Edward’s complete stupefaction, there was a knife embedded to the hilt in the man’s right shoulder, just below his neck.
My knife...
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Charlotte stumbled backwards as her father turned to face her.
I...I just...
She could not even bear to complete the thought, it was so outrageous to her own mind.
She hadstabbedher own father.
It had not been a conscious decision. Her attention had been captured by Edward’s final, desperate roar. Only then had she become aware of the one-on-one battle that was being fought only strides from her. Even to her untrained eye, it had been obvious that the love of her life was outmatched by her father.
She had watched in stunned horror as Edward had striven to cut her father down. Never had she been so conflicted; watching her own father compete with the man she loved in a fight in which only one could survive.
Then, her father had knocked Edward down—something that she would not have believed possible—and her body had moved of its own volition and—
And I stabbed my own father with Edward’s knife!
“You littlewench!” Captain Bolton hissed.
“Fa-Father!” she stammered. “I’m so sorry, I—”
But, she could see now that her father’s eyes were not lit with only rage and disappointment, but with a madness too.
“You ungrateful, despicable wench!” Captain Bolton said, wincing as he raised his sword higher, and the knife moved in his shoulder. “What thehellwould your mother make of your behavior? What the hell would she think about how you have degraded yourself and run the name of our family through the mire?”
“I—I just...” Charlotte said breathlessly, crawling backwards.
“You’re better off dead than living like a common trollop!” her father said and, just for a moment, he seemed unbearably sad. Then his body heaved and he closed his eyes and he prepared to bring his sword down.
Charlotte had always thought that she would shut her eyes at approaching death. She had always thought that she would rather not see it coming. Now though, she found that her heart had changed. Her eyes were wide.
All I want is to see Edward’s face. Just one more time, before I go.
Another sword suddenly appeared; a finger of bright steel that ripped out through the chest of her father’s bright red captain’s coat. Edward’s face—the face that Charlotte had wanted to see beyond all others—rose up so that the Highlander’s head was practically resting on her father’s shoulder.
“Edward!” Charlotte gasped.
Edward did not answer. It seemed to Charlotte that all his concentration was focused on Captain Bolton.
The Captain turned his head. His face, for the first time in Charlotte’s memory, registering bafflement. For a moment that stretched all the way to eternity, both he and Edward stared into each other’s eyes. There was so much said in their two faces that Charlotte could not hope to guess at it. It appeared to her as if both men were exchanging thousands of words—the very secrets harbored in their hearts—through their gazes.
Then, slowly, Adair Bolton sagged to his knees. Edward dropped with him, almost holding him up as he continued to clasp the sword that he had just thrust through the other man’s back.
I saved Edward. Edward saved me. We saved each other.
Captain Bolton’s eyes turned back to his daughter. Remarkably, through the tears that she did not even realize had sprung to her eyes, Charlotte saw the face of the man who had raised her. She saw the face of the man who her father had been before he started ill-treating his wife, before her mother had died. The madness had somehow been wiped away by the sword, and all that was left was an all-consuming grief.
