Michelle Willingham - Craving the Highlander's Touch

And out of the corner of her eye, she spied Callum taking aim with his bow, an arrow poised to take out Finian.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “Finian MacLachor may be of use.”

Let him save her. Give him the chance for redemption.

The dark look in the MacKinloch archer’s eyes said he didn’t believe her. His arm drew back the bow, his gaze narrowing.

And Alys doubted if Finian would have his chance to save the girl.

Finian’s legs were so stiff, he could hardly move. The night he’d spent in chains had taken its pound of flesh from him, leaving him weakened. Only his mind remained sharp and focused.

He gripped the dirk in his hands, knowing he had only seconds to go after the girl. He stumbled forward, furious that his body lacked the strength he needed. He centered his gaze upon the young child, her reddish-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. In her sweet face, he saw the reflected memory of his daughter Iliana. Now, he prayed that he could somehow free MacKinloch’s daughter and atone for what he’d done.

The MacKinloch chief turned on Harkirk, unleashing his rage as his sword struck the Baron’s shield. The two men fought hard, and in the chief’s eyes, Finian saw a father willing to die for his daughter.

Although it was too late to save Iliana, he could save this girl.

His gaze moved up, and he saw Lady Harkirk standing atop one of the towers. The wind blew her brown hair against her face, and though he could not see her closely, he sensed her watching him.

If he made it out alive, he’d ensure that she escaped Harkirk. She’d given him the gift of his own life, and he owed her that. But when she left the tower, disappearing down the stairs, he forced himself to concentrate on the battle at hand.

“Kill her!” the English lord cried out. The command jerked Finian to his senses, and time slowed as he saw a soldier reach for his blade. MacKinloch’s daughter would die if Finian didn’t reach her. A burst of energy flooded through him, and he found the strength to run, his dirk raised.

Dimly, he heard the roar of the MacKinloch chief before Finian embedded the blade in the back of the soldier’s throat, pulling the child away. The girl sobbed with fear, but he held her tightly, his blade gripped to defend her.

When he met Alex MacKinloch’s hard stare, he nodded, trying to make the man understand that he’d give his life for the girl.

As the remaining reinforcements invaded, Finian didn’t move, keeping careful guard over the child. His breath froze in the air, and the longer he stood still, the more difficult it was to keep from shivering. In time, he saw Lady Harkirk in the distance, watching him. He sensed that she approved of what he’d done, and her quiet presence granted him the absolution he needed.

He set the child down in front of her father. “You saved her,” MacKinloch said. There was surprise in the chief’s voice, along with gratefulness.

“Were it not for me, she’d never have been in danger. I’m sorry for it.” Finian moved aside so Alex could reach for his daughter, and when the pair embraced, his throat closed up. Though he’d done what he could to help them, it wouldn’t assuage his own loss of Iliana.

As he parted from the MacKinloch chief, he struggled to walk like a normal man. So cold. So desperately cold. He gripped the edges of Lady Harkirk’s cloak, shivering violently.

Behind him, the battle had ended, and his own clan and the MacKinlochs had seized command of the fortress. He caught a glimpse of Lady Harkirk moving towards him, a hand covering her mouth in horror.

Finian followed the direction of her gaze, and saw the reason for her fear. Lying upon the ground was the body of Lord Harkirk, a black-feathered arrow embedded in the man’s throat.

He’s dead. After all these years, he’s finally dead.

The words didn’t feel real to Alys. And though an hour had passed while the MacKinlochs freed the prisoners and drove out the remainder of her husband’s men, she felt an overwhelming fear. Smoke billowed into the air from the fires set by the MacKinloch men, and her husband’s body was left to burn.

No longer would she be enslaved within a marriage to such a monster. Never again would he use her body, blaming her for her barrenness. She was free of Robert, but she didn’t know whether to weep for joy or out of fear for where she would go now.

Her maid Jeanne had tried to lend support, taking her hand and murmuring words of comfort. But Alys couldn’t find any words at all to reply. Laren MacKinloch came up beside her, offering the comfort of silence.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Alys whispered. “I just…don’t know where to go now.”

The woman touched her shoulder. “Do you have family you could return to, perhaps in England? We could arrange an escort.”

Alys shook her head. “I have no one.” It wasn’t the truth, for her father was still alive. He’d gloried in the service of King Edward, commanding troops wherever Longshanks desired English forces. A man born and bred for the battlefield, her father had arranged her marriage to Lord Harkirk as a means of securing a strong alliance. No doubt her father would arrange another marriage to further his own interests, if she dared to return home.

She stared into the forest, turning over the problem in her mind, when a sudden motion caught her attention. It was the older girl she’d freed several weeks ago, before Robert could have her killed. Alys had been forced to disguise her as a boy, shearing off her hair, but the ruse had worked. She’d hidden the girl in the forest, in an abandoned shelter.

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