With that, he turned on his heel and left, but still, he could hear his mother calling after him.
“Ye think ye can tell me what tae dae in me own home?” she yelled. “Ye’re sorely mistaken! Ye’re nae the laird yet and if ye continue tae act like this, ye never will be!”
James ignored her entirely as he marched down the hallway to the front doors of the keep. Just as he shoved them open, though, the castle’s bell rang—once, twice, thrice, before going silent.
An attack!
The doors opened to reveal a flurry of soldiers, all of them running around the courtyard as they prepared for battle. And just as he stepped outside, a general’s voice called out, “It’s the Campbells! We’re under attack!”
“I never thought they would attack,” his mother said. A hand flew up to cover her mouth as she stared out of the window in his father’s study in shock, watching the soldiers prepare. “I never thought… I never wanted this to happen.”
“And yet ye are to blame fer this, too,” said James bitterly, shaking his head.
“The important thing is what we dae now,” said his father. “They may be in debt, they may be destabilized, but they have a strong army still.”
Next to James, Edward was already dressed for battle, with his armor on and his sword clasped around his belt. James, having rushed straight to his father’s study, hadn’t yet managed to prepare like his brother and he was anxious to get his armor on and help his men.
Freya would have to wait. As long as the clan was under attack, he couldn’t leave, but he would find her. He would do anything in his power to bring her back once they had defeated the Campbells.
“Edward and I will lead the charge,” said James. “Faither, ye must stay at the back lines. Dinnae go out there.”
“Ye’ll have me hide?”
“I’ll have ye live.”
His father was getting old; though he could still rule, he was not the warrior he had once been. Now, his place was in this study or in the safety of the keep, giving orders to others.
“Edward, let us go,” said James and the two of them left the room. Their paths diverged as Edward headed to the courtyard while James headed to the barracks to prepare, donning his armor and grabbing his sword.
By the time he made it outside, the battle was already raging around him. The air was filled with the grunts and dying breaths of men, the scent of blood, the heat of the battle. The afternoon sun was obscured by thick, steel-gray clouds, like the blades that clashed under its faint glow. James grasped his sword tightly in his hand and threw himself into the fight without hesitation, his eyes searching for the one man he wanted to find the most.
Alastair.
The first man who blocked James’ path was young and broad-shouldered, wielding his sword with skill. Their blades clashed with a clang, the force of the blow reverberating up his arm and through his bones, and James gritted his teeth as he deliveredattack after attack, forcing the other man to defend himself. He gave him no moment of respite; he knew that the sooner he ended this, the sooner he could go to his next target, the next Campbell, the next threat.
Just as the man found a chance to counterattack, James feinted to the left and brought his sword down, cutting down the man. Blood fountained from the wound as the man dropped to his knees, eyes wide and stunned, his hand clutching at his side uselessly. James could spare him no second glance as he sidestepped him, looking for his next target. He cut down soldier after soldier, moving fast and efficiently, wasting no time in his search for Alastair.
And then, he found him. He was only a few paces away, fighting his own battle with one of the MacGregor soldiers, who was no match for him. Before James could interfere, Alastair struck the man down and shoved him off his sword, his eyes wild as he looked around for the next threat.
“Laird Campbell!” James shouted. Alastair’s head whipped to the side and when his gaze found James, he grinned as though he was happy to see him—as though he wanted to be the one to kill him, just like James wanted to be the one to kill Alastair.
“There ye are,” Alastair said, marching over to James. “Ye fool… ye could have had everything! And now ye’ll lose it all simply because of a lass.”
“If ye think ye can defeat our armies, then ye’re sorely mistaken,” James spat out.
“It will be enough if I kill ye,” said Alastair. “Ye’ve been a thorn in me side this whole time.”
With a deafening battle cry, Alastair charged at James, his sword held high and ready. James met him halfway, roaring wildly at the man as their blades touched, everything else around them melting away.
There was nothing but him and Alastair in that moment—nothing but James’ unbridled rage, the heartbreak that coursed through his veins, his fear for Freya’s life. If only he managed to kill Alastair, if only he managed to put an early end to this battle, then he could run after Freya and bring her back.
James’ muscles were already aching with the effort it had taken to fight the Campbell men. He had struck them all dead, but the fights had taken much out of him, leaving him exhausted and soaked in sweat. His undershirt clung to his back with it. His hair stuck to his forehead and the handle of his sword threatened to slide out of his grip. His chest heaved with every breath he took, the air burning his lungs.
And yet he persevered. He would not rest until either he or Alastair was dead.
Though Alastair was an older man, he was a skilled fighter—someone who had seen his fair share of battle and who had emerged from them all victorious. Each of his movements was calculated. Each step he took was perfectly balanced, perfectly suited to his next attack. When James feinted to the right,Alastair was there to block him. When he raised his sword to attack, his blade was there to block it.
The two of them fought furiously, neither man giving the other any respite. They were like two rabid dogs intent on killing each other, crazed by the battle and by the rage and hatred they held for one another. In his next attack, James managed to slice him over the shoulder, drawing a hiss of pain out of the man, but before he could jump out of reach, Alastair retaliated, catching James over the side.
