“If I cannae have her, nay one can!” Harrison cried.
Finlay ground his teeth. He looked at Thalia again, his eyes flashing as he took in her appearance. With reluctance, he lowered his sword, dropping it to the ground.
Harrison nodded toward the weapon. “Kick it over here.”
Finlay kicked the sword away from him towards where Harrison stood. Harrison chuckled, and Thalia felt his hot breath against her cheek. She grimaced.
“I’m goin’ to walk out with her,” he continued. “And we shall be married. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop me.”
He sounded almost giddy, drunk on the thrill and perhaps slightly delirious from his head wound. He began walking, dragging Thalia along with him as he kept the blade pressed against her throat. Finlay watched them, his eyes dark with hatred as they drew closer to him.
Harrison laughed, and the action made his grip on Thalia loosen for just a moment. Without a second of hesitation, she brought her arm up and slammed it back into his stomach. He groaned, bending over from the pain, and as he did, the blade slashed across her clavicle.
Finlay moved as soon as she did. He grabbed his weapon, and Thalia moved out of the way quickly enough for him to drive his sword through Harrison’s back.
Thalia gasped, covering her mouth as she stared at the bloody point sticking out of his chest. Harrison gurgled, a sickening choking gasp, and then he crumpled to the floor, dead.
Finlay removed his blade, wiping off the blood with the dead man’s plaid, and then turned his gaze to Thalia. They moved at once, embracing each other with immense desperation.
“Ye came for me,” Thalia gasped, her voice cracking with unshed tears. “Ye really came for me.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Finlay murmured. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in deeply. “Ah, lass. Ye still smell like lavender.”
Thalia laughed as tears began streaming down her cheeks. They pulled back, and Finlay’s eyes were instantly drawn to her wound.
“Ye’re hurt,” he said, his eyes wide with concern.
Thalia shook her head. “Nay, it’s only a scratch.” She turned back to the herbs she had dropped to the floor. “Me uncle! He needs this!”
She ran over to the cabinet again, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized that there was another jar of hedge woundwort behind where the previous one had been.
When she had managed to gather what she felt she needed, she whirled back towards Finlay. Cradling the jar in her arms, she said, “I’ve got to?—”
“I ken,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “Go help yer uncle. I’ll take care of MacGibbon.”
She nodded once and took off in a run.
The courtyard was still in a disarray. It seemed that most of Laird MacGibbon’s men had either surrendered or been killed, but everyone was waiting to see which of their Lairds would return first. Thalia did not pay them any mind as she ran straight to where her mother, uncle, and sisters were waiting.
She knelt beside her mother again, holding out the jar filled with the woundwort.
Olivia’s eyes went straight to her cut. “What happened in there?” she asked.
“Nothin’ to concern yerself with,” Thalia replied dismissively. “I’m fine. We need to worry about Uncle.”
Olivia nodded, and she and Thalia set to work laying the woundwort over Archibald’s cut. He hissed and winced as they pressed the leaves against his tender skin, but at least he was still alive.
Finlay emerged from the front doors, dragging Harrison’s dead body behind him. He kicked the body down the stairs, and the remaining men watched as it rolled over onto the ground.
“To anyone who still fights under the MacGibbon banner,” he boomed. “Yer Laird is dead. If ye daenae wish to continue this useless war, I suggest ye leave now.”
The remaining men turned to each other and then looked at Finlay and Caden’s men.
“Aye!” one of them spoke up. “We shall leave, and we willnae disturb ye again.”
He turned to his comrades as if daring any of them to contradict him. The men mumbled their agreement, and the courtyard began to clear.
Thalia kept her attention on her uncle as she and her mother finished their work.
