Page 48 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

The stairwell, Rob understood, and he tried to spin them back, to keep the stairs at his back. If one man ever stood a chance against twenty, it would be when he held the higher ground.

The Gordon must have comprehended that Rob had discovered his ploy because he shoved forward with all of his might and put Rob off of his feet. He sprinted for the stairs, but one of the Queen’s men intercepted him, blades raised.

“Go, find the Earl!” Rob ordered to the rest as he flew forward to help the Queen’s man.

Like rabbits scattered by a fox, the men pulled away from the desk, many of them still trying to shove bits of parchment in their belts as they began to rush up the stairs and out of sight.

The Queen’s man was good, but he was not as good as the Gordon, who was almost as quick as he was strong. The Queen’s man was doing his best, but he was tiring quickly, and Rob sprinted toward the pair as he watched the Gordon throw down a blow so ferocious that it sent his opponent’s sword skittering across the floor.

Defenseless, the Queen’s man paled. The death blow was already arching through the air; he didn’t even have time to jump back. Rob pulled back his arm and threw the sword forward, letting it fly through the air like a javelin toward the Gordon.

The Gordon, seeing the deadly flash, jumped out of the way, giving Rob just enough time to jump forward and claim the sword that the Queen’s man had dropped. He pulled it up above him just as the Gordon struck. It sent shakes through his arm, making every nerve tingle.

The pair exchanged new blows, swishes, and slashes from one being matched by an equal and opposite blow from the other. Neither could gain an advantage.

Wear him down, Rob thought, settling back to simply block and knock aside the Gordon’s furious strikes.

But even in their minds, they were matched, and the Gordon quickly understood what Rob was up to, slowing his pace and throwing only soft, chaotic strokes. He was taunting Rob now, creating openings that were so deliciously tempting.

Strike, he seemed to be saying. Take the offensive once more.

Rob tried to resist, but when he shifted his stance, widening the opening considerably, his sword hand moved of its own accord. The strike was blocked, of course, and Rob found himself now full of openings. The only chance he had was to become the aggressor, to set the speed of the fight with his own sword.

Now he was the one being worn down. Rob tried to pull back, but the Gordon advanced into him. They locked their swords together in midair. He continued to push into Rob, forcing him back until Rob felt the cool stone of the wall at his back.

It was down to no more than a test of strength now, one that Rob wasn’t sure he would be able to win. There was nowhere for him to go. No quick move or evasion tactic that wouldn’t result in him being cut into ribbons. If his sword slipped even an inch, the Gordon could just change his angle and drive his blade into Rob’s shoulder, effectively ending him.

Rob’s muscles started to quiver, crying out for him to stop, to do something to relieve them. He let his eyes meet that of the Gordon’s, hoping to see some sign of weakness in his gaze. But the Gordon’s eyes were like gray steel: cold, unyielding, and unbreakable.

Rob didn’t want to lose, but maybe he already had.

You have to come back to me, Rob Fraser, Kenna’s voice echoed through his mind as their swords continued to grind together. Her voice was louder than his doubts, forcing him to hear her and only her. Come back to me.

He forced aside the pain, forced aside every complaint that his body currently had, and felt renewed vigor flood him. With one desperate shove, he channeled the vigor into the muscles of his arms and pushed.

The Gordon staggered back, caught off guard by Rob’s sudden surge of renewed strength. Rob threw himself forward, twisting his blade down and then back up again in a deadly arch. The man moved his sword up, but he was still too off balance to move quick enough. Rob’s blade slicked through him with ease, and he crumpled to the floor with swift finality, leaving only the sound of Rob’s heaving breath in the air.

This was the part of a fight that Rob was addicted to. This moment of quiet right after the enemy finally fell. After so much action, so much fear and pulsing strength coursing through him, this moment of quiet seemed almost outrageous. But the quiet never lasted, not on a night like this. As his panting slowed, the sound of swords clashing from the room above broke through to his ears. Tired as he was, the fight wasn’t over.

And he didn’t want it to be.

Rob rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and found a small battle being waged. Hugh was the closest to him, a short sword in one hand and his curving dirk in the other. He was delivering blow after blow to a Gordon guard, but the man simply laughed it off. Rob and his men had come into the castle wearing nothing more than their kilts and leather vests, but the Gordon guards were all dressed in full armor. The blows that Hugh managed to land, the ones that weren’t batted away, glanced off of the armor as if it was a tree branch skittering across a window.

Rob pulled out a knife, short but sharp, and came up behind the Gordon, sinking it into the space between his helm and chest plate. Blood poured from the wound, and the man fell to the ground with one guttural moan.

“Thanks.” Hugh huffed, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead.

“Where is Huntly?”

Hugh pointed to the back of the room, where there was a large, oak door, before he trotted forward to engage one of the other Gordons that was slowly overwhelming one of the Queen’s men.

Rob sprinted through the room, dodging the small clusters of men fighting, and threw open the door to the bedchamber.

Empty. There wasn’t even a guard.

One of the windows was open, and Rob rushed over and threw his head out. A long rope dangled down the side of the tower. A man, nearly at the end, looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Dammit to hell,” Rob shouted as he went to cut the rope, but then caught himself.