Page 49 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

The Earl was so close to the ground now that he would recover from the fall and run off before Rob could run down the tower stairs. There was only one other way. After tucking his weapons back into their sheaths, Rob pulled himself up into the window and took hold of the rope.

Below, the Earl was already at the ground, stumbling as his footing failed him.

Rob groaned; this was going to hurt. He took a few final puffs of breath before he stepped from the window’s ledge, letting the forces of nature pull him toward the ground. The rope burned his palms, ripping away bits of skin as it flew through his grip, but he didn’t have time to climb down gracefully. All the rope was doing was slowing him enough to prevent a free fall.

He hit the ground and stumbled backward, but recovered quickly, turning and setting off at a sprint after the Earl of Huntly.

The best part about Earls, Rob thought as he noticed the gap between them rapidly closing, is that they all eat too much and exercise too little.

He was only ten strides away now. Soon it would be nine. This fact was not lost on Huntly, who started yelling and screaming for help. Three figures came running out from the castle, torches and blades in hand.

“Stop him!” Huntly shouted, his hand flying up in the air as if he thought it would actually help them see Rob.

The three figures rushed forward, intercepting Rob, who skidded to a stop. The three lads were hardly old enough to wield the crooked and dented swords that they swung before themselves. They pointed the pathetic blades at Rob, doing their best to pretend that they knew how to use them.

Rob sighed and swirled his sword in his hands in warning. He had no interest in cutting down boys. He would hold them back and knock them unconscious when he was given a chance. The Earl would hopefully keep running all the way to the castle’s gates, where the group of five men would catch him unawares.

The boys lunged, taking turns at testing Rob’s defenses. He swatted their blows away as if they were bugs buzzing around his ear.

Come on lads, hurry it up, so I can send ye back to yer mothers’ skirts.

Rob stole a glance in the direction of Huntly, expecting to see him still sprinting across the yard. But he wasn’t there.

Rob’s sword snapped up to beat back one of the boys with such force that the lad stumbled back and onto his arse.

Where the hell did he go? Rob thought frantically, his eyes darting around the yard before they finally found the Earl.

There, on a bit of wall a few dozen strides away, the Earl was climbing. The space of the wall was crumbling, creating hand and footholds that made it easy for someone to climb up, no matter how physically inept they were.

Then a flash of steel cut off Rob’s view, coming down right in front of his face. He leaned back, but not far enough. The slice went straight through his cheek with a sharp sting. The lad looked almost surprised, happy even, as if this was was a duel in the practice yard, and they were only playing until first blood.

The Earl had now reached the top of the wall. He stood on a part that was still sturdy enough to hold him, staring down at the space beyond, preparing himself for what would be a semi-painful jump to the ground.

The lads, encouraged by the sight of Rob’s blood, were pushing him harder now. They were starting to take more risks, blocking blows they could have simply dodged, and trying to slip their swords through gaps in Rob’s defenses that even the most skilled of swordsmen wouldn’t have been able to do successfully. Rob could still knock them out, but it would be harder now.

And the Earl was jumping.

Rob cursed and surrendered, disconnecting his mind from his body and letting his sword do what it did best. The blows the boys had thrown were like ripples on the surface of a pond, but Rob’s were like ocean waves during a storm, crashing against them with a speed and strength that they could not even hope to control.

When the last boy fell to the ground with a cry, Rob rushed after the Earl, climbing the wall and hoisting himself up to the top as quickly as he could. On foot, Rob knew he had the advantage; the Earl wouldn’t stand a chance against him. His vigor beat in his ears, his legs were throbbing in preparation of a good, hard run. But then, hadn’t he already been foolish enough to think that this mission was going too well?

“No,” he moaned, taking in the sight of the Earl of Huntly, his white shirt barely visible in the blackness of the night, galloping off into the Highlands. He must have hidden a horse there after dark; he must have known that the Queen would be sending someone to retrieve him eventually. The Earl had taken precautions, and taken them well, concealing his escape plan from men who had been watching the castle’s movements for days.

Rob groaned and collapsed against the incline of the crumbling wall, digging his fingers into the rough handholds as a form of self-punishment. He felt the calloused skin start to crack under the strain, and the soreness of his ripped palms from his descent on the rope started to grow. Even if he sprinted to his horse, even if his horse was by far the faster of the two, there was no way he would find the Earl before the Earl found his army. Not on a moonless night like this.

Rob jumped back into the castle’s yard at the sound of running footsteps, raising his sword just in case it was an enemy, but it was only Hugh and a couple of others.

Hugh took in the scene and sighed loudly. “Well, at least he was in that bloody tower.”