Page 22 of Highlander’s False Identity

She rode so fast that the warm shawl Beathan had placed on her shoulders blew off, and was now halfway across the glen. Edme shivered, but still did not let up.

“Edme!” Beathan yelled, his voice a little vague and fading slightly against the prevailing breeze, which whooshed against her ears. It wasn’t all that windy, but the speed she was traveling at created a gust in the deserted clanless zone.

Although Edme had wandered through much of the clanless lands over the past few days, she was not familiar with this particular region.

She knew that she ought to slow up and exercise caution. But her heart was beating fast, and she didn’t want to stop. A surge inside pushed her forwards into the vast lands before her.

Here, the barren winter countryside was slowly ceding ground to springtime. Even since yesterday, Edme could see a little more green. She shuddered as she recalled the biting wind that had blasted her from toe to tip, for three days solid.

A pang of regret ran through her, almost as sharp as the wind itself. It may have only been three days, but it felt like a lifetime since she had been exiled from her childhood home. Forlornly, she wondered whether the bluebells which grew by the McKinley keep had begun to flower yet.

“Edme!” Beathan still hadn’t given up, but his voice had dropped. He sounded further away.

Good, thought Edme. She wanted to teach him a lesson.

“It’s dangerous out there. Dinnae go on yer own!” he shouted from afar.

Edme was about to turn around and tell him that she had managed fine for the last three days without his help when a sudden strong gust shook her off course.

The wind was now gusting up, ratcheting around at a higher speed. Without her shawl, Edme shivered. It was cold, much colder than she had been expecting, and her extra woolen cape was packed away inside her knapsack.

“Edme!” his voice came again, this time thin and reedy. The sound of hooves advancing closed upon her. Finally, Edme turned to look.

“Beathan!” she exclaimed, expecting to see his soft face. She was ready to give him a piece of her mind, but then she gasped.

The face staring at her was not Beathan’s. It was a thickset, pudgy faced man with dirty blond hair. The man’s light complexion and eye color made it clear where he was from.

“Well then, if it isn’t the McKinley sorceress!” he said, his strange vowels marking him out as a Sassenach. “You’ll do as I say, strumpet, or I’ll slit your miserable throat!”

Chapter Eight

“Edme!”

Beathan screamed her name into the empty space of the glen.

From afar, he had seen them approaching, but only when it was too late to do anything. For the last few miles, he had tried to catch her up, but to no avail.

“Edme! I’m coming!” he shouted, as Prince hurtled along. He urged the stallion on, but fast though he was, he could not go fast enough to reach the clearing where Edme had been ambushed.

On the horizon, Beathan could make out the shape of a lone soldier. It was clear he was English, his distinctive red uniform standing out like a flag in the distance.

Beathan galloped on top of Prince, eating up the miles at a breakneck pace. As they went, the path gave way to a sudden incline. Once over it, he could no longer see Edme on the horizon.

“Edme?” he cried, her name echoing around the lonely valley. He listened for a reply, but only his own voice replied.

Straining his eyes, Beathan scanned the vista for a sign of the pale lass, but there was none. Both she and her horse had disappeared completely.

Slowing to a trot, Beathan wandered the glen, covering every square inch. He was just about to give up when a noise made him turn around.

Tucked into a fold of the glen was a small burn. And pressed into its tightest corner, was Edme, her throat held fast by the red-topped soldier. He had her on the ground by a small cavern on the mouth of the river.

Edme must have heard his footsteps approaching because instantly, she turned to him and mouthed, “Beathan!”

It looked as if the man was choking the words from her. Checking for his replacement dagger, the lad burst into action.

It was not difficult to overpower the lone soldier. To his amazement, he did not even need to use his blade - the force of the blow from his fist was enough to knock him semi-unconscious. Nature took care of the rest. The blond Englishman fell forward, face-first into the quick flowing burn. And, before he could awaken, he was sinking like a stone. Beathan watched, in awe, as the English soldier plummeted head-first into the water and promptly disappeared down the steep hillside.

“Beathan!” squealed Edme, racing towards him. Her eyes widened as she saw the drowned officer rushing fast down the stream.