Page 48 of Highlander’s False Identity

Never losing his nerve, Beathan jammed the laird up against the wall, as Edme looked on, trembling. The fear in her eyes was enough to make Beathan slice off Dughall’s nose right there and then.

Beathan brought the knife closer to the laird’s mouth. From behind, he could see Edme’s panic-filled eyes fastened on the gates beyond as she watched the troops marching across the footbridge.

He desperately hoped that this was the back-up he had requested, or at the very least, the Duncan Castle guards.

“Ye might as well give up now!” Beathan told the McKinley laird. From across the barracks, a small platoon of Scottish fighters assembled, putting down the one or two stragglers from Dughall’s original crew as they marched into the yard.

Beathan cast an eye over the soldiers, led by the two young lads he’d sent to raise help. It wasn’t exactly the cavalry he’d hoped for, but it would have to do. The small squadron piled in, helping to surround Dughall. But the English were rapidly approaching. Watching their forces arrive, Dughall sneered.

“They’re a-coming, lad, an’ yer nae match for them!” Dughall said.

Beathan growled, knowing the truth in his words. But all the same, he wasn’t about to let Dughall go.

“Ye’ve nae business bringing the enemy here!” fumed Beathan. But just as he was trying to wrest Dughall’s dagger away, Beathan was blindsided by a hefty kick to the shins. Dughall had knocked him over and was now halfway across the barracks.

“After him!” Beathan commanded, and the platoon drew their knives and surrounded Dughall.

“N-no,” said Edme, her voice faltering. “At least, not yet, I say we should capture him an’ then decide what to do next!”

Beathan regarded her thoughtfully.

“Alright,” he said and nodded to his men to hold Dughall.

As the soldiers bound Dughall, the sound of marching boots grew nearer, until they were right behind them. And this time it was a company far more fearsome; the English!

* * *

Dughall. Once he’d been a kind brother, and for the life of her, Edme couldn’t understand what had possessed him to change. Watching him, a mixture of fear and pity crept into her heart. But that all changed as she watched the English pouring into the barracks, moving quickly to free Dughall.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter to Edme if the entire English army were there. She just had to get to him.

“Ye traitorous wretch!” she screeched, hurtling herself forward like a mad thing, her sword extending towards her brother.

But immediately, she was pulled away. Expecting an English soldier when she turned, Edme got a shock; it was Beathan!

“Och Beathan!” she snapped as his thick arm pushed her back. Edme scanned the faces of the English soldiers, recognizing one as the officer she had wounded. The man locked eyes with her and glared, but Edme had more pressing matters to hold her concern, so she paid him little notice.

“Ye take on me, nae her!” Beathan shouted at Dughall. “If ye have a problem, we’ll fight it out, man to man… without the interference of those who have nae place here!” he said, looking at the English.

“Or are ye a coward who would rather hurt a woman!” Beathan taunted.

“I demand ye hand the harlot over to me, heir of Craig!” snarled Dughall, but the back-up he was hoping for did not materialize.

The English started talking amongst themselves, unsure of whether to get involved in the dispute. Taking advantage of the confusion, Beathan advanced further.

Dughall’s grip on the knife had loosened as he waited for the soldiers to come to his assistance. Beathan was creeping closer to Dughall, trying to knock it from his hand. Edme watched, realizing what he was about to do. She got into place beside him as the English soldiers continued to debate with each other whether to kill or capture them.

Suddenly, there was a noise from outside the gates.

“We’ve got the place surrounded,” a familiar voice boomed out. “Lay yer arms down and come out slowly!”

Edme peeked through the fence to see a collection of men and horses, armed to the teeth.

This spurred the English into action. The wounded soldier turned to face Edme with a spear, but Beathan was quick to attack. His companions dived in but were stopped in their tracks by the advancing soldiers marching across the footbridge into the barracks.

Now, the air was thick with voices, talking and shouting. For a few moments, chaos reigned, then a familiar voice cried out, “Edme, come wi’ me lass. We’ll get ye out of here!”

Edme whipped her head around, followed shortly by Beathan. There stood her silver-haired father.