Page 54 of Tempting the Highland Captive

Ron and Lucas waded through the fight to stand in front of Rossell. “Unhand my wife,” Ron growled, the threat in his voice unmistakable.

Rossell laughed. “Ye will ne’er enjoy the warmth o’ her body again. She is mine now.” He roughly grabbed a fist full of her breast for emphasis and Amelia cried out in pain.

Ron took a step forward, but Rossell pressed the sword tighter against her throat and she felt a trickle of blood flow down her skin to soak into her shirt. Lucas reached out and laid a hand on Ron’s arm. “I will kill ye,” he growled, leveling his sword at his father.

“Nae, ye will nae.” Rossell spoke with such surety that it curdled Amelia’s blood. She did not see how she was going to be able to escape Rossell’s clutches. The fighting had come to a standstill, each side waiting to see what might happen next. “Lay down yer sword, son. It is over. I have won. She is mine.”

“Nae this side o’ death,” Father Jacob’s words echoed against the tree trunks, as he stepped out of the edge of the forest and buried his sgain dubh into Rossell’s back. Yelping, Rossell released Amelia and swung wildly around with his sword. Father Jacob lunged at Amelia toppling her to the ground as Ron and Lucas sprang to life, Ron engaging Rossell in battle, while Lucas pulled Amelia out from beneath the priest and hauled her off the battlefield. Father Jacob followed close behind.

The fight between Ron and his father was intense drawing the attention of those nearest them. The men from both clans gathered around the two fighting men in a wide circle allowing them plenty of room to move. Each clan kept a close eye on the other, ready to spring back into battle at any moment, but the fight between father and son, was too much to resist. Rossell was a strong fighter, where he had slowed with age, he had matured in skill. It was clear that he had been a strong influence in Ron’s training as a warrior. Rossell came close to severing his son’s head from his shoulders, but Ron managed to move out of the way at just the right moment. In response Ron nearly took his father out at the knees. Amelia held her breath and waited, her heart racing with fear. Both men had been wounded, but Rossell’s wounds being more recent gave Ron the advantage. When Rossell stumbled from loss of blood, Ron wasted no time. As Rossell fell forward, Ron brought his sword up impaling the sword through his father’s stomach. “Ye will ne’er lay hands on her or any woman e’er again,” Ron growled, then sank his sword all the way to the hilt. His father’s blood flowed out over Ron’s hand, hot and crimson.

The look of shock on Rossell’s face would remain in Amelia’s memory till the end of her days. He had fully believed that he would win and the realization that he had lost, ended as his death mask. “Ron!” Amelia exclaimed, pulling her arm free of Lucas’ restraining grasp. She raced across the bloodied ground and launched herself into her husband’s arms. “I am so verra sorry!”

Ron caught her and pulled her close against him. “Ye have nothing tae be sorry for, my bonnie. ‘Tis I that must beg yer forgiveness for nae tellin’ ye the truth.”

“I feared the worst.”

“It is done,” he answered huskily, kissing the tears from her cheeks.

The sound of falling swords echoed across the clearing as Rossell’s men surrendered to the McAlpine warriors. The Rossell warriors fell to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence. “What are they doing?”

Ron turned to look at what she was talking about, and his brows rose in surprise. Father Jacob came to stand beside them and made the sign of the cross. “The laird is dead, long live the laird,” he murmured by way of explanation.

Amelia’s eyes widened in realization. With the death of Michael Rossell, as his only living son, Ron became laird to the Clan Rossell.