Page 53 of The Highlander’s Gypsy Temptation

She looked up the hill, to where Mahala and the remaining soldiers waited and watched, hoping they were keeping the girl safe. She couldn’t see them in the cover of the trees, but she knew they were there somewhere.

She was broken out of her thoughts when Andrew shoved her roughly. She looked up and saw three men approaching them. The archer had managed to get one bolt off, killing one of the attackers, before a second threw an axe at him.

The archer was dead before he hit the ground, and Idalia screamed as his lifeless body crumpled to the floor in front of her, white eyes staring upwards, seeing nothing.

Andrew didn’t look back at her, instead, he got his dagger out of his belt and threw it right at the man who had just thrown the axe. The dagger sank into him, and he collapsed face first into the ground.

Andrew followed it up by swinging his sword in a circular motion, aiming for the head of the third man. The man stumbled backwards, wary of Andrew’s reach, but Andrew let go of the sword mid-swing and lurched at the man with his bare hands.

The gypsy noticed the feint too late and tried to bring his sword back around. Andrew smashed a fist into the man’s wrist, making the sword drop as he cried out in pain. Andrew caught the sword by the hilt, then he slashed the man’s head clean off with one smooth stroke.

Idalia watched with horror. She turned away from the bodies and away from the camp, feeling disoriented by all the violence. As she stumbled along, she felt a sound thwack on her head, and a strong arm tightened around her neck.

Only then did she realize she had not seen August Raymond for the entire battle.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Bran felt several times stronger as he wrapped his fingers around the blade of the sword Andrew had just handed to him. He flexed his good arm, testing the balance of the sword and the strength of his grip. After being a helpless captive, unable to go to Mahala’s aid even as August’s men maltreated her, it felt good to feel strong again.

He loved the comfortable weight of the broad sword, and made a few practice hacks with it, slicing the air before him with the familiar forms he had learned years ago. He stared at the gleaming blade as it caught the sunlight, the edge sharpened to perfection. Bran was grateful for the blade, and he intended to bloody the sword to the hilt before the day was over.

He tried not to meet Idalia’s eyes, though he could feel her gaze concentrated on him. This was not the time to dawdle nor profess feelings. He hoped he made it through the scuffle safely and could hold her in his arms again soon.

Since his capture, Bran had not found the time to think about the beautiful night he had spent with Idalia. He had feared his disappearance would go unnoticed, and that her wedding with Andrew would go on as planned. The entire time he had been on August’s ship, the thought had plagued him relentlessly. He had feared himself dead for good, he and Mahala both, and for good reason. He knew August was not going to take another chance with him.

He had been saved by the vile man’s penchant for vengeance, and his uncanny love for listening to the sound of his own voice. Bran thanked him silently for his theatrics. Not only had it given Andrew and Idalia a chance to get Mahala out of harm’s way, it now gave Bran an opportunity to carry out his long-awaited revenge on August, for all the times of hardship and slavery.

The thought of running his blade through August’s chest filled Bran with an animalistic hunger, and he felt his vision turn red with a lust for blood. Killing August would not atone for all the crimes Bran had committed on his behalf, but it would definitely help him sleep easier at night, knowing that such cruelty no longer breathed. He knew the nightmares filled with pleading faces would always be a part of him, but the earth was going to be a much better place with the likes of August Raymond removed from its face.

While Andrew made valid points suggesting that Bran was in a better position to keep Idalia safe, Bran knew it was impossible for him to leave men who had come to save him to fight and die on his behalf.

The sound of blade on blade rang ceaselessly in Bran’s ears, accompanied by the shouts of fighting men, and the pitiful cries of the dying. Without any further word, he rushed towards his enemies, his blade held at an angle before him. His last thoughts as he went into battle were of Idalia. Should he survive, he planned to make things right with her once and for all.

Roaring, he charged past a group of Tor’s men who were advancing cautiously. He lifted his sword in a wide arc, bringing it down across the chest of the enemy closest to him. A bright red gash was left in the wake of the blade, and a fountain of red poured out of the man’s chest as he collapsed lifelessly to the floor.

Bran tumbled in the dirt following his strike, ducking under the attack of a second assailant. He grabbed his dagger as he rolled and sliced his attacker’s calf, bringing him to his knees with a cry of pain. Bran then punched his dagger under the man’s chin, sinking his blade in all the way to the hilt.

Bran was familiar with the gypsy camp and knew just how many men were garrisoned in it. Dunn’s men were terribly outnumbered, but fortunately, one Scotsman was worth three gypsies any day. He had fought with many of the men and while they were decent fighters, they were no match for his comrades in skill or military efficiency.

Men poured out from the tents and many of them bristled with arrow shafts before they could take a dozen steps. The surprise of the attack made it hard for August’s men to rally into any type of formation, and Bran felt thankful he had never agreed to teach them battle formations despite August’s countless requests.

Soon, it would become too hard for the archers to fire without risking hitting their own, and the battle would rapidly deteriorate into a melee. There was no possible way that several dozen men could survive such a scenario, seeing how severely outnumbered they were, no matter how skilled or efficient they were.

The way Bran saw it, the only hope for a quick resolution to the skirmish was to find August and finish him. Having lived and killed with them, Bran knew the loss of their leader would lead to a break in the morale of the gypsy contingent. Unfortunately, Bran was all too familiar with how much August loved having others do his dirty work for him. He was determined to search the entire camp for August if necessary.

He looked behind him and saw that the men had entered a wedge formation, while the archers rained death on the gypsies from behind. He raced on ahead, holding the sword to his side as he ran.

Bran couldn’t believe Idalia had come all that way to save him and Mahala. She could have stayed home, but she was brave enough to come because of him and his daughter, a child she had no reason to save. Bran could not understand how he had been so stupid as to consider letting such a woman, who loved him as much as Idalia did, go.

Tor had informed him that Idalia had been the one to carry Mahala out of safety. He had been so angry that they would risk Mahala’s life with a rescue attempt, but when they told him she was safe with guards, he had felt relief flooding him. With Mahala safe, he could focus on doing what needed to be done.

Bran could hear the main fighting happening behind him but chose to proceed more cautiously. The last thing he wanted was to run into more soldiers than he could defeat in single combat. He had the element of surprise on his side, and he needed to keep it if he was to survive on his own in an enemy encampment.

He thought about the wisdom of breaking away on his own the way he had. While it seemed wiser to have someone watching his back, he knew he could maneuver more easily and faster if he moved alone.

August had positioned his tent deep inside the camp and had made it as plain and indistinguishable as possible in case of an attack. Unfortunately for him, Bran knew exactly which tent was his, and he began approaching it stealthily.

He waited and watched the camp for a few moments, but everything sounded quiet. Belatedly, it occurred to him that August could have fled for the hills. That seemed unlikely, as the leader had always believed in the strength of his numbers and had made sure to brag about it to all who would listen.