Page 99 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER 34

Ruaridh’s eyes scanned the battlefield through a haze of smoke and blood, sweat running down his temples as he swung his sword again, forcing back yet another wave of MacNab guards. The roar of the men around him, the clash of steel, and the screams of the fallen—all of it was a chaotic storm, but his focus was razor-sharp. He couldn’t afford to falter.

“Duncan!” he yelled over the din, his voice rough with strain. “Keep the left flank! Dinnae let them breach!”

A sudden movement caught his eye. The figure was rushing frantically through the melee, weaving between combatants. His heart froze.

“It’s Maither!” he shouted, spinning on his heel. “Duncan! It’s Maither!”

The older warrior’s eyes widened, and he nodded sharply, gripping his blade tighter. Ruaridh sprinted toward the figure, his legs pumping with desperation. The crowd of soldiers parted instinctively as he barreled forward.

Niamh stumbled as she ran, her cloak snagging on a jagged stone. Ruaridh’s arms shot out instinctively, catching her before she fell. She sank against him, gasping, tears streaking her pale face.

“Oh son,” she whispered, her voice breaking, trembling as she clutched him. “It’s… it’s Iona. They… they have her. Oh, Ruaridh… I’m so sorry. She made me come find ye… but ye have tae go… tae save her.”

Ruaridh’s jaw tightened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face, eyes dark with fury. He could feel the heat of rage boiling in his chest, mingled with the ache of fear. “Maither… ye stay here,” he said sharply. “I’ll naet leave her in their hands. I swear it—go with Faither!"

Alistair was already there, his arms enveloping Niamh in a fierce protective embrace. "Come, mo chridhe," he murmured to his wife, his voice gentle despite the chaos around them. "Our son needs tae focus."

Ruaridh met his father's eyes over his mother's head - a brief exchange between men who understood duty and sacrifice. Alistair gave him a sharp nod of understanding and determination.

"Go, son," Alistair said quietly, his weathered face set with resolve. "Bring her home."

"Go!" Niamh whispered, voice taut with fear, but her eyes glimmered with trust as she pressed closer to her husband's chest.

Ruaridh turned, his sword ready, swinging it in a wide arc as he forced back a group of advancing MacNabs. His muscles coiled like steel springs, and with a shout, he surged forward through the chaos.

And then, like a thunderclap in the midst of chaos, reinforcements arrived. Gordon’s men charged from the edge of the battlefield, banners raised high, shields clashing, swords swinging. Their sudden appearance bolstered Ruaridh’s weary forces. He could now go to save the woman he loved without having to worry about leaving Duncan and his men alone to fight for their clan,.

"Ye look like ye've had enough fun fer one day, Ruaridh!" Gordon's voice boomed over the clang of steel, a wry grin on his face as he plunged his dirk into the chest of a MacNab.

Ruaridh, his lungs burning and muscles screaming, let out a raw laugh. "Och, I kent ye'd come! I kent ye wouldnaet let an old friend fight his battles alone!" He parried a fierce blow, then slammed the hilt of his sword into a man's face, sending him sprawling. "Thank ye, Gordon. I owe ye fer this.

Gordon just grunted, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the field. "Dinnae be daft, man. Now, let’s get this over with!"

Together, MacDuff and Gordon carved a path through the enemy lines. MacNab’s men faltered as the fresh tide of warriors collided with them, creating a brutal, swirling chaos of steel and blood. Ruaridh, relieved by the strength of Gordon’s men, broke free from the main battle, and ran toward the narrow passage to the exit near the stone shelter that would take him to the open fields beyond. It was the only way to intercept Iona’s captors before they vanished into the woods.

Then he heard it: the barked orders of MacNab’s men, the harsh laugh of one of Murray’s lieutenants, the unmistakable sounds of a woman struggling against her captors.

“Gordon, they have Iona, I must go tae her!” Ruaridh called over to his friend and ally, who was pulling his sword out of yet another enemy’s chest. Gordon didn’t have time to speak but nodded in his direction and continued with his onslaught. Ruaridh surged forward with renewed fury.

They were close now, just beyond the trees, where the open field met the edge of the forest. Ruaridh could see her hair, the flutter of her cloak, the hands of the MacNabs gripping her tightly. His blood boiled, rage and fear driving his every step.

“Stand aside, ye bastards!” he roared, his voice carrying over the clash. He swung his sword, cutting down one soldier who lunged at him from the side, then another who tried to block his path.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the tree line. MacNab raging, desperate, and unhinged. The sight of his enemy commanding his forces, sent a chill down Ruaridh's spine.

Murray's eyes locked onto him, wide with madness. "Ye'll pay fer this, MacDuff! She'll be mine, and ye'll kneel before me!"

Ruaridh's lips pressed into a thin line. "Nae while I draw breath," he said, and surged forward, as he engaged Murray's men in a deadly, relentless flurry.

The two sides collided in a brutal melee, bodies falling, weapons snapping. Ruaridh fought desperately to reach Iona, but the press of enemies forced him back. Through the chaos of clashing steel, he watched in horror as Murray himself circled behind the fighting, seizing Iona before she could flee.

"Enough!" Murray roared, his dirk pressed to Iona's throat. "Stop, or the whore dies!"

The fighting ceased abruptly, leaving only the sound of labored breathing and the groans of the wounded. Ruaridh froze, his sword half-raised, as Murray's blade pressed deeper against Iona's pale skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"There's a good lad," Murray said, his voice carrying that familiar mocking tone despite the madness blazing in his eyes. "Now drop yer weapon."