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Hilda breathed deeply as she drew her sword. She looked across at Maxwell, who nodded once, and then she twisted her neck to look at Angus, who smiled and winked at her. She wasn’t sure he should be feeling so confident, but she tried to take his attitude and embrace it. They had worked out an order of the plan; Hilda and Maxwell would circle around and then charge in, taking on the enemy from the opposite side of the camp. They hoped that this would draw the attention to them and leave the opposite side unguarded. While this was happening, Angus would come down and charge in from the rear, able to fight against an enemy with their backs turned. Hilda hoped that this would happen in such a flurry that the enemy wouldn’t have a chance to deal too much damage, their forces would be thinned, and the odds would be evened. If this didn’t happen and it took too long, then they might find that they were fighting a losing battle, in which case it was left to them to retreat and lick their wounds, but for Hilda that wasn’t an option.

She knew that if these raiders knew they had been discovered, they would only disband their camp and set it up elsewhere. That was the beauty of having such simple huts instead of stone houses; they could dismantle their homes, and who knew where they were going to end up? Hilda would be back at the beginning, and there would be no guarantee that she would be successful in finding them again.

Hilda led her men alongside Maxwell into the camp. As soon as they emerged from the trees, she let out a bellowing war cry and caused havoc amongst the enemy. She slashed with her sword, and now she was glad that Maxwell had joined her group because if there was any man who could elicit fear, it was him. When they saw him, the enemy leaped up and sounded the alarm. They grabbed their weapons, and a fight soon occurred. Hilda felt herself slipping into the heat of battle. She opened her heart, and a flood of anger poured out. She remembered the scream of her mother and the feeling of holding her mother’s body in her arms. All of this fueled her into making sweeping, elegant strikes against the enemy. She took a few hits to her sword, but nothing that she couldn’t handle. She braced herself against the reverberations that ran through her arm and continued her onslaught forward, slashing through the enemy.

At first, the plan seemed to be going exactly as they had wanted it to. The enemy was thrust into chaos, and Hilda ran into battle with Maxwell by her side. They cut a formidable sight, the blonde-haired warrior woman and the giant. Any minute now, she knew that Angus would join the fray. More of the enemy poured out of the huts, taking up arms, and she worried that if this continued, they would be overwhelmed before Angus came out. She wondered if it just seemed longer than it should have because she was lost in the midst of battle or if Angus really was taking his time.

Then she heard the cry, and a wave of relief washed through her. It filled her resolve, and she beat back the man she was fighting, pushing him off balance and then driving her sword through his gut. She pulled it out in one elegant move and then twisted around to deflect another blow. Beside her, Maxwell was taking on a swarm of men who had all thrown aside their fears to attack the giant.

She expected the enemy to thin any moment now. She expected Angus and the others to come rampaging from behind and teach these raiders a lesson, but that never happened.

The enemy didn’t respond to their plan. Instead of being caught in between the two attacking forces, the raiders held their ground and instead brought themselves into a narrow line. The advantage of surprise counted for nothing. These raiders were wily, and there was evidently a strategic mind leading them, but she was astounded by how quickly they had adapted to the changing tide of battle. It seemed as though they knew what the Callan clan were doing before they did it.

Hilda cried out for them to take different formations, and the enemy countered quickly. She wondered if Angus was having any more luck, but she assumed not, and she started to fear that the tide of battle was turning away from their favor.

Maxwell had put up with a lot on this journey to the enemy, and now that he had finally found them after all these years of searching, he wasn’t about to let them slip through his grasp. All the anger that had burned in cold fury suddenly erupted into fervent flames and threatened to engulf him. He roared with anger. These were the men who had taken his wife from him, who had stolen the life that he could have lived. They were buried in the forest, and soon he would see that they were buried under the ground. Hilda impressed him with her ferocity. He had been touched by her guilt and how much she had been driven forward due to her grief. It was something they had in common—not that she was aware of this because he hadn’t dared to share it with her.

He wouldn’t share it with anyone.

Soon enough, it would all be over, and he could vanquish the sorrow that possessed his heart. It had been so long in coming, he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to react. After all, this quest had consumed him to such an extent that he wasn’t sure what form his life was going to take after this.

There had been moments when he glanced at Hilda, and something stirred within him. To see her on the battlefield was something wonderful. She was strong, fierce, and it was clear that she possessed a true warrior’s heart. As they flung themselves into battle, he enjoyed fighting side by side with her. They formed a good understanding; she went low when he went high, he struck down enemies that were just about to plunge their sword into her back while she deflected blows and parried men into Maxwell’s wake. His huge sword crashed around the small camp. Blood flowed along its blade, and fury danced within Maxwell’s eyes.

He could tell that the plan had not happened as they had anticipated. The line of the enemies was strong, and they weren’t breaking off. Maxwell wasn’t going to allow this to deter him, though. He continued fighting, knowing that this was his only chance to bring them to justice. If they slipped away again, he might spend his entire life searching for them without experiencing any luck. Even though they were outnumbered, Maxwell continued to fight. He was a one-man army, and it was as though a god led them into battle. The sight of him fighting back a swarm of men, slamming them to the ground, was enough to ennoble and invigorate his allies. The area was alive with his roars and the cries of men who were being slain. Victory would be theirs; of that, he was certain.

He could taste it in the air.

This was the day when he would finally earn justice. This was the day when…

He glimpsed something that interrupted him from his thoughts. It was a hazy image, one that he couldn’t quite believe at first. He blinked to rid himself of the salty sweat that stung his eyes, and then he rubbed them more thoroughly because he simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Nay…” he gasped, and all the strength that was contained within his mighty body slipped away, like the last snow that melted when the spring sun dawned. His throat went tight, and the world seemed to lurch around him because he saw something impossible—someone that was impossible.

Time seemed to slow as he watched his betrothed walk out of a hut. It had been so many years since he had seen her, yet every day, her memory had never been far from his mind. There was no doubt at all that it was her. Her blonde hair shimmered in the faint light…and yet he had held her as she died. He had felt the blood seeping out of the deathly wound that had been dealt to her, dealt to her by these men…yet why was she with them? What kind of sorcery was this? Every instinct told him this was unreal, yet clearly, she was there. Had this quest been unnecessary? Had she been alive all this time? But how? And why would she have stayed here if she could have come back to him?

The last time he saw her, she had been wearing white, and the shade of her skin had been exactly the same as the breath slipped from her. Now she wore more rudimentary clothes, ones of darker shades that would help hide her in these natural surroundings. Maxwell began to doubt the truth of the world. Had all this been some kind of enchantment placed upon him? Had this all been false from the beginning?

The grip on his sword went weak as he stood there, as though he was at the eye of the storm and the rest of it went thundering around him.

“Maxwell, what are ye daeing? Fight, damn ye. Fight!” Hilda cried out to him, but Maxwell wasn’t paying attention. Her voice was far away. Everything seemed far away except his beloved Bea. Somehow she had returned.

There weren’t many things that could render Maxwell impotent in a fight. Many other warriors whose deeds of strength were noted across the Highlands had challenged him to a duel, and they had all left shaking their heads, wondering how a man like him was ever going to be defeated. But as tall as Maxwell was, as powerful as he was, he still had a heart like any other man. It was this that had been struck, and the tide of the battle shifted dramatically. Given the sight of Bea, Maxwell could not focus on anything else. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he had, but she was still so far away.

Bellowed pleas were ringing in his ears as people around him urged him to fight, but he lacked the willpower to raise his sword again. All he could think about was Bea.

As the warriors around him saw Maxwell begin to waver, they lost heart. If their great champion could lose his fight like this, then what chance did they have? The enemy began to charge forward, sensing that they had an advantage they should not waste. Hilda cried for a retreat, but still, Maxwell stood there motionless, looking at the ghost of his wife.

The enemy came around him. His hands were bound, his sword taken from him. He did nothing to resist. Maxwell had never considered himself a meek person, and if anyone had been told that he would have been subdued by the enemy so easily, none would have believed the tale. Yet it happened. Maxwell was taken prisoner, and none of the others managed to retreat quickly enough to escape. Hilda screamed in pain as her hands were dragged behind her back, and she was hauled to a cage. The rest of the warriors were sullen. They were bruised and beaten, and their great plan had failed. Their gambit had been resisted, and all eyes were upon Maxwell. It was because of him that they had lost the day. It was because of him that they had failed.

But the battle was the last thing on Maxwell’s mind. All he could think about was his wife. He scanned the area to try and see her again, but she had disappeared from sight. The image of her had been as clear as anything, yet now he wondered if it had been a trick his mind had played on him, and that was the worse thing of all. He didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if he had lost this battle because of a hallucination. He sank to the ground and drew his knees into his chest, hanging his head, occasionally peeking out to try and steal a glimpse of Bea. She had been there, he was sure of it, but if she had been, then why wasn’t she coming to speak to him? Why wasn’t she coming to tell him what had happened?