Page 52 of Bound to a Highland Beast
The man was quick to parry the blow, speed making up for his lack of great strength. Tiernan, with his bulky frame, didn’t move with such ease but that didn’t stop him from attacking once again swiftly afterwards, giving his opponent little time to recover from the first blow. This time, the other man didn’t manage to parry, but he still managed to avoid the sharp edge of Tiernan’s blade, twisting to the side just in time to protect himself.
Tiernan’s breath came out in short, labored puffs, fogging the air in front of his lips. The clang of swords, the screams of men around him, the scent of blood in the air—it all served to disorient him, his senses heightened and his mind on high alert. Still in his periphery, he kept looking for Isabeau, trying to find a trace of her that would reassure him she was unharmed, only to find none. Where had she gone? Was she safe? Could she have already fallen into the hands of the enemy?
Nay… nay, it cannae be. Beag would have come tae me, he would have used her tae bargain.
The man’s attack was one Tiernan had not foreseen, distracted as he was by everything else. He managed to stop his sword just in time, using his blade as a guard over his head, the vibrations from the impact reverberating up the bones of his forearm. Sweat dripped from his brow and coated his back, his tunic clinging uncomfortably to his skin. His heart raced and his chest heaved with every breath, the fight draining him quickly.
He had to kill that man before he became too tired for it. He had to put an end to it before he and Constantine were too tired to fight Beag’s men, before they were subdued.
Another ambitious strike from his opponent caught Tiernan across the arm, this time the blade connecting with skin just enough to cut him. Tiernan pulled back with a hiss, the sting of the cut spreading quickly over his arm and making his grip on his sword falter for just a moment. Taking a few steps back, Tiernan put some space between him and the man, but that only served to make the other bolder, thinking he now had the upper hand.
It worked just as well for Tiernan. The more confident his opponent was he could win, the more mistakes he was bound to make.
Adjusting his grip on the sword, Tiernan waited for the next attack. It didn’t take long for the other man to rush towards him once more, now more self-assured than ever, the glint in his dark eyes showing of a manic glee in the face of danger. The first strike was one Tiernan easily deflected, throwing the man back a few paces, only for him to soon strike again. His face splitinto a grin. His eyes, wide and bright, stayed firmly on Tiernan, but Tiernan’s gaze didn’t waver either. He did not search for Isabeau. He did not allow himself a moment of distraction, knowing it could very well prove fatal.
Instead, he watched, time seemingly slowing down as his opponent approached with quick, silent footsteps and a cry torn straight out of his throat. This time, Tiernan saw the feint before it happened—the man heading towards his left before switching abruptly and aiming right. And seeing it, Tiernan delivered his own attack, a strike that caught the man across the shoulder, cutting him down to his chest.
Blood fountained out of the wound, soiling Tiernan’s face and clothes. He watched as the man collapsed, first to his knees on the ground, then onto his back, his eyes now wide from the shock of the injury.
As much death as Tiernan had seen, as much devastation, he would never get used to it—that feeling of repulsion, that roiling nausea that coursed through him every time he saw the light of life leave the eyes of a man in battle. He could never get used to the stench of blood, the way it coated his palms, sickeningly tacky and metallic, or the way it seemed to seep into everything around him—even the very air.
Stepping back from the man, Tiernan looked for his next opponent, the next man to strike down, the next target. It was then that he heard it, a familiar scream that made him whip his head to the side, eyes desperately searching for its source.
“Tiernan!”
Isabeau called his name again and again, her voice hoarse and filled with terror. It took Tiernan a few moments to spot her as two men were trying to drag her away from the battlefield as she struggled against them, thrashing in their hold. No matter how much she kicked at them, though, no matter how much she stretched out her arms, trying to reach Tiernan in vain, they would not let go of her. She was entirely in their mercy, kicking and screaming but held securely in their grasp.
Tiernan pushed his way through the crowd, not engaging with any of the men near him. Even as they approached, he simply shoved them off or parried their blows with a grunt before moving forward, his gaze fixed on Isabeau. He couldn’t let anyone take her away from him; he couldn’t let anyone get in his way or delay him.
Next to him, the battle still raged. In the distance, Constantine fought two of Beag’s men at once, striking them both with such precision and ease that those surrounding him hesitated to attack. Even together, they were no match for his strength, for his skill, but Tiernan ignored that, too. If the time came when he would have to fight Constantine himself, he would make his peace with the possibility that he could die then. For now, he had to stay alive for Isabeau.
“Let her go!” he roared as he finally reached the men, swinging his sword in his hand to flick off the blood coating the blade. When they noticed him, they paused, glancing at each other, one of them slowly reaching for the blade he had sheathed.
Just as a flash of relief crossed Isabeau’s eyes, it quickly turned to despair once more the moment Beag stepped between her and Tiernan, blocking his view of her.
“If ye want her,” Beag said, “ye’ll have tae kill me first.”
And Tiernan, chest heaving, lungs heavy with the bloodied, burning air around him, had only one thing to say to him.
“Gladly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Terror gripped Isabeau like the rough hands of those men had. As the fight raged around her, she had done her best to stay hidden, tucked into the hollow of a large oak, curled up into a small ball. She had hoped that her drab, brown cloak would be enough to keep her hidden from prying eyes, to save her from the very thing that she now couldn’t escape—but it hadn’t been enough. One of those men had spotted her as she tried to burrow deeper into the tiny hole and had then marched over to her with his fellow solider pulling her out abruptly, their movements so forceful that they seemed to tear her arms right off her shoulders.
Pain exploded everywhere they touched her, and the more she fought them, the more she tried to escape their grip, the more painful it became. Neither man showed her any mercy. Neither man cared if she would end up bloody and bruised after their struggle, and that was when she knew Beag didn’t care about keeping her alive anymore.
He wants tae kill us both. He doesnae care about anythin’ else.
It was more personal than she had thought. Beag was looking for revenge—perhaps that was all he had always wanted and sending Tiernan to kill Constantine had been just that, a way to send him to an untimely and painful death. And now that he had the chance, he would kill both Constantine and Tiernan.
An’ me.
Isabeau didn’t know how she could have gotten so mixed up in this. Had she not been in the forge that day, had she stayed in the drawing room instead of seeking out Tiernan and those two daggers, she would have never ended up here, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a fight that was not hers to fight. But had she not gone to the forge that day, she also wouldn’t have gotten to know Tiernan. She wouldn’t have fallen for him; she wouldn’t have seen any of the real world.
She was a different woman because of this—because of him. She knew what it meant to love and be loved. She knew what it meant to live outside the curtain walls of the castle, where she was not protected but was free. If she had the chance, would she give all that up for her safety?
“Tiernan!” she called; hands outstretched even if he was too far to reach her. “Tiernan!”
