Page 65 of Scot of Deception
One of the Campbell soldiers attacked him from the left, while the other from the right, and Blaine ducked to avoid one blow while he parried the other. The third soldier looked for an opening in the fight, eager to join in, and Blaine did his best to keep himself shielded from him by staying behind the other two.
His breath came in short puffs, exertion quickly getting the better of him as he jumped and pirouetted, blocking blow after blow. All of his efforts were focused on defending himself; he didn’t have time to deliver an attack, let alone plan it.
How will I kill them all? I can only dae it if they’re distracted.
As if summoning it, distraction quickly followed. But rather than the soldiers being distracted, it was Blaine himself, his attention caught by a familiar scream right behind him.
His head whipped around to see Laird Campbell there, one hand grabbing Kathleen by the waist as the other pressed a dagger to her throat. Her green eyes were wide, terrified; her auburn hair tossed in the wind, and her pale skin was a sickly shade as the blood drained from her face. Even in the orange glow of the flames, she looked like a ghost, as though she was already devoid of life.
Had Kathleen’s life not been at stake, Blaine would have thrown himself at the man without a second thought, not sparing a moment to consider that he could lose his own life. But now, with three Campbell men at his back and Laird Campbell threatening Kathleen, he could do nothing but stand there uselessly, his sword hanging by his side.
“Drop yer sword,” Laird Campbell said firmly. “Drop it.”
It took Blaine a few moments to obey, but then he let his sword fall to the ground with a clatter. What other choice did he have? Maybe, as long as he did whatever Laird Campbell asked of him, then Kathleen would remain safe.
“Let her go,” Blaine said, swallowing in a dry throat. “She cannae dae anythin’ tae harm ye. Just let her go.”
“Why would I dae that?” Laird Campbell asked with a small frown. “Dae ye take me fer a fool?”
“I’ll dae anythin’,” Blaine offered.
“Nay!”
Though Kathleen had been docile until then, staying as still as she could with Laird Campbell’s blade against her neck, she now thrashed against him, trying to set herself free. Blaine watched in horror as Laird Campbell was one moment too late to pull his blade a little farther back, catching the skin of her throat just enough to cut a small, sharp line there.
“Stop movin’,” Laird Campbell grunted as he tightened his grip on Kathleen, trying to control her.
“Dinnae kill him!” Kathleen cried, her voice hoarse and desperate.
Blaine reached out for her, his hand stopping short of touching her. “It’s alright,” he promised. “It’s alright, Kathleen. I dinnae mind. I cannae think o’ a more worthy death.”
Tears streamed from Kathleen’s eyes. A sob wrenched itself from her chest and she shook her head wildly, as if she could dislodge the thought of Blaine dying itself from her head.
“An’ die ye will,” Laird Campbell said, his cold blue eyes piercing right through Blaine. “Ye’re surrounded by me men an’ I have the lassie. Nae matter what ye dae, I’ve won.”
“Ye willnae hurt her,” Blaine said through gritted teeth, rage bubbling up inside him. “Ye willnae hurt her or I?—”
“Or ye will what?” Laird Campbell taunted. “What dae ye think ye can dae here? I have nae use fer ye. Me men will kill ye.”
“Yer men have already tried tae kill me,” Blaine pointed out. “They can all try an’ see if they’ll succeed. An’ once they dinnae, I’ll come fer ye.”
That seemed to have the intended effect on Laird Campbell. With a grunt, he shoved Kathleen aside, and she stumbled away from him, far enough from danger that Blaine could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
“Then I’ll kill ye meself,” said Laird Campbell. “One less Jacobite in this world can only be a good thing.”
Ach… so this is what it’s all about.
Blaine was not one to keep track of which clans fought for which cause, considering he had more immediate problems to deal with most of the time—namely, where he would find some coin, some food, and some shelter. But Laird Campbell didn’t only want to defeat the Mackintoshes and the Stewarts—his goals stretched further than that.
He and Laird Campbell began to circle each other, blades at the ready. From the corner of his eye, Blaine could see Kathleen watching them both like a hawk, her hands clasped infront of her as if in prayer. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that everything would be alright, but he didn’t have the luxury of time.
Laird Campbell threw himself at Blaine with a cry, their blades meeting in the air between them. The blow was vicious, pain traveling up Blaine’s arm at the impact. His feet skidded against the ground, blood spraying up around him, and when he looked at Laird Campbell through their crossed blades, he saw nothing but cold, calculating precision in his gaze.
Pushing back, Blaine took a few steps to the side and the laird mirrored him, the two of them like a pair of wild animals on the prowl. Blaine watched him carefully, just like he had done with every other soldier he had fought—cataloguing his steps, observing his patterns, and analyzing the way he fought. The man was a seasoned warrior, but he was furious. When he attacked again, his movements were packed with strength but careless, as though he didn’t think much of Blaine and his efforts.
As their blades met again and again, the clangs echoing in the air around them, sweat dripped down Blaine’s forehead. His shirt stuck to his back, and every movement sent ripples of pain through his body. Still, he never once slowed down. He wasn’t fighting only for his life; he was fighting for Kathleen, for her safety, and that thought spurred him on.
One swipe of Laird Campbell’s blade caught Blaine across the arm, the sharp edge of it digging into his skin. Blood fountained from the wound, and from behind him, he heard the familiar sound of Kathleen’s gasp accompanied by a soft cry, but once again, he didn’t have the time to reassure her. As the stinging pain spread over his arm, Blaine planted his feet in the soil and then charged at the laird, his sword held high.
