Page 3 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
The tallest man took a step forward, finally ready to play his hand.
“Decided to give yer lads a hand now, have ye? Now that they’re bleedin’ out on the ground?” Caelan spat out.
The man was a coward.
“We will get ye in the end, Sinclair. Ye willnae rest.”
The giant lunged forward, swinging his sword straight at Caelen’s neck this time. If the blow landed, his strength would likely have chopped Caelan’s head straight off.
It was a firm strike, well-placed, but with too much preparation. Caelan could calculate the angle well in advance and simply ducked beneath the blade. He took advantage of the momentum behind the swing, which would spin the attacker’s body around, and swung his sword upwards against his torso. He skinned the man, causing him to stagger backward in pain and crumple to the ground.
“I’m nae done with ye yet,” he muttered, pulling a rope from his belt and moving to straddle his opponents.
He was taking at least one of them back to the castle to interrogate them. He wanted answers. He wanted to know who was sending all of these assassins after him.
But before he knew it, the three men did the same thing he had seen the assassins do every time he had them cornered.
He tried to stop them, to pull their arms back down by their sides, but they used the last ounce of energy they had to reach behind their ears and pull a small tincture, stopped with a cork. In one swift motion, they poured the liquid into their mouths, and in mere seconds, their eyes drooped and closed.
They had poisoned themselves.
“Argh!” Caelan groaned in defeat.
He may have been the victor, sitting surrounded by dead opponents with barely a scratch on him other than his boots, but the victory was pointless if he could not get any more information. He still did not know where these assassins were coming from or why, so they would keep coming.
Caelan rose and wiped his sword on his kilt before sliding it back into its sheath. He paced backward, shaking off the thrill of the attack and trying to quell his anger. He had survived another battle—another practice session, more than anything. But he wished for less practice at this stage of his life.
But who warned me of the fourth man?
The question came to his mind for the first time, now that he did not have to worry about staying alive. He looked around the clearing, searching for the source of that voice.
It was a woman’s voice, he was sure of it, so he was expecting to see someone small, hidden in the trees. Caelan considered whether this woman could be a threat to him. What was she doing in the forest by herself? She could have been working with these men to spy on his location, moving more quietly than they ever could. But no, he decided. If she wanted to hurt him, she could have just let the fourth assassin do the job. He would never have survived that attack unscathed if she hadn’t alerted him.
He owed her a thank you, he realised, and now he was intrigued.
He wandered to the forest’s edge, peering closely but seeing no one. He listened carefully but heard no twigs snap underfoot. Not even a breath.
“Where are ye, lass?” he called. “I owe ye me thanks.”
But there was no answer, no stir, not a movement to be spotted or heard.
“I’m nae goin’ to hurt ye. Reveal yerself.”
Still nothing.
He grew slightly annoyed.
She obviously meant him no harm if she had saved him. Surely, she would have let him die if she thought he would harm her.
His eyes scanned the trees, the rocks, the grass.
“Dinnae make me hunt ye, lass.”
CHAPTERTHREE
Rosaline watched him pace the tree line, peering deeply through the forest, searching for her. He rose high and crouched low, taking his time but scanning methodically—clearly something he had done before. She held her breath and stayed as still as possible.
His voice was enchanting, strong but warm. It was familiar, an accent from not too far away. How had she not encountered this man before?
