Page 58 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
Marcus nodded, his eyes fierce. “Aye. What’s the move?”
Nicholas looked back at Erica, her face lit by the flames, fierce despite the ropes on her wrists. “We get her out—tonight. Quiet and fast. And if we’re lucky, she’ll be the one to tear Leo’s lies apart and stop a clan war between us.”
He rose slowly and signaled for Marcus to fall back. It was time to set the trap and strike, but now—now there was more than rescue at stake. Now, it was justice.
Marcus nudged Nicholas with the back of his hand. “Now or never, laird. The sun’ll be risin’ afore long.”
Nicholas gave a sharp nod, lifting his bow with steady hands. He drew the string back, eyes fixed on a tree deep in the woods, and released the arrow. It flew fast and struck the bark with a dull thud.
At once, the shadows stirred. From the dense forest, soft rustling spread like a wave. Dark figures crept forward—O’Donnell assassins, faces cloaked, blades drawn. They moved with practiced grace, knocking out the two inattentive guards before either could raise a shout.
The rest of the O’Donnell men, crouched low behind thick brush, waited and watched. The camp remained unaware, the men still dozing near smoldering coals. Nicholas could feel the tension stretch tight in his chest. He raised one hand, signaling them forward.
Silent as death, the O’Donnell soldiers moved into position. They hovered like wraiths over sleeping bodies, blades gleaming faintly in the firelight. Nicholas and Marcus stayed close, eyes sharp, steps measured. Every breath was drawn with care.
Then came the command—low and firm from Nicholas’s lips. “Now.”
Steel flashed. The O’Donnell men surged as one, overwhelming the camp with brutal precision. Shouts rang out too late asMcLaren warriors scrambled from sleep, confused and half-dressed.
Nicholas slammed the hilt of his sword into the jaw of a rising man, knocking him out cold, then turned and blocked another’s swing. He fought like a storm—controlled and ruthless. Marcus was beside him, back-to-back, cutting through the chaos.
Cries of pain and alarm echoed through the clearing. Surprise had done its work.
O'Donnell men knocked out most of the McLaren men and were quick to tie them. Only a few sustained bloody injuries to the legs, designed to make the men unable to fight, but not kill them. Nicholas had been stern about these orders; only kill a man in self-defense, otherwise tie them up.
Half the McLaren camp was disarmed before they could find their boots. The rest yielded fast, dropping weapons as O’Donnell steel met their throats.
“Secure them!” Nicholas barked, pushing a groaning fighter to the ground.
The men obeyed, binding wrists and pulling captives to the center of camp. Nicholas’s eyes swept the scene and saw Leo was untying Erica from the wagon.
"Get away from her," Nicholas shouted as he ran to them through the smoke of the smoldering camp, sword clenched in his grip.
Across the chaos stood Leo Rankin, bloodied but smirking, a wicked gleam in his eye. "She's me sister. I own her!"
The men had cleared around them as if instinct knew what was to come. Nicholas didn’t waste breath on pleasantries. "Stand back. This one's mine," he ordered his men.
“Alexandra asked me to bring Erica back to her,” Nicholas said, voice low and steady. “And I’ll be doin’ just that. Ye should give her to me now… before ye lose yer head.”
Leo scoffed, lifting his blade and circling slowly. “Ye always were the sentimental kind. But I think I’ll keep the lass, Nicholas. And after I’ve killed ye, I’ll go find Alexandra… I’ll enjoy breakin’ her—spirit first, then her body.”
Rage surged through Nicholas like fire catching dry grass. He lunged first, blades clashing, steel ringing in the dark. Sparks flared as their swords locked, and they shoved against each other with brute strength. Nicholas gritted his teeth and shoved Leo back.
Leo recovered fast, swinging wide and catching Nicholas across the arm. Nicholas staggered, blood soaking his sleeve, but he stayed upright.
“That all ye’ve got?” Leo taunted, circling again. “Ye’re weak, O’Donnell. Always hidin’ behind that clan and title.”
Nicholas roared and rushed forward, striking with wild fury, his blade carving through the air. Blow after blow, the two men danced between fury and death, their boots kicking up ash and dust. Leo ducked and drove his elbow into Nicholas’s ribs, knocking the wind from him. Nicholas dropped to one knee.
Leo kicked him down and stood over him, breathing hard. “She’ll weep when she sees yer corpse,” he sneered. “Then I’ll put her in chains next to Erica and see how long before she begs.”
That was the last straw.
With a cry born from fury and love, Nicholas twisted and swept Leo’s feet from under him. The man crashed down, and Nicholas climbed atop him, fists and blade colliding with raw, brutal force. They rolled once, twice—then Nicholas gained the upper hand.
He drove his dirk clean through Leo’s gut. Leo gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.
Nicholas leaned close, his voice cold and final. “That was Alexandra. Ye'll never touch her."
