Page 77 of Treachery in the Highlands
Kieran smiles with smug satisfaction as he winks at me, then hollers to the crowd."We shall never concede to the enemy!Why?Because's e Albannaich a th' annainn!"
Rachel presses her lips to my ear."That means 'we are Scots.'It's a battle rallying cry."
"No shit.I wouldn't have guessed."I know she grasped my sarcasm.Rachel is wicked smart.
The Scots raise their weapons, shouting so loudly that I can't hear my own thoughts.I whip out my dirk, ready to go.
And the battle commences.
Chaos erupts as the Scots charge forward, their battle cries echoing across the glen.I'm swept up in the tide of kilts and claymores, and my dirk feels pathetically small compared to the massive broadswords around me.But hey, size isn't everything, right?
Fulvio's goons open fire with their handguns and a solitary Tommy gun, the rapid staccato of bullets cutting through the air.I duck and weave, thanking my lucky stars for all those hours spent playing Fortnite.Who knew virtual battle royales would prepare me for actual combat?
Rachel's by my side, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and excitement.She mutters something in Gaelic that I'm pretty sure isn't appropriate for polite company, then hurls a fireball at the nearest gunman.The guy goes up like a roman candle, screaming and flailing.
"Nice trick," I shout over the din, my heart pounding like a jackhammer."Got any more where that came from?"
Rachel grins wickedly, her hair whipping in the wind."Aye, plenty.Watch and learn, outlander!"
She raises her hands, and suddenly the very earth trembles beneath our feet.The grass ripples like waves on a stormy sea, and several of Fulvio's men lose their footing, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.
Kieran charges past us, his massive claymore cleaving through the air with deadly precision.He's like a force of nature, all raw power and Highland fury.I watch in awe as he takes on three goons at once, his blade singing a lethal melody.
"Don't just stand there gawking!"Rachel yells, snapping me back to reality."Use that dirk of yours before someone mistakes you for a statue!"
Right, the dirk.I grip the handle tightly, my palms sweaty against the worn leather.A goon charges at me, his face twisted in a snarl.I dodge his wild swing and, before I can overthink it, plunge my dirk into his side.The blade slides in with sickening ease, and the man crumples to the ground with a gurgled cry.
My stomach lurches but I push through the nausea.Another attacker is already coming at me, this one wielding a wicked-looking knife.We dance around each other, feinting and jabbing.He's good, but I'm faster.I duck under his guard and slam the pommel of my dirk into his solar plexus.As he doubles over, gasping, I bring my knee up to connect with his face.
The goon drops like a sack of haggis, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride.Maybe I don't suck at this medieval combat thing after all.
But my moment of triumph is short-lived.A deafening crack splits the air, and I feel something whiz past my ear.The Tommy gun.I'd almost forgotten about that modern menace amid all this old-school sword swinging.
"Get down!"Rachel screams, tackling me to the ground just as another burst of gunfire tears through the space where I'd been standing.We roll together, like a human sandwich, and wind up with Rachel on top of me.For a split second, I forget we're in the middle of a life-or-death battle, distracted by the feel of her warm, soft body pressed to mine.
Rachel gives me a quick, hard kiss.Then she smirks and springs to her feet, dragging me up with her."Focus, Joey, would you?The fight isn't over yet."
She's right, of course.The battle rages on around us, a chaotic symphony of clashing steel, gunfire, and magical explosions.I spot Fulvio near the edge of the fray, barking orders to his remaining men.His eyes meet mine, and a cruel smile twists his lips.
"Time to end this," I snarl, gripping my dirk tighter."The mafia has no place in medieval Scotland."
Rachel nods, her face set with grim determination."Then we must stop them, aye?"
"Absolutely."I glance around to get a better lay of the land, but the smoke from the guns and the deafening clash of swords make it difficult."Listen, Rach, you should gather the women from as many clans as possible.Maybe they can help.They might even have some weapons, huh?The ones who don't have magic, that is."
"Oh, aye, Scots women are hardy.That was a brilliant idea, Joey."
While she races off to conscript the Scottish lasses, I charge toward Fulvio, weaving through the melee.The residual magics from Rachel's spells clear a path, sending enemies flying left and right.I deflect a sword strike with my dirk, feeling the shock reverberate up my arm.Damn, that hurt.
Fulvio sees me coming.He raises the Tommy gun, but before he can squeeze the trigger, a blur of tartan and fury barrels into him from the side.Kieran, his face splattered with blood and his eyes wild with battle rage, grapples with Fulvio for control of the weapon.
Is that Fulvio?Or one of his duplicates?
When Kieran thrusts his blade deep into the enforcer's gut, the guy disintegrates into a pile of black sludge.Okay, that must have been a duplicate.
I seize the opportunity, sprinting toward another fake Fulvio.The creep manages to wrench the gun free, but before he can bring it to bear, I'm on him.My dirk flashes in the fading light as I slash at his gun hand.He howls in pain, the Tommy gun clattering to the ground.
Kieran doesn't waste a second.He scoops up the fallen weapon."I reckon you know what to do with this better than I do."
