Page 89 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
“Is that so?” Dunnet asked. “What of Capt—”
“Dead,” Edward said, bluntly.
His father’s head jerked up at this piece of information, but Edward held up his hand to forestall any questions.
“I shall tell ye of it when I return,” he said, and his tone brooked no argument. “First, I want to make sure that none of our lads turns from warrior to murderer. I’ll nae have any MacQuarries clansmen cuttin’ down those who are runnin’ away, injured or have surrendered.”
The Laird looked at his son. There was a mixture of wonder and pride in Edward’s father’s eyes.
“Aye,” he said. “Decidedly spoken like a true Highland Laird. Ye shall make this clan mighty proud one day, lad.”
Edward nodded his thanks. He turned back to Charlotte, crouching down next to her and taking her trembling hands in one of his. The young woman was shaking. Her lips were bloodless and as pale as her skin.
“Sassenach,” Edward said, his gentle voice contrasting weirdly with the din of fighting that still pervaded the atmosphere.
Charlotte looked up at Edward. Her forget-me-not blue eyes were huge in her pretty face. Edward brushed away some clinging strands of dark curly hair from the corner of her mouth.
“Sassenach,” Edward said again, “I’ve got to go and make sure that me men do nae get carried away and swept up in the madness of battle, ye ken?”
Charlotte made no answer, but tears filled her eyes and she clutched at Edward’s sleeve.
So this is the life of a Laird, maybe? No longer are decisions simply about choosin’ between what is right and wrong, but between what one would like to do and what one has to do.
“I’ll nae be long, Sassenach,” he said. “Dunnet will keep ye safe, as will me faither. Is that nae right, yer Lairdship?”
“Well, I—” the Laird began.
“After all ye have been through,” Edward said, staring pointedly at his father over Charlotte’s head, “and what ye did back there against yer...Well, I think it’s the least we can do. ‘Specially considerin’ how high a regard I have fer ye.”
The Laird of the MacQuarries inclined his head.
Charlotte looked up at Edward.
“High regard?” she asked.
For a man who was streaked with the blood of other men and who had almost been killed only a short time before, it was odd that Edward only now feltreallyflustered. He leaned in close and whispered in her Charlotte’s ear.
“I love ye, Sassenach. Ye are safe now. Ye are one o’ us, if that’s what ye would like.”
Then, he got to his feet, wincing at the many lacerations that he had suffered at the hands of Captain Bolton.
“This blood feud has run long enough,” he said. “It’s time it was done with.”
* * *
Charlotte and Edward rode off to one side of the column of Highlanders, as what remained of the MacQuarrie army made their way slowly back towards MacQuarrie Castle.
“So, it is done?” Charlotte asked.
In speaking the words, Charlotte realized that she had not spoken for what must have been hours.
Edward turned his head from where he had been looking west, out towards the lowering sun. He had not pushed her to speak in anyway, and Charlotte was thankful for that. Her head was a swirling vortex of emotions and feelings and memories.
“Aye, lass,” he said. “Tis over. The feud died wi’ yer faither. He has paid fer what he did to us. Paid wi’ all that he had and all that he ever would have.”
They lapsed into silence. The background sounds to the Highlander convoy making its way back to the castle were far more pleasant than the din that had enveloped the battle. The tramping of hundreds of feet down the dirt road, the occasional burst of raucous laughter and, every now and again, the soaring note of bagpipes were the sorts of things that disturbed the quiet of the Scottish dusk now.
In true Scottish fashion, one man’s voice suddenly raised up in song, and started to sing—with a voice that absolutely dripped with irony—a song aimed at the King, in whose name Captain Bolton had declared war on the MacQuarries.
