Highlander's Touch (20 page)

The Butcher had been undefeated until now. Probably because the anger he had at the world overshadowed his foes’ own wills to live. Or because he was vicious enough and trained enough to see his will be done.

But not with Ewan. It had only been a matter of time before Ewan found him and showed him that there was another with more power and skill to take him down.

’Twas a simple fact—Ewan was the better warrior. To that end, he couldn’t help but taunt his foe.

“What is your true name, Butcher? What name shall we call ye when we send prayers to God that he doesn’t receive ye at his pearly gates?”

“Ye needn’t bother as I am Death and I have come for ye.”

Ewan gave a slight shake of his head. The man would be in denial until the end.

With a twist and duck, and quick jab to the right, Ewan leapt into the air and used the full force of his power to kick the Butcher square in the chest.

The foul-mouthed bastard stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. He’d not expected to be overpowered by Ewan. Doubt began to cloud his eyes. This only made Ewan’s smile widen.

The arsehole would be dead within the next few minutes.

Seeing his end nearing, the Butcher opened his mouth spewing insults and threats. “The MacDonald will only send another in my place. Ye get rid of me, expect several more, bigger, stronger and badder than I am.”

Ewan laughed at the man. “Ye greatly underestimate the Grants. We’ll never surrender. And we fight a hell of a lot better than ye cock-sucking MacDonalds. ’Tis why your chief has to continue to send imbeciles like yourself—because ye never triumph.”

Butcher roared his rage coming violently toward Ewan with slashing strokes meant to kill. Though each swipe of his sword sent a waft of air across Ewan’s face and limbs, the man’s weapon never connected. Used to the way the Butcher swung and struck, Ewan was quick, sidestepping, ducking and blocking. When the Butcher appeared to tire, that’s when Ewan went on the offensive. He lunged forward, ready to strike the man down. He’d figured out his weak spots and took advantage of it. He arced his sword down on the left, putting as much power into it as he could muster. When Butcher blocked the blow, his teeth gritting and sweat pouring from his face, Ewan stabbed his dagger with his right hand into the man’s ribs, piercing his heart.

Butcher’s mouth fell open, his eyes widened in disbelief and a small sound of surprise blew past his whitened lips.

“I win,” Ewan said through bared teeth.

He yanked his dagger from the man’s body, wiping the excess blood on the front of the bastard’s shirt, and then pushed him to the ground.

The Butcher gurgled as he fell backward, his gaze at the sky. He clutched at the spreading stain on his shirt, and then stared angrily at Ewan. Despite his injuries, the Butcher still managed to hold his sword out.

Normally, a dying man trying to protect himself until his final breath—enemy or no—would have received Ewan’s mercy. But not this day. Ewan knocked the Butcher’s sword from his weakened hand and pressed his own blade to the vile man’s throat.

“Ye should have stayed north.”

With both hands on the hilt, he raised his sword and brought it down hard on the man’s neck, severing his head. Blood spurted, mixing with the earth. He only wished he could see the bastard’s soul as it sank down to the very depths of hell.

Gripping the head by the hair, he pulled it from the ground, intent on putting it in a bag and sending it back to the northern isles where the MacDonald clan hailed. But when he did, he happened to look up and see that Shona was no longer behind the tree where she’d crawled.

“Shona?” he said, panic rising.

Had someone come up behind her and taken her while he was so intent on fighting the Butcher?

Ewan ran the several yards toward the camp, finding every one of his men either wiping their swords, dragging the enemy bodies to a pile or partaking in the deceased party’s bounty. The women who were being raped when they’d arrived were huddled together with Grant plaids around their shoulders and Baodan was handing them a waterskin, hopefully filled with whisky.

A quick glance did not turn up Shona. “Has anyone seen the fiery-haired lass? Shona?”

He hated the panic in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He was deathly afraid of what could have happened to her.

Baodan strode toward him. “Was she here?” Then he glanced down at the head still clutched in Ewan’s bloody hand. “Is that him?”

“Aye.” Ewan thrust the head toward Baodan. “Wrap it up. We’ll bring it to Laird Grant. He’ll want to see for himself.”

Baodan took the head. “Aye, Captain.”

Ewan whirled from the group of men and doubled back to where he’d fought the Butcher. He searched for signs of Shona by the tree, but in the dark it was hard to see much of anything. He dropped to his knees, looking at her prints carefully and then trying to see if he could follow them.

A sound at his back had him leaping to his feet, but all he could see where the shadows of trees and the glowing eyes of an owl not far above him.

“Shona!” His voice broke with emotion. Where
was
she? “Shona!”

“EWAN, I am here…”

Shona stumbled out from behind a tree she’d run to while Ewan had been fighting the horrible devil. Though she’d not been in imminent danger in the place she’d first sought refuge, the sounds of the fighting in the camp behind her combined with the sight of Ewan fighting for his life proved too much. She’d had to run. Had to go to a place where she felt safer. A place where she’d not be attacked by any of the Butcher’s vile crew should they escape any of Ewan’s men, and a place where she couldn’t see the Butcher hurt Ewan.

Every slice on his skin, she’d felt bone deep.

“Oh, god, Shona!” Ewan ran toward her, arms outstretched. “I’m so glad ye’re safe. I’m sorry for those wretched things I said, I meant none of it.”

Still shaking, she grabbed hold of him for balance. “I know. I know.”

The moon penetrated the trees and shone down on Ewan in silver strips of light, illuminating his figure. Shivering, she tried to ignore the blood on his clothes and skin, but it was deeply ingrained within her to search for signs of injury.

“Are ye hurt?” She raked her gaze over him, not able to decipher if he was wounded in the dark.

There was so much blood…

“Naught but a scratch, love.” He unpinned his plaid, wrenched off his shirt and wiped the blood from his hands onto the fabric before discarding it on the ground. “See?” He turned in a circle for her inspection.

All she could see was that his bandages were clean and he didn’t appear to be in any danger of dying. A long breath escaped her and then the shaking worsened. First in her legs and then her arms, her hands. She wobbled, in danger of collapsing.

Ewan tugged her closer into his arms. “Och, love, everything will be well now.” Doubt crowded his tone.

Shona laid her head against his chest, letting the warmth of him seep into her cold bones. She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling safe at last. The past several hours had been hell. And thank god the Grant warriors had arrived in time, else the Butcher would have made good on his threat to penetrate her in more ways than one.

“Are ye all right, lass? How did he hurt ye?” Ewan’s doubt was replaced with fear. He cupped the sides of her face and searched her gaze.

“My head hurts, and my wrists and ankles, but the rest of me will heal.” She breathed in his scent, letting it wrap its way around her, cocooning her in a safety net that was all Ewan. Her trembling started to subside and the chills racking her slowed.

“
Mo chridhe
, I am so sorry. I should not have left ye.” The guilt and regret in his tone struck her in the center of her heart.

Shona pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the subtle thump of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “But ye had to,” she said. “I do not hold it against ye.”

He pressed kisses to her cheeks and forehead, breathing her in. “I should have insisted that ye come with me.”

“To the castle? Nay, I canna,” she said, shaking her head against his chest.

“Is this about your husband?”

Shona pulled away from him, gazing into his eyes. “Husband?” She’d told him once before in his fevered state that there was no husband, but he must not have remembered. That made sense. The things he’d said to her before he’d stormed off, his angry reaction. He’d thought she was a woman taken. “I have no husband.”

Ewan gripped her upper arms, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Shona smiled weakly at his disbelief. She could have been offended, could have been angry that he would jump to that conclusion, but she wasn’t. What woman
would
be out in the woods by herself with no husband?

“I have no husband.”

“Were ye widowed?”

That
she didn’t know. She could have been before coming to Gealach, but it didn’t matter now. She’d left that strange, distant and unknown life behind.

Choosing to deny anything in her past, she said, “Nay.”

Ewan’s eyes squinted as he soaked in her answer. “What of the man’s things I saw at your cottage?”

“They belonged to Rory. He was… my friend.”

“Your friend?” Ewan looked at her skeptically. “Not your lover?”

“Aye. He rescued me in the wood some years before and he helped me. We were never lovers.”

“What happened to him?” Ewan unfortunately sounded like he knew what befell Rory.

“He disappeared…” She shook her head and chewed her lip afraid to ask but forging ahead. “Do ye know something?”

“Och, love, I—”

But they were interrupted by a large warrior looking just as bloody as Ewan, though not seeming to suffer from any injuries either.

“Captain, shall we make a camp or light torches and ride back to Castle Gealach?”

Ewan glanced back at Shona. “Light the torches. I’ll not stay another moment where these blackguards made camp.”

“But, Ewan, I—” Shona started.

He cut her off with a curt shake of his head. “Ye’re coming with me, lass. I hate to be the bearer of such news, but your home is gone. Your animals…”

Shona closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong. “I know. I saw. I…”

“Ye’ll come back to the castle with me.” His voice held no room for argument.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. She was going to argue anyway. “But I canna.”

“Why, woman?” Frustration crinkled the corners of his eyes. “There is nothing left for ye here. Ye have no place to go. I’m offering ye something greater than what ye have.”

She tried not to feel angry at his choice of words. “The people, they… dinna trust me.” Where
would
she go? Wherever it was, she’d have to leave Ewan behind, the thought in itself painful.

“I have already spoken to his lairdship. He has approved of ye coming to the castle. He says ye can be the castle healer.”

The news was startling. Did this mean…? Could it possibly be that Ewan had come back in search of her, not just the Butcher and his men? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought and hope bloomed in her chest.

“Do ye…” She trailed off and took a deep breath, summoning the courage to ask. “Do ye want me to come to the castle? To live there?”

“Lass, I want so much—”

Behind them the man returned and cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Captain, the men have loaded the lasses we found onto the MacDonald horses as well as all bounty. Torches have been lit. We are ready to depart when ye give the order.”

“We come anon.” Ewan glanced at Shona, studying her. “Are ye ready, lass? Ye can start anew.”

Starting anew only five years after she’d done so did not appeal to her.

“Nay, I will not start over again,” she said. “This is but another path in the road of my life. I will continue on.”

Ewan held out his hand. “I hope we can continue on
together
.”

A warm glow flowed through Shona. “Aye, ’haps we can.” Was he offering to her what Rory had, or was it something deeper?