Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

B ruce was more tired than he had ever been. He longed for natural sleep, lying in the arms of his lover without anything to worry about the following day. He was done with war, done with combat, and could not wait for the predictable domesticity of a homely life with Esme as his wife.

But in order to get there, he must first fight Clyde. He had no desire to kill the laird’s son, but he would not hesitate to do it if events turned out that way.

By this time, news of the challenge had reached the beach village. The careworn fishermen, haddock smokers, shepherds, and net weavers were tramping up the hill to the cliffs, eager to see their oaths of revenge come home to roost.

A lone woman, a stranger, came with the beach villagers. With her slender height and serenely beautiful face, she stood out from the crowd. The laird noticed the woman. She looked too noble and highborn to be approachable, so he called one of his men to fetch the elder fisherman to come and speak to him.

The elderly fisherman came and stood trembling next to him, his cap in his hand. “Aye, Laird, how might I help ye?”

Leaning his elbow on the armrest of the high-backed chair that had been brought out to the forecourt, Laird McFletcher pointed his finger over to the woman. “Tell me, who is the stranger who came over the island with you? The elegantly dressed woman with the face like one of those angels painted on the wood screens of the kirks on the mainland.”

The fisherman did not have to look over to the person the laird was referring to—he already knew. “The lady came over on the boat from the mainland yesterday evening, Laird. When we asked her what duties brought her to bide a while on such a barren wee island, she replied that it was her duty to witness certain things and that she would nae leave until she had seen it with her own eyes.”

The laird shook his head with confusion. “That tells me everything—and nothing! What is her occupation?”

“She is a healer, Laird.” The fisherman stepped back when the laird dismissed him.

Mackenzie moved closer to the high-backed chair. “Father, I will not be pleased if the Highlander leaves me. It would not look good when I have to tell the story to other suitors when they step up to take his place.”

“What do you mean?” The Laird stared at his daughter with beady eyes. He was proud of her cold and calculating heart but was realistic enough to see that there was no way Mackenzie’s pale prettiness could compare to the fiery beauty of the beach village orphan; Esme, the slave girl.

“It hurts my pride that he left me for another. I could only bear the shame of Bruce casting me aside if he were to die.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that he is the great Bear Warrior, Mackenzie? It is not Bruce’s fate to die by a man’s hand. I suggest you pray for your brother’s sake that the Highlander takes pity on Clyde and spares his life. As great as you believe yourselves to be, at the end of the day both you and Clyde are ordinary people playing with some of the strongest magic you do not even understand.”

“And what strange magic is that?” Mackenzie snapped back.

Laird McFletcher sighed. “I think we are dealing with the magic of love. It is not to be trifled with. In the last few days, I have seen the Bear go from being a warrior with a liking for battle and turning into a man with a mission. Clyde and you were insolent to try and change that.”

“And would it change your mind if I was to tell you that I was pregnant with his child while the Highlander went off to woo another woman?”

The laird shot his daughter a scornful look. “No, it would not. If you have been so careless with your lovers as to let them plant a seed in your belly, I wash my hands of you. You are too young to know this, but no tales are told about the Eternal Highlanders’ children . The immortal warriors stand alone. And that is how it should be. They cannot live forever and also breed. There are no Sterlings’ sons or daughters out there, believe me.”

The tall woman who had arrived with the beach villagers overheard this. “And what of the first Laird Sterling? The clan had to start from somewhere, did they nae?”

The laird was too interested in the woman to be angry that she had not waited for an introduction. “Maybe the Immortal Brethren sprang from the rocks of the rugged Highland mountains, mistress? You never know.”

The woman smiled charmingly and curtsied. “Perhaps. My name is Agnes, Laird. I am always here at the end.”

He did not have the chance to ask her to what end she was talking about. Clyde had donned a pair of leather breeks and honed his sword into a keen edge. Stepping into the circle, he clanged the blade of his sword against his shield. He was shirtless, and his boots were tied tightly under his knees. Grease had been rubbed over his skin so that his opponent could not grip him or throw him.

With an almost weary resignation, a deep scowl marring his handsome face, Bruce stepped into the circle too. His black plaid was belted tightly around his midriff and leather boots tied under his knees. As he sized up Clyde’s physique by peering at him from under dark brows, Bruce used a leather thong to tie back his long black hair.

“Present your swords to the laird,” the comptroller ordered the two combatants. “And then state your case.”

Approaching the chair from different angles, Clyde and Bruce stayed well apart from one another as they bowed and withdrew their swords. Holding the blade in front of his face, Bruce bowed his head without taking his eyes off Clyde. “Laird, I would have walked away happily at any time since finding the lassie I have been searching for the last three years. But a fickle fate has kept me here long enough to repay yer hospitality with death. Cannae I offer ye a wergild and be done with this nonsense?”

“And what nonsense are you referring to, Highlander?” Clyde scoffed. “Would you call it nonsense when I skewer you like a wild boar?”

Bruce ignored him. “I would nae call it nonsense, actually. I would call it insanity for any man— any man —to think that he can touch me plighted lady and think he can get awa’ wi’ it.”

“You talk like a sane man, Bruce,” the laird replied. “But I know my son too well to think that he will be satisfied with gold. You will have to butt heads over this until there is a victor.”

Esme was standing on the edge of the crowd. Only she knew what Bruce had told her. The magic spell that had kept him alive for so long had been broken. He was no longer invincible.

Fortunately for the laird and Clyde though, Bruce had lost none of his skill with the sword. Going up against him was a fool’s errand. The Highlander was, and always would be, death incarnate.

The two men stepped into the circle created for them by all the bystanders. They did not bother with bows and salutes. Clyde was still sizing up his opponent when Bruce struck first. Lunging across the gap that divided them with his sword arm pulled back, he stabbed the wood of Clyde’s shield so hard that it splintered into fragments.

The crowd surrounding the combatants gasped. They had never seen such a feat of strength or speed before. It was as inhuman as they had been led to believe from all the stories. Unconcerned with their shock, Bruce stepped back.

“Go get another shield if ye want, Clyde. Or I can throw mine away too if that evens things up a wee bit.”

Laird McFletcher could see that his son was significantly unsettled by what had just happened. He knew that look on Clyde’s face. He had seen it before when he was a seafaring brigand raiding ships and coastal villages. It was the look of someone who could see their own death plotting out in front of them. “Throw away your shield, Bruce.” Laird McFletcher made the decision for his son.

Casually, as if it weighed no more than a sovereign, Bruce cast his shield into the crowd before squaring up to Clyde again. The laird’s son could not help himself from going cautiously. He did not like the idea of facing off against such brutal strength and speed at all, but his pride would not let him surrender.

It was a waiting game now, and no one in the crowd felt that Clyde was safe. Anna wept quietly next to the laird’s chair while Mackenzie stood with her lips pressed firmly together and her eyes narrowed.

The slender healer with the beautiful face went to stand next to Esme. “Ye dinnae fret for yer man’s safety?”

Esme looked at the woman. There was a twinkle in the lady’s eyes that she found herself attracted to. It made her feel as if she could trust her. “Lady, I have seen wondrous things happen to yon Highlander. He doesnae seem to fret aboot his safety over much, so why should I? But as his woman, I cannae like the idea of him standing up there to make himself a target.”

“And why is that?” The healer wanted to know.

Esme gestured around her. “Look at them, the bloody Fluga tribe. They dinnae belong on oor island. They had to slaughter everyone to be here, setting themselves up as oor laird and masters and making us slaves.”

“So why did ye stay here then?” the healer wanted to know. “What was stopping ye all from hitching a berth on the next merchant ship and leaving?”

“This is me home!” Esme was outraged, taking her eyes off the fight while she made her case. “The island doesnae belong to the Fluga—it belongs to us!”

The healer pointed to the crowd around them. “I see many island women with bairns from the Fluga men. And children standing together without worrying aboot who came to the island first. And where d’ye think Bruce will want to live once the two o’ ye are married? Will he be happy to stay here and accept Clyde’s angry stares for the rest of his life? Or will he take ye with him to the mainland to make yer home where Sterlings have lived for hundreds of years in the Highland mountains?”

Esme felt anger rising inside her. “Why must I be the one to move? If I leave, that means these wretched people have won!”

Agnes the healer shook her head. “They won ten years ago, Esme MacKenzie. It is you who has been too stubborn to accept it. Let go of yer wrath and move on with yer life. Count yer blessings and walk away from what makes hate rise in yer heart.”

Finally, Esme was able to see everything clearly. It was as if the scales had fallen from her eyes. Clyde and Bruce were fighting over her because she had not walked the line of truth. Her thirst for vengeance had caused all of this hatred to fester.

It was going hard for Clyde in the ring. The sweat was pushing through the grease on his skin and he was panting hard. Every time he ducked or tried to block a particularly vicious sword blow from Bruce, the rising sunlight would catch the flecks of sweat drops as they sprayed off Clyde’s body. Bruce was not even trying to kill the laird’s son. He was toying with the heavy man in the same way a mountain toys with someone trying to reach its peak.

Summoning up all of her courage, Esme stepped into the small circle where the men were fighting surrounded by the crowd of villagers. The healer was right. As Esme looked around at the sea of faces, she saw both cliffside and beachside dwellers standing side by side.

“Stop!” Holding up her hands, Esme went to stand between the two combatants. “I’m tired of fighting and squabbling.” Sighing long and deep, she moved next to Bruce to take his free hand. “It’s been ten years since me parents and family were tortured and murdered. For ten years I have carried the burden of their dying screams with me every moment of the day. But nothing will bring them back to me, and I…I dinnae think me living here with all these poisonous memories is a good idea. I want to move on. So all this,” Esme gestured around the circle, “must end now.”

Bruce waited for Clyde to throw down his weapon. The young man was staggering with fatigue, but still, he held onto his sword until his father commanded him to drop it. Only when Clyde cast aside his sword did Bruce step out of the ring of watchers. Pulling Esme behind him, he went to stand in front of the laird.

“We leave on the next tide.”

But before the laird could show some sign of agreement, Mackenzie dodged in front of the high-backed chair, trying to stab Esme with a sharp dagger. Bruce brought his fist down on the woman’s wrist after blocking the blow.

“Ye are so predictable, Mackenzie,” Bruce spat as the laird’s daughter fell to the ground, holding her aching wrist in her lap and screaming loudly. “Ye should learn some new tricks.”

“When we settled here, we used our old ways of violence to take possession of the land. In hindsight, that was unwise. It caused those who live here on the island to separate into two. That will end today. From now on, I want half my people to go and live at the beachside village—and I want half of those living by the sea to come and stay here, by the cliffs. But only if they want to. Our divisions must end going forward.”

That evening, when the tide was going out, a small boat left with it. In the boat sat Agnes and Esme, and the man pulling on the oars with ferocious strength was Bruce Sterling. Even in the twilight, the two women could see the few gray hairs threading through Bruce’s hair at the sides.

“How fast d’ye think he will age noo, Lady?” Esme asked Agnes.

“The magic of long life begins when an Immortal Warrior is in the prime of his life. Bruce will be nae more than two or three and thirty years auld at the very most. Ye both have a long and happy life together ahead of ye, just like normal folk.”

“I am happy with that,” Esme smiled as she watched the island fade into the mists behind her.