Chapter 31

Bran tightened his fingers around his sword and bared his teeth at the three men. They were the ones who had threatened to separate him from Idalia forever. He could not find August, and his anger needed to be channeled somewhere. He watched them and smiled delightedly.

Bran could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he watched the soldiers circle him. He loathed them. He had always hated them and how much they had enjoyed the killing.

He flexed his arm, working away some of the stiffness in his joints. He felt pain in a million places, and his vision was blurred from all the blows that had been rained on him. He knew he was running on sheer determination, but he had channeled all his energy into finding and killing August.

Energy pumped through Bran, and he forgot about his pain and fatigue. "Cowards," he spat. "Took three of ye and a sneak attack tae bring me down before. Let's see how well ye fight when the footin' is fair."

"Can't you count? There's three of us, and one of you… well, whatever is left of you. You're a dead man walking, Bran. Really, was it so hard to follow orders?"

Bran spat on the floor. "I was done following your master a long time ago. Now, are we going tae fight? Or are we going tae stand and chat?"

"You seem to be in a hurry to meet your maker," Duncan teased, stepping forward. "Consider your wish granted."

Ross's grin melted into an angry frown, and thick veins showed on his neck. He was the first to charge at Bran, and his comrades followed slowly, trying to flank him. Bran stepped quickly to his right, sweeping his sword in that direction to prevent Campbell from advancing any further.

He brought his blade around quickly to parry Ross' strike. The blow was so heavy, it sent Bran skidding backwards. He had counted on that. Fighting any two swordsmen was difficult. Fighting three was something even the best of warriors tried to avoid. A number of things could go wrong, and the slightest mistake could spell death for Bran. He couldn't die, though; he had too much to live for.

As Bran had hoped, Ross abandoned the pincer maneuver that Campbell and Duncan were trying to implement and flew into a one-on-one battle against Bran. He rained blow after blow, and Bran did his best to deflect the blows, allowing them to come close enough without doing real damage.

Bran parried the swings easily, then rammed the hilt of his sword into Ross's exposed ribs. He heard a satisfying crack and knew he had completely smashed in several ribs. Ross wheezed loudly, his eyes wide with shock, and he fell on his knees, gasping for air.

Before Bran could deliver the death blow, Duncan and Campbell rushed at him, forcing him back into a defensive stance. He needed to find a way to incapacitate one of the others. His arm had started to burn furiously, and he knew he had to act quickly.

Thinking on his feet, he ducked under Duncan's wide sweep, and made a circular sweep of his own. Duncan was a faster fighter than Campbell and had managed to leap backwards as Bran's blade cut around. Campbell moved a bit slower and barely managed to block the attack with his own blade.

His stance was poor, though, and he stumbled off balance. Bran followed up quickly and kicked him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards. He feigned as if to follow up the attack on the falling Campbell, and Duncan rushed after him to defend his friend.

Bran pivoted instead and swung backwards, his blade zipping low across Duncan's torso. He collapsed face first in the ground, clearly dead.

Bran picked his sword and jogged towards the main battle, leaving one dead and two souls still breathing, hoping that would go some way to pay for his redemption.

The battle ground was littered with corpses, most of whom belonged to August's troops. Sadly, he saw his own men as well. Far too many. He thanked them silently for their sacrifice.

Bran scanned the battlefield for Tor or Dunn. He needed them to retreat immediately. He could see different pockets where the fighting continued furiously, and he found Dunn in the thick of it.

He ran towards him, sword held at the ready as he went. And then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He almost stumbled over a body in his shock. Climbing up the hill was August. And he had Idalia in front of him, with a knife held to her throat.

Bran felt his entire world shatter as he tore through the battlefield with renewed vigor. Fear squeezed his throat shut, and he could hear his heart thundering in his chest. Bran got to Dunn and pulled him away from the fighting, his eyes wide with fear.

"August has her!" Bran yelled at Dunn, pointing towards the slope. Dunn followed his eyes, then pulled two men from the fighting. Together, they ran towards the base of the hill, where they found Andrew. Bran glared at Andrew, and Andrew looked away, clearly ashamed.

"August!" Bran yelled, climbing the hill. "Hurt her at the risk of losing yer life."

"That's as far as you come, McLeod," August replied, grinning. "All of this… just for one woman? If only her father had given me what I wanted all those years ago, we would all have been saved from a world of problems." August turned to Idalia. "Your parents would have still been alive, for one."

"But no. They chose instead to flee to their deaths. All this death… just for one woman?" August spat out the words bitterly. He held Idalia's face roughly and turned her to face him. "I'm going to make sure I use you to make up for all the lives that have been lost so far for your sake. I do hope you are worth it. You're going to spend the rest of your life as my property. You should have come to me when I was being nice about it."

Idalia spat in August's face, and he raised a hand to strike her in annoyance.

"Dinnae ye dare!" Bran shouted, rushing up the hill.

August pulled Idalia close again and pressed the knife to her neck, a bright red line of blood flowing out from the tip of the blade on her skin. Idalia whimpered quietly, and Bran froze in his tracks. The sight of the blood filled him with fear, and it occurred to him that he could lose Idalia in a moment.

"There, there," August said. "Come now. You really don't want to do anything rash, Bran. I won't hesitate to take her life. So, you stay right where you are. All of you. Take your men and leave. Or I will murder her, your daughter, and everyone else you have ever loved."

August continued backwards, picking his steps carefully up the hill towards escape, and Bran watched him go, helplessly. Was this how it ended? Was he to start another search for Idalia after he had come so close to being with her? He doubted August was going to be as patient with Idalia as he had been in the past.

As Bran watched them, all of a sudden, he saw August cough up a mouthful of blood. Bran, confused, walked towards the pair. August's eyes bulged with shock and confusion. He turned around, and Bran saw Tor standing behind him, with his sword buried in August's back.

The sight filled Bran with a joy so overwhelming, he sank to his knees. Idalia jumped out of August's slackened grip and ran down the hill towards Bran, who opened his arms to catch her. He held her tight and fought back the tears that threatened to burst out of his eyes. "Oh Idalia. I was so scared."

August grabbed the sword blade poking out of his chest and staggered as he turned to face Tor fully. "You would injure a man from behind? Where lies your honor?"

Tor stepped towards August. "I have nae honor for a man as shameless and evil as ye. But seeing how ye have requested an honorable death…" Tor slid his dagger from his belt, and without preamble, slashed August's throat. August fell to his knees, clutching his throat, then fell sideways to the floor.

Bran turned towards the battle and saw that the fighting had paused, and all eyes watched silently. "Yer leader is dead! Would ye continue fightin' and die for nothin'?"

The gypsy soldiers backed off, one by one, and then took off towards the far hills en masse. The Scotsmen cheered wildly and made to chase the fleeing enemies.

"Nay!" Bran bellowed to the soldiers. "Let them go. We have lost enough good men today. We will nae lose any more."

He looked around the battlefield, feeling worn, and then sat on the ground. "We will nae lose any more," he whispered to himself.