Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (46 page)

Cameron cautiously stuck his head around the screen.  Fingal gave a slight nod in recognition.  Cameron mouthed the word 'Allen'.  Fingal parried a thrust and jerked his head toward the spiral stairs leading up to the family chambers.  With a terse nod of thanks, Cameron headed for the stairs, keeping his back to the wall.

Dougall seeing an opportunity, leaped at Fingal, his sword in one hand and a lethal looking dagger in the other.  Almost without thinking, Cameron swung his claymore in a high arc over his head, the force of blade reverberating up his arm.  Dougall fell to the ground.

Two down.

Fingal nodded once in thanks, then turned back to the battle.

Cameron crossed the remaining distance.  The quiet of the stairwell was unnerving after the din of the great hall.  He stopped for a moment, blowing out a breath in an effort to calm his jangled nerves.  He felt a moment
'
s anguish at the thought that he had actually taken two human lives, but it was short lived.  Dangerous times called for dangerous actions.

At the top of the stairs, Cameron hesitated.  If Allen was up here, he wanted to be ready.  There was no question who the better swordsman was.  If he had a prayer, it would only be if he kept the element of surprise on his side.

Unbidden, the thought of Marjory's father's shield popped into his head.  A shield would go a long way toward helping him defend himself, although he wasn't certain he could manage the claymore with one hand.  Still, he thought, better to have it available, than to dismiss it entirely.

All he had to do was make it across the hall undetected.  Taking a deep breath, he summoned his courage and dashed across the corridor into the bedroom, immediately dropping into a low crouch, claymore at the ready.

Shifting slightly to survey the room, he relaxed his sword arm.  The room was empty.  Trying to keep noise to a minimum, he crossed to the chest and opened it.  The shield was lying on top, wrapped in a square of plaid.  Shifting the claymore to one hand, he lifted the shield reverently from the chest.  Holding it aloft, he was amazed at how little it weighed.

Carefully balancing the shield in his left hand, he made a practice swing with the sword in his right.  It was heavy and more awkward than a two handed thrust would have been, but he thought he could manage.  Maybe.  He practiced a few more times, shifting and dodging as though he were fighting an imaginary opponent.

"Are ye ready fer a real fight, then?"

Cameron jerked around.  Allen leaned insolently against the door frame, his claymore extending from his body almost as if it were an extension of his arm.  "I knew if I waited long enough ye'd come to find me."  The feral gleam in Allen's eye was unsettling.

"Where's Torcall?"

Allen's mouth split into a thin lipped imitation of a smile.  "He's no' here."  He advanced a step into the room.  "'Tis just you and me,
brother
."

*****

"That's all o' them then."  Marjory stood with Cook as they watched the last of the women wade into the water.  "You're next."

The older woman turned, her eyes wide with concern.  "Aren't ye coming?"

"Nay, I'll be of more use here."

"But yer a woman."

Marjory smiled.  "So they say, but I can wield a sword as well as most men and, at this point, I dinna think they're likely to stop the battle because a woman has joined the fighting."  Her smile faded.  "Besides, there are people I love in there.  I canna just walk away and leave them."

The woman laid a firm hand on Marjory's arm.  "But he willna thank ye fer putting yerself in danger."

She shook off the hand.  "I've no care what he thinks.  'Tis Aimil and Fingal I'm speaking of.  They're still in there somewhere and I owe it to them to try and make sure they're all right.  And I owe it to myself to try and protect the land my father left me."

"But 'tis only land, Marjory, surely it isna worth dying fer."  Cook peered anxiously into her face.

"'Tis my legacy.  My father would expect me to keep it safe.  Now, off with you.  You canna change my mind and you'll only be in the way here."

She hesitated, indecision marring her normally pleasant features.

"I said, be gone."

With a sigh the older woman hoisted her skirts and waded into the water.  The first of the women had already disappeared around the end of the wall.  Satisfied that they were as safe as they could be.

With a sigh, Marjory turned back to the tower.

It was time to avenge her father.

"I'm not your brother."  Cameron spat the words, feeling adrenaline kick in.  He tightened his grip on the claymore and held the silver shield aloft.

"I think that
'
s been made clear enough.
"
  Allen snarled. 
"
I suspected something when we first found ye on the mountain, but Father would no
'
listen.  He
'
s always had a blind spot where yer concerned.  But even he couldna ignore what that witch has done to ye.
"

"
Marjory hasn
'
t done a thing.
"
  Cameron hissed, circling around the larger man.

"
Tell it to Father,
"
Allen laughed, the sound vile. 
"
He
'
ll see her dead.  Which is exactly the way I want it.
"

Understanding dawned. 
"
Torcall annihilates the Macphersons, and Clan Cameron takes out your father.
"

"
Yer bright for halfwit.
"
  His smile was cruel. 
"
If things go as planned, I should be head of Tyndrum afore winter.
"

"
Aren
'
t you forgetting about me?
"

"
Nay, that
'
s the best part o
'
it
.
Yer a crazy man, fighting against yer father.  There
'
s no
'
a man
in
Scotland who
'
ll blame me for killing ye.
"
  Allen moved quickly for such a big man.  The jab came and went before Cameron even had time to blink.  Looking down, he saw a fine line of blood seeping through the linen of his shirt.

"Ye bleed awfully red fer a devil,
"
Allen taunted. 
"
Perhaps yer no
'
a demon after all."  He moved as he spoke, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. 
"
No
'
that it matters, I
'
ll see you dead either way.
"

Cameron forced himself to stare into Allen's eyes.  He'd heard somewhere that fighters often gave themselves away with their eyes.  He fervently wished that the same would be true for Scottish warriors, and more importantly, that he'd be able to recognize it when it happened.

He shifted to Allen's left, crouching to better balance the weight of the sword, waiting for Allen's next move.  Somehow in the movies these things always seemed to happen faster.

Before he completed the thought, Allen's eyes shifted.  Reacting purely from instinct, Cameron twisted right an instant before the blow fell to his left.  He could actually feel the rush of air as the blade swung by.

"No' bad.  Ye move better than I would have expected."  Allen grinned.  Cameron felt a lot like a mouse being sized up by a very crafty cat.  He pulled in a ragged breath.

"Really?  And here I was just thinking you were a little slow."

The big man snarled, all humor fleeing his face.

Cameron felt his own anger rising.  Focusing on Allen, he sprang forward, shoving his claymore in front of him.  It wasn't an artful move, but what it lacked in dignity, it made up for in force.  Allen stumbled back in surprise.

Cameron felt a surge of satisfaction as
a
crimson slit appeared in Allen's shirt.  He swallowed the desire to yell 'touché' and forced himself to concentrate.  They circled around until they had reversed places.  Allen now had his back to the chest and Cameron stood in front of the door.

With a harsh cry, Allen lunged.  Metal rang against metal as the swords intersected.  In a series of short thrusts and parries, they moved through the door and into the solar.  Breathing hard, they watched each other warily.

The wind whistled through an open window, the sound harsh against the quiet of the
room
.  Cameron knew he was outmatched.  He might manage a hit here and there, but in the long run Allen would win.  He clenched his jaw, thinking of Grania.  He might not win the battle, but he'd damn well inflict as much damage as he could.

Then Allen shifted slightly to the right and, incredibly Cameron saw an opening.  He thrust his sword forward, catching Allen's thigh.  He felt a rush of elation, but his triumph was short lived.  Allen grimaced in pain then, with a roar, came straight for Cameron.

Cameron stepped back, using both sword and shield to defend against Allen's blows.  The room rang with the sound of the battle, the noise almost deafening.  Grimly, Cameron held his own, but bit by bit Allen was forcing him back.

He stumbled over something, losing his balance, and fell backward, his head slamming onto the stone floor, something sharp stabbing into his skull.  Colors exploded through his head, followed by blinding pain.  He tried to open his eyes, to move, but his body refused to respond to his commands.

Somewhere above him, he heard Allen
'
s laughter.  He struggled to open his eyes, to ward off the inevitable death blow, but he couldn
'
t.

"And now,
mo bhràthair
, 'tis time to die."

The words sounded far away, as though Allen was speaking to him from inside a tunnel.  He felt the darkness surrounding him, beckoning him.  He fought against it, a part of him wanting to stay with Marjory even if it meant dying.
 
But another part of him, the twenty-first century part, knew it was time to go home, to face his own life.  To try and help Lindsey.  No matter the cost to his heart.

Marjory was out of the tower, safe with her clanswomen, and Fingal and company were holding their own.  He had to go.  There might never be another chance.  With a sigh that reached to the depths of his soul, he surrendered to the darkness.

*****

Marjory watched in disbelief as Allen raised his claymore.  Cameron lay on the floor, A pool of his blood already spreading beneath his head.
 
She took a step forward, sword raised to try and stop Allen, but before she could act, Torcall Cameron stepped into the room, his eyes wide with horror.

Everything seemed to freeze.  Torcall
'
s eyes locked on his son
'
s, the pain in his face almost palpable.  Then with one fluid motion, he grasped and threw the dagger at his waist.

The small knife arced through the air and found its mark.  With a strange sense of disassociation, she watched as Allen dropped the sword and turned to find his attacker.  His angry eyes turned disbelieving when he saw his father.  His mouth opened, but though it moved, no words came out.

Torcall
'
s tear-filled eyes locked with those of his youngest son as he stepped forward to catch Allen as he fell.  Cradling the man in his arms, he watched the life ebb away, his dagger still embedded in his son
'
s neck.  Then with great effort, he stood and crossed to Cameron, kneeling beside what he believed was his other son, reaching out to smooth the hair from his face.

"Move away from him."  Marjory hardly recognized the words as her own.  Fierce rage burned within her, and she
stepped
forward, sword in hand, seeing nothing but her enemy.

He stood slowly, his hand on his weapon. 
"
This is yer fault, girl.  If ye hadn
'
t bewitched my son, none of this would have happened.  I should have killed you all those years ago.  I was soft then, and look at the price I
'
ve had to pay.
"

Marjory
'
s eyes were drawn, almost against her will, to Cameron's body, her heart withering and dying.  With a ragged inhalation of breath, she turned back to Torcall.  He was moving toward her, his claymore angled in front of him.

She met his gaze, shaken by the depth of hatred she saw reflected there.  Gripping the hilt of her sword, she moved more fully into the chamber, her eyes never leaving his.

With a cry of rage, he was on her, his blade flashing in the fading light.  She swiveled to the left, warding off his blow with her blade, the impact reverberating down her arm, shaking her entire body.  They circled warily.  "'Twas you who started this,
"
she hissed.