Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris

Chapter Twelve

“Jockie,” Ian said after a beat when his cousin had still said nothing. “I said, what are ye doin’ here?” Slowly, Jockie moved from side to side a little between the trees, his whole manner nervous and erratic.

“Perhaps his faither doesnae ken he’s here,” Alex whispered so only Ian could hear him. Ian nodded slowly, for it did account for his cousin’s odd behavior.

“Be quick about it,” he called to Jockie again. “Yer faither and I have a fight I willnae miss. If ye have come to say somethin’, then say it now.”

“I want to talk to ye,” Jockie spoke up, taking another step forward. “Alone.” He flicked his gaze toward Alex, who made no move to step away.

“I’m nae leavin’ ye alone with that rat,” Alex said quietly, shaking his head. “I trust him nay more than Grier.”

“Neither do I,” Ian whispered back, “yet as much a monster as he is, I want to hear what he has to say.”

“Then I’ll keep watch,” Alex said firmly, his resolve clearly unyielding.

“Aye, very well,” Ian nodded to Alex who reluctantly moved away toward the tree line. As he did so, Kenny appeared, as though he had been following Jockie. Together, he and Alex struck up a conversation, and Ian could feel the two of them watching him from afar.

He nodded to Jockie and urged him forward. “Ye wanted to talk. Talk.” He nodded again and put away his sword in the scabbard in his belt.

Jockie seemed wary, looking over his shoulder back at Alex and Kenny for a few minutes, before he began.

“It’s delicate,” he whispered, and walked further down the river, clearly nervous of the others listening in. Ian slowly followed Jockie a little distance, though he tarried behind him, his feet kicking up dirt in the shingle alongside the river. “It’s about me faither.”

“Aye? What about him?” Ian felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as he stopped walking. “Daenae tell me yer faither has sent ye to try and talk his way out of this fight?” He could see Grier doing such a cowardly thing, not even having the decency to come and plead for his own life, but to send his son in his place.

“Of course, nae!” Jockie looked horrified by the idea, shaking his head firmly. “Me faither is an honorable man. He would never back out of a challenge.”

“What ye and I believe to be an honorable man are clearly two entirely different things,” Ian said boldly, lifting his chin and looking down at Jockie, amazed at who his cousin had become.

“Ye shouldnae insult me faither so,” Jockie’s voice had turned dark.

“If ye had a mind of yer own, cousin,” Ian emphasized the family connection, “ye would see that yer faither is destroyin’ the clan. He has drivin’ them into the hole they’re now in. Why can ye nae see that?”

“He’s destroyed nothin’,” it was clear in Jockie’s tone that he fully believed his own words. “These are difficult times, that is all. Me faither has looked after us.”

“Nay, he’s looked after ye and his closest friends. He hasnae looked after the clan. I have been back two days and have heard of the way food is squandered, given only to those who are yer faither’s closest allies. Surely ye have seen it with yer own eyes. Ye profit from yer faither’s position more than anyone else.”

“Well, there are some perks to bein’ a laird’s son,” the way Jockie shrugged and smiled recalled to Ian the way Jockie had broken into Elisabeth’s cage. He was tempted to take revenge then for what his cousin had nearly done to Elisabeth. He held his ground instead, clenching his hands together. A finger laid on Jockie would see Ian thrown in another of those cages before he could fight Grier.

He couldn’t jeopardize that fight; it was the key to seeing this clan and Elisabeth safe.

“If ye have just come here to talk of lovin’ yer life as a laird’s son, ye can go back to camp now,” Ian gestured to the camp through the trees behind Jockie. “I have nay time to listen to ye prattle on.”

“I have come…” Jockie broke off, as though uncomfortable, and scratched one of the spots on his face.

“Aye?” Ian urged him on. “For what?”

Jockie looked over his shoulder again, back toward where Alex and Kenny were talking together. They weren’t looking this way any longer, too deep in a conversation of their own.

“I have come to talk about me faither,” Jockie said again, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“And?” Ian urged him on with a wave of his hand. Slowly, Jockie walked toward him as though wanting to make sure the conversation couldn’t be overheard. The second he took the first steps, Ian felt his body tense. There was no one beside them to hear; the move was unnecessary. “Speak, Jockie,” he warned.

“There’s somethin’ ye must ken,” Jockie beckoned Ian to come closer. Ian leaned in.

Jockie moved quickly, Ian saw the glint of the blade because he was prepared for it.

Just as Jockie pulled the knife up, trying to strike straight across Ian’s throat, he was ready. He grabbed Jockie’s hand and forced it back, holding it up high in the air.

“Ian!” Alex’s and Kenny’s voices rang out from further down the river.

For a moment, there was a contest of strength, one that Ian easily won as he stared at Jockie and bent his cousin’s hand further and further back.

“Let go of the blade or I break yer wrist,” he warned.

Jockie said nothing.

The sound of Alex pulling his sword out of his belt behind them made Jockie flinch, clearly intending to run away. Ian would not let that happen. He snapped Jockie’s hand back even further, hearing the awful crack of bone, and waiting for the dagger to fall to the earth beneath them.

As it thudded to the soil, Ian pulled back a fist and released all his anger at Jockie. Not only for the attempted and, quite frankly, feeble attack but for trying to hurt Elisabeth too. He struck Jockie clean across the jaw, watching as his lanky cousin toppled backward and landed on his rear in the shallows of the river.

“Ye actually thought that would work, Jockie?” Ian barked the words just as Alex and Kenny reached his side, staring down at the man as he struggled to get to his feet. “Ye wished to slit me throat ahead of the battle with yer faither?”

Jockie said nothing, though his gaze narrowed in Ian’s direction.

“He thinks his faither is too weak for the battle,” Alex surmised quickly, clapping Ian on the shoulder. “He was tryin’ to kill ye to stop ye from ever goin’ into the fight.”

“Ye coward,” Ian spat the words at Jockie and made a leap forward, as though he’d go for his cousin again. Instantly, Jockie struggled through the shallows, running away as quickly as he could. “Aye, ye run away like the snivelin’ rat ye are,” Ian called after him, furious at the attempt on his life. “What honor do ye have in nae wantin’ to see a fair fight?” he continued to shout after Jockie until he disappeared through the trees.

“That was close,” Kenny sighed. The words made Ian snap his head toward the Englishman, watching as he flinched. “What? It was.”

“I daenae need to hear it,” Ian said quickly.

“Me friend, take comfort,” Alex stepped in front of Ian, blocking the view of the trees Jockie had just disappeared into.

“Take comfort?” Ian repeated in amazement. “I should go after me pathetic cousin and finish what he started.”

“Ian, listen,” Alex shook his shoulder, clearly trying to get his attention. “Jockie came to try his luck because he’s afraid of what will happen if ye meet Grier in a fight. He’s afraid his faither will lose. Take comfort in that.”

Ian tried to, but he couldn’t. He just stood there for a while, breathing heavily, disgusted that his own cousin would try to slit his throat.

He picked up the dagger that Jockie had dropped to the ground and passed it to Kenny.

“Ye keep that one,” he said. “I daenae want to see it back in Jockie’s hands.” Kenny looked a little unnerved by the weapon at first, but he nodded and added it to his belt regardless.

“Another practice?” Alex asked, pulling his sword out from his belt again.

“Just one more,” Ian said carefully. “Then there is someone I must talk to before the battle.”

* * *

Elisabeth couldn’t sit down again in the cage. She stayed standing, pacing back and forth a few times, but always returning to the same position at the far side of the cage, watching the section of trees where Ian had disappeared, and waiting for him to return.

He didn’t return for a long time.

At one point, Elisabeth saw Jockie stepping out of the trees, clutching his wrist with his face contorted in pain. He called for Laird Grier’s attention, and an older woman ran forward first, bustling around him and worrying over what had happened to his wrist.

Elisabeth couldn’t understand what had occurred, but the way Jockie approached Laird Grier, who was waiting for him by the large tent, and gestured back to the area where Ian had disappeared, that injured wrist had to have something to do with Ian.

When he did appear through the trees, Elisabeth was clinging to the bars. She was tempted to call out to him across the camp, wanting to speak to him, but she didn’t need to. The moment he appeared, his eyes were on hers, and he was walking across the camp toward her.

“Ian,” she reached out for him, through the bars. To her surprise, he went straight for her, too. Their hands connected through the bars, the movement emphasized by the clanging of his metal armor. “They say you’re to fight Laird Grier. Is it true?”

“It is,” he nodded, without hesitation.

“But…” she paused, biting her lip for a second as she searched for something to say.

“Ye’re frightened,” he said, his fingers clinging tighter to her hands.

“I am,” she nodded. “I…I don’t want to see you hurt,” she whispered the words, prompting him to lean in closer toward her.

“Now, who says I’m goin’ to end up hurt?” he said, giving her a small smile. She mirrored the smile for just a second, wanting to believe that he could beat Laird Grier easily, yet she was still afraid for him.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

“It’s the right thing to do, for many reasons,” he said, closing his eyes for just a second. He took a final step forward and rested his forehead on the bars between them. She leaned into the bars, wishing desperately they were not separated. “I told ye; I’m goin’ to get ye out of here, sithiche.”

“Oh,” her mind began to put the pieces together, and she clung even harder to Ian’s hands. “Tell me you are not doing this just for me.” He said nothing in response; he just stared back at her. “Ian,” she jumped up and down on her side of the bars, as if hoping she could get closer to him. “What if you were to die? You cannot die just for my sake!”

“It is for everyone’s sake,” he assured, his face strong and determined. The words made her stand still again. “Yers included.” The way he stressed the words made her hang her head.

She could be part of the reason this man was about to lose his life. He’d already taken a beating for her; he had been flogged and whipped until the skin was peeling off his back. She couldn’t let him do this for her as well.

“There has to be another way,” she said strongly, looking up again. “Please, Ian. Don’t do this. The risk is too great.”

“It’s a risk I’m prepared to take, Elisabeth,” he whispered the words. “That is the end of it.” She felt a jumble of emotions on hearing this, but chief among them was amazement. He barely knew her, really. Yet here he was, prepared to risk his life to see her safe, as well as others.

“I have never met a man quite like you,” she said quietly. She pulled one of her hands out of his grasp and lifted it up to his face, slowly, as though expecting him to retreat from her. He never did. In fact, he stayed still and returned her steady gaze. It was so intense; she could feel a heat blooming in her chest.

Carefully, she slid her hand up to his face, cradling his jaw with the palm of her hand and brushing his cheek with her thumb. To her surprise, he leaned into the touch and his eyes fluttered closed, as though he were basking in the warmth of her touch.

“Few men have this kindness in them,” she said, smiling as he opened his eyes again.

“It is nothin’,” he said so quietly that she had to strain to hear him.

“No, it is everything,” she said sternly. “You’re prepared to risk your life for the good of the clan, and…and for me. There are few who would do that.”

He didn’t respond; he just kept staring back at her.

She wanted desperately to show him how much he meant to her, even in this brief time that they had known each other. Yet separated, that was not so easy to do. She raised herself on her toes, trying to get somewhere close to his height though she was still far off. Instead, she rested her forehead on the bar where he rested his own, bringing them closer together.

“Please live through this, Ian,” she said softly. “Not for my sake,” she shook her head, just a little. “For you.”

He smiled then; it lit up his features as though he were tempted to laugh.

“I think a lot of lasses would be beggin’ me to live in order just to get them out of a cage. Ye just daenae want to see me hurt.”

“Of course, I don’t,” she said back with feeling. He moved his head, as though he would rest his forehead against hers, yet they were separated by the bars. She slid her hand down from his cheek to the center of his chest and pressed against him, wanting to hold him there for a minute longer.

“Ye’ll see me again, sithiche,” he said softly, and she wished she could believe him.

“In England,” she paused and lifted her head back, “we have a tradition when it comes to such one-on-one fights. It’s called a token.” He frowned in confusion. “A lady gives something of hers to the gentleman she hopes will win. It’s a token for good luck.”

“An interestin’ idea,” the corners of his lips quirked in a brief smile. “I daenae think ye have much to give, Elisabeth.”

“I’d like to give you something still,” she released him and looked down at herself, struggling for a minute. He was right, she didn’t have much to spare at all. Yet she had her dress. She reached down to the bottom of the skirt and tore a strip of the pale blue silk away, then she reached toward Ian through the bars. He turned slightly, offering his upper arm to her. She worked quickly, tying the silken strip around the chain-mail-covered bicep with a double knot. “There,” she smiled and released him again. “It’s just a tradition, but I hope what they say is true. I hope it brings you some luck.”

“I hope so too,” he whispered to her and took her hand between the bars.

He raised it to his lips. She thought he was going to turn her hand and kiss the back, just as he had before, but instead, he turned the hand the other way. He placed his lips against her palm; the kiss, though brief, made her breath hitch and her stomach tighten. Then he moved his lips and placed a second kiss on her wrist. He closed his eyes with this kiss, somehow making it more intimate than the last. The whole time, she was wondering what his lips would feel like on other parts of her body. The touch to her wrist was another boundary crossed.

As he released her hand and opened his eyes, it was as if the gravity of the moment descended on them again.

“It’s nearly time,” he said somberly. “If somethin’ happens to me,” he paused, his gaze holding hers, “I’ve told Alex to watch out for ye.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, knowing the truth of the matter. Even though Laird Alexander was a good man, he had his own clan to think about, as was only right. She would not have blamed him for her not being a priority. “Live through this, Ian. Please.”

He smiled one last time and bowed his head to her, as though they had met in a drawing room of some fine estate or castle—not on opposite sides of a cage in the middle of the wilderness. She curtsied to him too, hoping to show, with the simple action, how much care and respect for him she had.

Then he turned and walked away from her.

“Please, Ian,” she murmured into the air around her. “Live.”