Highlander’s Frozen Heart by Shona Thompson

Chapter Thirty

“Where’s Fin?” Hendry asked.

According to Fin’s messages, the attack would happen at any moment. Not only that, but according to the message that he had received only earlier that day, Laird MacForfin and the Baron had decided to try and lure Magnus away from his men by using his son as bait, something that had enraged him when he had found out.

Magnus couldn’t possibly understand how those two men could be so heartless.

Even though the attack was imminent, Fin was nowhere to be seen. He had sent word days earlier that he would be there before the attack would begin, and yet he wasn’t there; he hadn’t made it.

“Somethin’ must be wrong,” Magnus said, “The only reason why he wouldnae be here is if somethin’ happened to him.”

“Or he betrayed ye, m’lord.”

The voice came from behind him, and Magnus turned to see Duncan there, his sword in his hand and his eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s nae a strange thought,” Duncan continued, “Ye dinnae ken that lad, do ye? Ye cannae ken where his loyalties lie.”

“He’s Adelleine’s cousin,” Magnus reminded Duncan, “I don’t think that he has any loyalty to the baron. I don’t think anyone has loyalty to the baron, only to his gold.”

“And gold is a good incentive, but nae as good as true loyalty,” Hendry said, and Magnus could only agree, “I ken that ye dinnae wish to consider this, but perhaps he is already gone. Laird MacForfin isnae the kind of man to hold prisoners.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Magnus said, “But the baron is.”

Magnus hoped that the baron hadn’t gotten his hands on Fin. He couldn’t imagine a fate worse than that. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than being tortured to death, all the while trying to withhold information from the baron, who seemed to enjoy nothing more than inflicting pain.

“Let’s hope that he’s only been delayed,” Hendry said, and it was a small reassurance, “Besides, I dinnae see any of them. They’re all late.”

It was true. The sun had already set in the horizon, plunging the castle into darkness. Magnus had thought that Laird MacForfin and the baron would attack in the daylight, when they would see their surroundings better, but he couldn’t complain; the cover of darkness gave them an advantage, since he and his men knew the land like the back of their hands.

“Which is only more suspicious,” Magnus pointed out, “Hendry, is Fergus safe? Are ye certain?”

“Aye, of course he’s safe,” Hendry said, “Ye put the best men by the chambers yerself, remember? Surely, nay one can go through them.”

“What if someone does?” Magnus asked.

Hendry didn’t seem to have the answer to that, and neither did Magnus. He had considered staying there himself, keeping guard outside of the chambers where he had put Fergus, Adelleine, and Isla for the duration of the battle, but he also knew that his men needed him there, on the battlefield. Then, he had considered sending Hendry to the chambers, but he needed his right-hand man by his side. In the end, he had decided to post six men there, just in case Laird MacForfin and the baron were serious about taking his son.

“They willnae even ken where he is,” Hendry assured him, “It’ll be alright.”

“Perhaps we shouldnae have put them in the tower,” Magnus said, “That’s the first place they’ll look if they’re to search for him. We should have put them somewhere else.”

Hendry sighed, a hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head. “Magnus . . . everythin’ will be fine,” he assured him, “Ye need to focus on the battle. Fergus will be fine.”

“Aye . . . aye, yer right,” Magnus said, finally relenting, “Yer right . . . we’ve done everythin’ we can, they’ll be fine.”

He repeated those words to himself over and over like a mantra until he believed them. He didn’t know what he would do if something happened to Fergus, Adelleine, or Isla; he only knew that he would never manage to forgive himself for it.

“I think I hear them,” Hendry said after a few moments of silence, and Magnus strained his ears, trying to hear whatever it was that Hendry had.

It took him a few moments, but in the end, he, too, could hear the footsteps, rattling the entire ground as they approached. Magnus gripped his sword and unsheathed it, just as the rest of his men did the same, the sound deafening in the quiet night. He took a few steps forward, eyes narrowing as he tried to see the approaching figures in the dark. He could hardly make out any silhouettes, not until the men were close, their war cries echoing in the night.

Magnus didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, before he answered with a cry of his own, his men joining him. He threw himself at the enemies, his sword held high as he attacked them, and it only took him moments to strike down his first opponent, piercing the man’s gut with his blade.

There were many of them, more than Magnus could count, but he didn’t think that they were overpowered or outnumbered. His own army was big, dozens of men spilling out into the battlefield, and he trusted them more than he feared the MacForfins.

“Where’s the laird?” Magnus heard Hendry shout, as the man looked for him, “I dinnae see him!”

“Dinnae ye fret over the laird!” Magnus shouted right back, as he jumped to the side to avoid a sword that swung his way, “We’ll find him! I’ll find him! Let’s ensure that nay one gets past the gates!”

There were many women and children in the castle, as well as men who were too old or too sick to fight. Magnus’ first duty was to ensure that no man would cross those gates, that no man would put those people who couldn’t defend themselves in danger.

“Ye heard the laird!” Hendry shouted at the men, “Protect the gates! Dinnae let anyone through!”

His second duty was to find Laird MacForfin. Magnus wanted to be the one to kill the man, and he also wanted to get to him before anyone else could, so that he could ask him about Fin. If Fin was still alive, if there was even a small chance that Magnus could save him, then he would do anything in his power to do so.

Making his way through the battlefield in search of the laird was no easy task for Magnus, though. There were bodies everywhere, some dying on the ground, others still fighting. Swords clanged against each other with such ferocity that Magnus flinched at the sound. The air smelled of iron and sweat, and the torches that MacForfin’s men carried cast monstrous shadows on the dirt, tricking Magnus into thinking that there were more men around him than there were.

And there, among them, he finally saw Seamus MacForfin. He was fighting two of his own men at the same time, and they were no match for him.

“Seamus!” Magnus shouted, catching the man’s attention, “If ye want to fight someone, then fight me!”

It had been a long time since Magnus had seen the other man, but he could see that he hadn’t changed at all, aside from the slight greying in his temples. He still had that stare, full of hatred and malice, and Magnus couldn’t help but feel the same hatred for the man.

“Do ye wish to meet yer brother so soon, Magnus?” Laird MacForfin asked him, and though Magnus knew that it was a taunt, he knew that the laird had only said those words to rile him up; he allowed it.

Rage bubbled over inside him. Magnus could feel it coursing through his veins, burning him up from the inside, and he wanted nothing more than to strike, to kill the laird before the man could say another word.

Then, he reminded himself that he did want him to keep talking. Perhaps if Magnus could get him to brag more, he would end up telling him where Fin was.

Before he could say anything else, though, there was a shout coming from his right, and Magnus turned to see one of Laird MacForfin’s men charging at him, eager to kill him. Magnus moved to the side, avoiding the man’s blow, but his own was met with a parry, one that he didn’t expect.

Magnus groaned in frustration, wishing that Laird MacForfin would order his men to not fight him, at least, seeing as how they had unfinished business. But Laird MacForfin seemed to enjoy watching him fight those meaningless fights, Magnus thought, when he caught a glimpse of him smiling, amused and satisfied.

Magnus had had just about enough. When MacForfin’s soldier struck again, he pirouetted to the side, sword already coming up to deal his own blow. Before the other man could even see him, Magnus pierced his chest with his sword, stopping him dead in his tracks.

The other man sputtered, blood coming out of his mouth as Magnus pulled his sword out of his body, leaving him to crumple onto the ground as he took his last breaths.

“Ye and me, Seamus,” Magnus said, as he pointed his sword at the other man, his blade still dripping with blood, “Only ye and me. Come noo . . . I ken that ye’d rather fight me than them, dinnae ye? Do ye really wish for one of yer men to kill me when ye can do it yerself?”

Just as Laird MacForfin had taunted him before, Magnus was taunting him now, and he could immediately tell that it had worked. The laird wasn’t the kind of man to back out of any challenge, after all, nor was he the kind of man to allow anyone else to have any achievement that could be his.

“Verra weel, Magnus,” he said, as he took a few steps towards him, but not nearly enough to come close, “If that’s how ye wish to die, then I’ll do it for ye.”

“I only have one question for ye before we begin, Seamus,” Magnus told him, “Where’s Fin? What did ye do with him?”

For a moment, Laird MacForfin seemed stunned, as though he hadn’t truly expected Fin to be on Magnus’ side, despite accusing him of it. Then he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“So, he is one of yers,” he said, “The truth is, Magnus, that I havenae done anythin’ to him. Perhaps he’d be in better shape noo if it had been me who punished him, but nay . . . nay, it was the baron, ye see, and I’m nae certain how much of Fin is left.”

“Is he dead?”

It was all that Magnus needed to know. If he was still alive, there was still a chance, no matter how small, that he could save him, but he would have to rush.

“Nay, I dinnae think so,” the Laird said with a small shrug, “I think the baron is enjoyin’ himself too much to kill the lad just yet. But if ye wish to get to him, ye must go through me first.”

“With pleasure.”

Magnus didn’t need to be told twice. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, jaw clenching as Laird MacForfin approached him, pushing his own men out of the way as he tried to get to Magnus. Magnus rushed to him, as well, and the two of them met halfway, swords crashing against each other with a deafening clang.

Magnus had fought Laird MacForfin before, but then, they had used wooden swords. They had been little more than children, the two of them training under the same man, along with Magnus’ brother. Perhaps it had been then that Laird MacForfin had developed his distaste for the MacRestus clan, Magnus thought, as he and his brother had beaten him every single time.

Magnus thought it was only fitting to remind him.

“It’s verra much like the old times, aye?” he asked, as he swung around, his sword stopping the laird’s own, “Remember when we used to fight with those wooden swords? Remember what happened then?”

“Aye,” Laird MacForfin said, his voice strained and dripping venom, “But we’re nae bairns anymore. And these are nae wooden swords.”

“Yer absolutely correct, Seamus.”

Before Laird MacForfin could say anything else, Magnus attacked him once more, swinging his sword as he tried to cut him across the abdomen. The laird avoided Magnus’ blade, hopping to the side and answering with a blow of his own, which Magnus blocked.

Magnus could feel the sweat as it gathered on his temples. He was getting tired, but so was Laird MacForfin, the two of them panting as they fought each other, dealing blow after blow. Around him, Magnus could hear the screams of the men, both his own and those of the MacForfin clan, and all he wanted was to put an end to it all.

Drawing in a breath, Magnus raised his sword one more time. He expected Laird MacForfin to parry, and the man did, but Magnus was quick to turn around and deal the same strike on the other side, piercing the man’s flesh right under his ribs, moving his sword with such might that it went all the way through the laird’s body.

Laird MacForfin’s sword fell from his hand, clattering onto the ground. He could only gasp as Magnus pulled his sword out of him, yanking every few inches when the flesh around his blade didn’t seem to want to let go.

The laird was dead within moments, his blood pooling under him. Magnus himself was drenched in blood, his clothes sticking to his skin, painted crimson, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the body at his feet, the laird’s eyes glassy and lifeless.

“That’s for me brother,” he said, as he wiped his blade clean of blood, “That’s for what ye did to him.”

“The laird’s dead!” a voice called, one that Magnus didn’t recognize, “Laird MacForfin is dead!”

It seemed to him as though time slowed down for a second. The battle seemed to halt, coming to a pause, and the soldiers around him glanced at each other in confusion, surely wondering what they should do next.

“That changes nothin’!” another voice called, one that Magnus did recognise. It was the laird’s right-hand man, someone that Magnus had met before, and who was now the one giving the orders to the soldiers. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

As much as Magnus wanted to stay and fight by his men’s side, he knew that he had to find Fin. Magnus looked around, searching for Hendry, and rushed to him once he spotted him, leading the second wave of men into the battle.

“Hendry!” Magnus shouted, “I’m goin’ to look for Fin! Are ye alright here?”

“Aye, aye!” Hendry replied, just as a man ran to him, eager to kill him. Magnus watched, flinching when Hendry stabbed the man in the chest, his sword going through him like a hot knife through butter. “Go! We will fight them off!”

Magnus didn’t need to be told twice. He ran into the enemy side, pushing the MacForfin clansmen right and left, shoving them all away from him. He hadn’t seen the baron or any of his men anywhere, but he doubted that they had stayed behind at the camp; no, they must have been there, Magnus thought, but they must have refrained from fighting. Caton wasn’t known as someone who put up a fight, after all, at least not a literal one.

The further away from the battle he got, the more Magnus began to think that perhaps he had been mistaken, and the baron wasn’t there at all. The sounds of the fight were a whisper in his ears now, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness of the woods.

Just when he was about to give up, though, just when he thought that his search was futile, he saw a figure in the distance, illuminated by the remnants of a small fire that had recently been extinguished. Magnus approached carefully, keeping his eyes and ears wide open for any sign of danger, but there didn’t seem to be any.

Once he got close enough, he saw that the man he had spotted was tied to a tree, beaten black and bloody. The closer Magnus got, the more certain he was that it was Fin, and when he crouched down next to him, he could tell; he could tell it was him, but only because of his eyes, the same ones that Adelleine and her brother had.

“Fin?” Magnus asked, “Fin . . . can ye hear me?”

Fin looked up at him, seemingly using every bit of strength he had left to move his head, and then only two words made it out of his lips.

“Kill . . . me.”