Highlander’s Evil Side by Shona Thompson

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fraser

Fraser rode hard with Gavin and Kenneth riding on either side of him. Only four more soldiers could be spared for such a journey, given the encampment of villagers still needed to be protected and the walls needed to be guarded. Fraser glanced over his shoulder, watching the men trailing behind him. He knew Colin well enough, seeing how the soldier was often trying to prove his worth; however, the others Fraser had only seen in passing.

Something churned in his stomach, something that made him want to turn around and retreat back to Dunnegan Castle. There was something wrong with the other soldiers, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He had only learned of their names that morn—Finley, Logan, and Wallace. Their faces were banged up and scarred as if they had been hit by something hard not all that long ago, and their gazes were dark as they stared at their laird. Fraser shook the feeling from him, suspecting it had to do with his worries for Laird Gordon.

Gordon’s soldier said the attack happened beyond the wood and near the cliffs overlooking the sea. It was near the borders of MacClery towards the Gordon lands and was nearly a day’s ride, but Fraser didn’t stop to rest. He knew Beitris’s father only had so long to live.

Fraser couldn’t get her red and swollen eyes out of his head nor the shivering of her body. She had looked so broken. Too much had happened to her these past days. He was surprised she was this strong that she could continue on despite the constant unrest in his lands. It was only a matter of time before she was completely worn down. If he could not bring her father home to her, he knew it would destroy her.

Fraser felt as if he was part of the problem. He knew he was. If she had never come to Dunnegan Castle, she would be safe within the Gordon walls. She wouldn’t be suffering so much as she did these past few days.

Don’t think that way, he told himself. His hands gripped the reins, and he urged his horse forward, concentrating on its panting and the thundering of hooves against the path. He needed to focus on finding Laird Gordon. That was all that should matter at the moment.

“Are we nearly there?” Gavin shouted while rushing forward.

Fraser could see the cliffs in the distance, the sea lying beyond with its dark waves. His gaze narrowed on a small group of men dressed in black, sitting on their horses. They stared back at him, watching and waiting. He slowed his horse, his jaw clenching with worry.

“Have they been waiting for us?” Kenneth asked, his voice low and ominous.

“It appears as if they have been,” Fraser said, halting his horse and waiting for the rest of his men to gather around him.

“My laird,” one man shouted, a smirk on his face and a scar marring his chin. “Shall we proceed?”

Fraser glanced over his shoulder at the trees. He could feel something calling for him, demanding he return, but he ignored it. Laird Gordon, he thought as another image of Beitris’s crying face surfaced within him. He couldn’t turn back now. He needed to find Laird Gordon, and these men most probably knew where he was being held. There were only four men loitering near the path. They were outnumbered.

Fraser and his men could take them.

Fraser nodded curtly. “Onwards,” he commanded while flicking the reins and galloping towards the group of men.

“Are ye sure about this, my laird?” Gavin called. “It could be a—”

An arrow whistled past and slammed into Gavin’s shoulder, making him shout with pain. His horse whinnied and bucked, and Fraser watched, mouth agape and wide-eyed, as his man fell off his horse.

“Gavin!” Fraser shouted.

Gavin groaned, slowly rising from the ground and rubbing his head. He grimaced and grasped the arrow, jerking it out of his shoulder. His leine soaked with blood while he wobbled to standing.

“Protect the laird!” Gavin shouted while drawing his blade. “We’re under attack.”

Fraser slowed his horse, allowing the others to swarm around him. Kenneth scowled at the group in wait, drawing his sword and urging his horse forward. The archer in the distance withdrew another arrow, aiming it at another soldier in the front.

“Shields!” Fraser shouted, but his order went unheard.

An arrow whistled past, going through Colin, this time a killing shot. Fraser watched as he fell over, his blood permeating the air around them. His men took their blades, holding them out while they surrounded the archer and his men with their hoods up, their faces covered in shadows. There was nowhere for them to go. All their blades pointed at the men.

“Who are ye?” Fraser shouted from his mount, his hand hovering near his hilt, ready to attack if need be.

The archer chuckled while slowly lowering his bow.

“Are ye the one who attacked my village? Are ye the one who shares my face?”

The archer shoved his bow over one shoulder and pulled down his hood, displaying an elderly face framed by long, matted dark hair. Dark eyes stared back at him, a deep scar marring his cheek. “Do I look like I share yer face, Laird MacClery?”

A chill went through Fraser. If this was not his double, then why was he on the path, attacking them, in the same place Laird Gordon went missing? “Who are ye? And how do ye know me?”

The archer smiled bitterly. “I know more than ye think, Laird MacClery. For I am Murdo, the Sire, and leader of the Black Stags.”

Fraser’s eyes widened. “Ye were in the western village.”

“Aye, I was.” Murdo chuckled. “Such a disgusting sight to my eyes. I enjoyed burning it to the ground. The whole lot deserved it.”

Fraser clenched his reins and ground his teeth, tempted to jump off his horse and cross blades with this brigand. “Ye!” Fraser shouted, his voice quivering with anger.

Murdo shrugged. “It was naething much to look at. Yer people should be thanking me.”

“Seize him!” Fraser roared.

None of his men moved. Their blades remained pointed at Murdo, yet they remained still as if they had not heard him.

“Ye heard yer laird!” Kenneth shouted while urging his horse forward. “Capture this man. Now!”

“Where’s the coin ye promised?” Wallace asked while craning his head towards Murdo. His lips twisted into a cruel grin. Fraser narrowed his gaze at the scar on his chin, recalling a time Beitris gave mention of a soldier she had spoken with who had not relayed her message. He moved towards Murdo. “Ye promised us gold, now where is it?”

Murdo chuckled and reached into his cloak, pulling out a large bag tied at the top. He tossed it forward. A loud clink sounded as it landed on the ground. “There’s yer gold.”

Logan jumped off his horse and scrambled towards it. His greasy red hair fell forward as he crouched in front of the bag, untying it quickly, his eyes widening on the gold glimmering up at him. He held up a coin for Wallace and Finley to see, their eyes widening and their smiles growing. Fraser held his breath. He glanced at Kenneth, who grabbed Fraser’s arm.

“We must go at once, my laird,” Kenneth whispered while slowly turning his mount around.

“Nae one is going anywhere!” Murdo shouted.

“We’ve got it, lads,” the scarred man chuckled while holding up one coin. “‘Tis all here for the taking!”

Fraser watched in shock as his men turned their horses towards him, all swords pointing at his neck. Kenneth gasped as a soldier grabbed him, holding a sword to his neck.

“Apologies, my laird,” Kenneth breathed. “I have failed ye.”

“There’s nae need for bloodshed,” said Murdo.

Fraser glanced over his shoulder, finding Gavin struggling to get to onto his horse. If Gavin was able to get away, he could warn Beitris and the others; he could tell them what happened. The pull of the bow grabbed Fraser’s attention, and he bit back his shouts for Gavin to warn the castle.

“If ye come peacefully, nae one needs to die. Yer men’s life will be spared. And so will Laird Gordon’s.”

Fraser felt as if the ground was giving way, and the darkness was swallowing him. Gavin was on his horse. His shoulders were hunched over in pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blade at Kenneth’s throat and the arrow aimed for Gavin’s back.

“Stop!” Fraser shouted, holding his breath in wait for Gavin to hear his command.

Gavin turned toward him. Fraser couldn’t see his face, but he knew what he would see. Gavin would be horrified by the command, the fact that Fraser was giving in. But he had to. It was the only way to save him, Kenneth, and Beitris’s father.

There was no other way.

Fraser stared at Gavin. He wasn’t moving his horse. Clearly, he was struggling with the order, and for a moment, Fraser thought he would ignore it. It wasn’t until Gavin trotted forward towards Murdo, head bowed in defeat, that Fraser could breathe. Gavin stared at Fraser, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Fraser could see the fear there, knowing his friend was worried for his life. However, there was no way they could get out of this. They were outnumbered. They had always been outnumbered.

“I will go with ye,” said Fraser, watching as Gavin and Kenneth were pulled off their horses, their hands bound behind their backs while swords were pointed at their necks. Fraser turned towards Murdo, his gaze darkening on the elder brigand. “Let my men go, and I will go peacefully.”

Murdo’s chuckle nauseated him. It was a vile sound. It was the sound of betrayal, the sound of darkness prevailing over the weak, over the light. “Very good,” he heard the evil man say. “Very good, Laird MacClery. I knew ye would see reason. Unfortunately,” he added while snapping his fingers. Fraser bit back a cry as Gavin and Kenneth were kicked forward. “They must come, as well. We can’t have them going off and warning yer clan, now can we?”

Fraser bit back a retort and scowled at Murdo as he turned his horse around.

“Onwards, lads!” Murdo shouted while pointing towards the cliffs.

Fraser allowed himself to be guided by Murdo and his group of thugs. He didn’t fight. He didn’t try to look for an escape. They continued down the path and towards the sea. The path was narrow and steep. One false move and he would fall to his death. At the bottom of the cliff was a cave, one that was only accessible when the tide was gone and the water was low.

“Here is where we leave the horses, Laird MacClery,” said Murdo while jumping down.

A man grabbed Fraser’s reins, tugging them out of his grasp. He held his tongue as he dismounted, hoping no ill would become of his black stallion, the gift Laird Gordon had presented him with. His hands stroked the horse’s haunches as he gazed into its black eyes one last time. Swords were shoved at his throat, and Fraser grimaced.

“Move, now, my laird,” a brigand said bitterly, flashing rotten yellowed teeth.

Murdo chuckled while crossing his arms. “Don’t forget his sword. We can’t have him starting any fights, now can we?”

Fraser stared at the man, his hands still at his side. Murdo tilted his head, waiting for Fraser to move. With a sharp inhale, he unsheathed his sword and threw it on the ground, watching as the brigands quickly picked it up and pointed it at him.

Fraser followed Murdo into the darkness. A man was waiting at the cave, holding out a torch for Murdo to take.

“Ye see, Laird MacClery,” said Murdo, his voice echoing within the cave. “I’ve known of ye for longer than ye think. I’ve seen that face of yers, much longer than I would have liked. ‘Tis a face that has helped me and hindered me.”

“Oh, really,” Fraser said darkly, not knowing what exactly to say to the man—to a man who burnt down villages, who clearly had no conscious guiding him. “I’ve only learned of ye recently.”

“Oh?” Murdo glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Fraser. “And how’s that?”

Fraser smirked. “Ye left behind a piece of gold, one that was recognizable by someone under my employ.” He didn’t want to offer Beitris’s name, worried it would only get her into more trouble.

“I will need to be more careful in the future.”

“If ye have one, that is,” Fraser said threateningly.

“The lad has quite a sharp tongue, now doesn’t he,” came a dark voice, one he recognized. It reminded him of his father when he was in a foul mood from long days and stressful nights. The torch flickered in the dark, highlighting a figure standing at the cave’s wall. There was nowhere else to go. Water seeped into his boots and soaked his socks, making Fraser shiver as he squinted into the darkness, trying to see the man staring back at him.

A torch flashed in front of him, making Fraser rear back at the heat nearly biting into his skin. Dots speckled his vision while his eyes adjusted to the other torches being lit in the cave. At first, he thought it was his father smirking back at him, but not quite. This man was younger—Fraser’s age in fact. It was as if the man stole Fraser’s face and was wearing it before him. He had never seen such a dark look on his face, such a bitter sneer.

“Who are ye?” Fraser breathed, lowering his arm and straightening as he stared in his face.

The man laughed darkly.

“This is Finnegan,” said Murdo. “Finnegan, ye must be overjoyed to finally meet Laird MacClery.”

Finnegan smiled darkly, the fire gleaming in his eyes. “Aye, I am. ‘Tis been a long time, Brother.”