A Hellion for the Highlander

For the first time, uncertainty shone in those impossible gold-green eyes. “Aye. I spoke to Catherine an’…I mean, perhaps I’m assumin’ too much, but…”

Without a word, Alexander strode toward her and lifted her by the waist, pressing his lips fiercely against hers. He forgot the children, forgot Nathair and the clansmen, even forgot Thomaes. For now, there was only him and Cicilia, Cicilia and him, together and bound at last.

I’ll still have to make me proposal properly, but I ken we’re gonnae be the happiest couple to ever grace the castle.

He didn’t stop kissing her until Thomaes’s outraged yell echoed through the room. “Nay!” the accomptant protested as Alexander placed Cicilia back on her feet. “Nay! Ye were to be de-seated, an’ she was to be me bride! The people will never accept this!”

“The fools an’ the beggars, ye mean?” Ronald, the baker, asked coldly. “I think the rest o’ the clan might be mighty interested in what we saw here this evenin’, Thomaes Cunningham. We look forward to yer trial.”

Nathair beamed. “Indeed! Let’s get goin’ then, Thommy, shall we?”

Thomaes winced. He’d always hated Nathair’s jovial manner, and Alexander could only imagine how the childish nickname was hurting his pride.

Nathair tried to move forward, which was when Alexander noticed the limp to one of his legs, the wound in his shoulder, the blood in his hair. What other injuries had his friend suffered on his behest?

While Nathair was supported by Ron, the two other clansmen untied Thomaes at swordpoint, marching him towards the door.

Alexander saw the little nod that one of the men gave to Thomaes as if in slow motion.

He’s still on his side! He’s paid him off!

The man on the left released Thomaes’s arm. He pounced on the other one escorting him, who yelled in surprise and automatically raised his hands to defend himself.

Then, quick as a flash, the accomptant was free, grabbing Cicilia by the hair and pulling her close. Alexander jumped, but Thomaes’s blade flashed by her throat.

The twins screamed loudly, and Alexander threw out an arm to stop them from running forward and getting into danger.

Nathair lunged forward. His leg crippled under him, and he fell to the floor, but not before dragging Thomaes’s man off the other clansman. They both slammed heavily onto the floor, and the butt of Nathair’s ax made sure the traitor stayed down, even as the Leòmhann roared in pain.

Then there was silence, terrifying silence, and nobody knew what to do next.

“Ye can kill me if ye like,” Thomaes hissed, meeting Alexander’s eyes. “In fact, I welcome it. I will nae live in a world wh

ere I’ve been bested by the likes o’ ye.”

Cicilia’s eyes were wide with fear, but she was staring at Alexander, too. It was almost as though she was trying to communicate something.

But what?

“Let her go,” he warned, one hand out to keep the twins back, the other tight around his sword. “What good is she to ye? Leave her be. Dinnae make this worse for yerself.”

“Worse?” Thomas laughed. He drew his hand back. “Prithee tell me, Me Laird. How could this get any worse for me?”

Alexander had to admit that he didn’t have an answer. His fury churned inside him, matched only by his fear for Cicilia’s life.

He took a step forward, and Thomaes’s knife flashed, slicing along Cicilia’s cheek. As she cried out in agony, Alexander went stock still. He couldn’t move closer, not if it would make the accomptant hurt her any further.

“What do ye want?” he asked through gritted teeth as the children wailed behind him, Nathair lay injured on the floor, and Ron tried to tend to the attacked clansman. “What will make ye let her go?”

“I want ye to suffer, Alexander MacKinnon,” Thomaes spat. Alexander watched in horror as his knife lowered to Cicilia’s throat, ready to strike. He tried to hurry forward once more, desperate to save her.

Then Thomaes let out a surprised yell and dropped his knife. Cicilia tumbled away, Alexander’s dirk held firm in her hand from where she’d just stabbed it into Thomaes’s ribs.

It was not enough to kill, but it was enough to distract, and Alexander took the chance. He flew forward, smacking Thomaes’s temple with the flat steel of his sword. He would have liked to kill him then and there, but he needed him alive to face trial and prove Alexander’s own innocence.

Thomaes crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

He ran to Cicilia’s side and helped her to her feet, cupping her bloody cheek in one hand. “We need to get ye to a healer,” he told her. “Ye an’ Nathair both.”