Lord of the Highlands
Page 45Jamie merely hissed in response. He drew his sword and, swatting it on his horse’s rump, charged.
“You always did charge too soon,” Will muttered, coolly sizing up his brother. Jamie swung his sword wildly, keeping his other hand fisted tight in his reins.
His eyes narrowed, watching Jamie flail so. Will was a trained cavalryman. A lifetime of riding and decades of pain had forged his muscles. Misshapen they might be, but Will’s legs were steel. He calmly knotted his reins, settling them high on the pony’s neck. Unlike his brother, Will would have two hands with which to fight.
His brother raced along the ridge, but Rollo kept a quiet seat on his own mount, keeping the creature placid despite the warhorse headed straight for them.
“Always with the same error,” Will shouted. He slid his cane through his fist to grip it at the base.
Jamie was on him in seconds, charging wildly.
Will ducked back, but not enough to completely dodge the shallow slice of his brother’s blade. He withstood the attack, had braced for it, knowing it would come. The price of his own strike.
“It’s the mistake you made at the Tower.” Will flexed, and with a nudge of his left leg, the pony spun in a tight circle to face Jamie. “And you make it now,” he gritted, extending from his saddle despite the bloody track blooming along his chest. Leaning out, Will charged, hooking his brother’s arm with the handle of his cane.
Though Will didn’t tear Jamie from the saddle as he’d intended, his brother slid halfway off.
“The same errors,” Will said, unsheathing his blade.
Jamie scrambled wildly, and the sight was disturbingly satisfying. Will wouldn’t kill his brother, but it didn’t mean he didn’t want to see the devil suffer.
“In battle as in life, eh, Jamie?” He tucked the shell of his cane under his thigh. “Impatient,” he snarled, leaning once more from the pony. He slapped Jamie with the flat of his blade, his intention to pummel, not kill. “Foolhardy.” Another slap, to the shoulder. “Impulsive.” Again, the flat of the blade, this time to Jamie’s face.
Will would never recover from his broken heart, but the smack of steel on his brother’s flesh did much to appease. A red haze overtook him, his rage wiping out all thought. He continued to strike at him, beating him down and down again.
The big bay reared, and Jamie slipped from his saddle.
“Weak,” Will spat. It felt good to see Jamie helpless on the ground, as he’d lain helpless so many decades past. But the satisfaction tasted bitter on his tongue, like raw spirits that turned belly to bile. “You’re weak. Rolling in the dirt like a coward.”
Jamie scrambled to his knees. Though close to the ledge, his eyes were only on the tremendous warhorse looming over him. “Damn you,” he hissed, not taking his gaze from the spooked horse. “You’re the weak one. Feeble Willie.”
Will stared as the horse reared again, nearly trampling Jamie. Detached, he wondered at the morbid and poetic justice of it.
The animal bucked and started, and Jamie scrambled backwards.
Will stared, for a moment dumbfounded. And then there was a moment of total clarity. He could let his brother fall to his death.
This man who’d maimed him, who’d spent a lifetime fighting against all Will believed in. Jamie had destroyed everything he’d ever loved, had forced Felicity from his life.
But even as he had the thought, Will knew. He was incapable of letting his brother die.
Will dropped from the pony. Using his sword for a walking stick, he went to Jamie, looked over the ledge at the valley below. There was a drop to a sharp slope. A man could survive the fall, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Jamie frantically clawed at dirt and rocks, trying to find purchase along the ridge.
Will knelt, awkward for a moment, then sat, grabbing for his brother’s hand. “Take it.”
Jamie swatted at the proffered hand, lunging instead for an unearthed root. “I’d rather die than take your help.”
“I may despise you,” Will said evenly, “but I’ll not let you die.”
“I’ll not see you win.” Jamie looked down, estimating the drop. A narrow ledge seven feet down, then a rocky slope to the bottom. “This isn’t the last of it,” he snarled. And then he let go.
Fascinated, horrified, Will watched his brother drop hard, scramble vainly for purchase, then slide down. Scree and gravel sped his descent, sounding a hollow noise that echoed in the valley. He careened faster and faster.
“Bloody fool,” Will muttered, shaking his head with loathing. “Bloody bastard.” He remounted, driving his pony along the ridge then back down the slope.
Though Jamie lay limp at the base of the hill, Rollo’s approach was tentative. Leave it to his brother to feign injury, then spring at the last moment to attempt a deathblow.
But as he got closer, Will knew. He knew before he dismounted, before he reached the body, knew even before he saw the blood matting his brother’s hair and the dark crimson shimmering on the stones.
Jamie was dead.
He inhaled. Waited for emotions to come. He braced for some feeling to slam into him, filling him with relief, or rage, or regret. But nothing came.
Will simply stood and stared at the body of James Rollo.
He had a job still to do. And all he felt was empty.
She landed hard, rocks digging into her hands and knees.
It took Felicity a moment to realize what had happened. Was she still traveling? She stared at her hands. Her hair spilled over them, fingers clawing at dirt and moss-covered stone, her nails dirty half-moons.
She was breathing now, and it was a relief. She swallowed, shook her head. Where was she?
Felicity looked up and cried out a short, sharp shriek. Gone was the green and shadowed serenity of the Highland woods. Walls of dark, spiky leaves rose high all around. Purple flowers reached for her, drooping from their vines. Berries dangled there too, their ripeness an obscene, dull black.
She fell to her bottom and scrambled backwards. Her back struck a dense wall of foliage and she screamed again.
The maze, she told herself, trying to calm her pounding heart. This would be the maze.
Felicity looked up. The stone tablet was there.
Will.
“No!” Bounding to her feet, she slammed her hands on the stone. “Where are you?” she cried.
The star chart was fully etched in the granite now. The stone was dull, aged. It had been there for hundreds of years. Ewen had finished his maze, and he’d be long dead.
She was pierced by anguish. Her Will. Dead now, for hundreds of years.
Staccato sobs shrieked from her. She rubbed and traced the fine lines and points, over and over, until her fingertips were raw. “Where are you?” she cried again.
She wanted Will. She wanted to go back. She didn’t care if it killed her. Jamie and those men had come for them, and she belonged near him. She’d die by his side.
She slapped and drew along the stone tablet, but it was dead under her hands. Dead and cold and lifeless, and Felicity stumbled back, falling to the ground in tears.
She hadn’t said good-bye. She’d never see him again. Would never touch him, or hear him, or see Will again.
A breeze rustled along the top of the hedge. She shivered. The labyrinth was like a live thing that she needed to flee. It felt ancient. Moss grew thick underfoot, untouched for how many years?
She was back in modern time now. Her Viking, centuries away.
She needed to find her aunt. She needed to get out of the maze. She needed to call Livvie. All Felicity wanted to do was hear her voice.
She stood, got her bearings. She was in a small cul-de sac, at the head of which was a single opening. Trying not to touch any of those hideous leaves or berries, she peeked through. Though Felicity knew what she’d see, knew she’d find herself in a labyrinth, the sight still startled her.
Dark green walls pressed in, curving and opening onto shadows. Her heart gave a sharp kick in her chest. She needed to get the hell out of there.
Livvie. She was so numb, that lone thought was like a lifeline. She’d get out of there and find a phone to call Livvie.
Pure animal panic emptied her mind, and Felicity let her feet take her where they would. Blindly, she turned corner after corner, trying not to think about those purple flowers reaching for her, brushing against her skin like a touch from beyond. She hunched through each doorway, relying on some instinctual part of her to lead her to the light.
The leaves grew a brighter green as she went, the maze gradually opening to allow the sun’s fingers to wend their way in. Fresh air was sweet in her lungs, and Felicity realized the maze was at her back.
She stumbled forward, looking for landmarks to place herself. Fresh tears stung. Will. They’d stood together just here. How many minutes ago, how many centuries?
Had he died here? Her throat closed, her grief a constant ache lodged just there.
Phone. I need a phone, she thought, as she began to jog. Hiking her long skirts high, she jogged away from the maze, welcoming the stitch in her side and the burn in her chest.
She galloped down a hill she remembered climbing with Will, and it pushed her harder. Her leather slippers were soaked through, and they made a dull slapping as she raced across a damp, green glen, desperate now to hear Livia’s voice.
Felicity didn’t know how far or how long she’d been going when signs of life began to pierce her consciousness. A distant lowing. The bleat of a sheep.
A car horn.
She broke into a run.
A narrow street wound at the base of a valley, and she ran to it, hypnotized by the sight of small, boxy cars winding in the distance. A dingy, squared-off truck. Some white, compact Eurocar.
She slowed, mesmerized. The sight of modern amenities wasn’t the relief she’d thought it might be, and the notion rocked her. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">