Then there’s Alistair. His kilt and shirt—once pristine white—are now splattered with blood and dirt. But he’s not fazed; instead, he rallies our forces with a voice that booms across the battlefield.
“Hold yer ground, lads! We’re not lettin’ these ruffians take what’s ours!”
His words ignite a spark in our troops. The MacDowell clan roars in approval, their spirits lifted by Alistair’s unwavering leadership.
Caught up in the spectacle, I let my guard drop for just a moment too long. My opponent seizes his chance and lunges at me; his blade grazes my arm before I can dodge out of the way.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sting of cold steel slicing through my skin. Warm blood begins to seep through my jean jacket sleeve, but there’s no time to dwell on it now. Thankfully, it’s only a surface wound. Can’t stop now. This cave dweller is going down!
“Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt, my voice laced with bravado. “I’ve had paper cuts that hurt worse than that.”
The warrior’s face contorts with rage, and he redoubles his efforts. Our swords keep colliding, the metallic ring echoing through the air as we both vie for control.
My muscles are screaming at me, crying out for a break, but I can’t afford to give them one. Not now. A fierce determination, born from my love for these people I’ve come to care about so deeply, keeps me going.
In the end, it’s not my sword that saves me. It’s my right boot.
As the warrior lifts his blade for what could be a fatal blow, I kick out, catching him square in the chest. His eyes widen in surprise and he stumbles backward, his weapon clattering to the ground.
I seize the golden opportunity and press my sword against his throat.
“It’s quitting time.”
My voice comes out surprisingly steady given how much adrenaline is pumping through me.
The warrior’s gaze is intense as he glares at me. There’s so much hatred there it’s almost tangible, but his body betrays him. He’s simply too tired to keep fighting.
Feeling a surge of emotions, I watch as he crumbles to the ground, his shoulders slumping in surrender. Relief and empathy wash over me, but there’s no time to linger in my moment of victory.
With an immediate pivot on my heel, I dash off towhere my friends are still knee-deep in battle. I’m determined to help because, let’s face it, we’re stuck in this mess together until someone figures out how to create a time-travel app.
Honestly, though, who knew swinging a sword could give me a better workout than my spin class? Calorie burn for the win!
As the sun climbs high in the sky, casting long shadows across the battlefield, the momentum of the battle shifts in our favor. As the morning's high-energy chaos slips into a tense afternoon lull, Fergus's bagpipes wail through the air—his not-so-subtle way of spooking the Campbells—while swords clash in the distance.
When the sunstarts to go down, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple, a sense of uneasy calm settles over our side of the field. The air grows cooler, and the shadows lengthen, signaling the approach of night. As darkness wraps around us again, flickering torches illuminate our weary faces.
The moon hangs low in the sky, a ghostly presence barely piercing the blanket of stars. Its once-bright glow has dwindled to a whisper of light, casting a faint, almost ethereal shimmer over the battlefield.
So that’s it. Cal and I can forget about a quick escape back to Wi-Fi and takeout food.
But hey, at least the MacDowells are starting to give the Campbell bullies a run for their money. Gregor’s goons are pulling back, their numbers dwindling under our relentless attack.
TBH, it’s not exactly a champagne-popping moment.
Wounded men are being hauled off, their faces twisted in pain. Bodies of those who didn’t make it litter the ground, staring blankly at the sky.
But even in this nightmare, I see glimmers of hope. Fi is over by the tavern, playing nurse to the wounded with her healing touch. Alistair’s clapping his men on their backs, his eyes gleaming with pride and gratitude.
My gaze skates across the battlefield—all clashing steel and gut-wrenching screams—until I spot Cal in all the pandemonium. He stands tall, a Highlander superhero, sword raised high as if challenging the Gods to a duel.
But then everything turns into slow motion, and time seems to freeze.
An enemy warrior who looks more like a grizzly bear than a man lunges at Cal with lethal intent. His blade slices through the air towards his heart, and my breath catches in my throat.
The sword plunges into Cal’s chest with an awful sound that makes my stomach churn. I feel like I’m being stabbed right along with him. He widens hiseyes like he never saw this coming—like he never imagined he could be this vulnerable.
His knees buckle beneath him like they’re made from origami instead of muscle, and he stumbles backward onto the blood-soaked earth below.
