It took them a while to come over the brow and see what was going on. Maxwell felt completely helpless as he watched five burly soldiers surround Skylar from afar. She wasn't calling out anymore, and for good reason. From this distance, she appeared to be dead, lying limp on the ground with the men standing over her. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what had happened.
He had no doubt that Skylar had fought back. It was just in her nature to do so. Her fiery spirit was one of the many things Maxwell loved about her. But clearly, the men now around her—the cowards that they were, five of them against one slender woman—had put a stop to all that. A horrific thought came to him as he continued on as fast as his horse’s legs would move. Maybe they had gone too far. Maybe one of them had struck a fatal blow. The thought made his heart nearly stop in his chest.
Thundering down the hill, he could hardly think any longer. He just needed to get to her. For a moment, Maxwell lost sight of her as they approached a line of trees that blocked his view. It was a horrible moment, for he could not see what else was happening. He knew only one thing: when he reached them, those soldiers would pay.
Rounding the edge of the trees, the group came back into sight, and while he had not noticed him before, Maxwell suddenly recognized an older man. He stood by, watching one of the soldiers throw Skylar over a horse. Maxwell had no doubt about the man’s identity, and pounding toward Laird Johnson, his rage exploded within him. Maxwell began their battle cry, and Bram, riding by his side, as well as the others following closely behind, joined in.
The soldiers quickly looked up, and Johnson spun around to see what was making such a racket. Before the laird had a chance to react, however, Maxwell had launched himself from his horse and with his sword in hand, ran headlong toward him.
Stepping back, Johnson swiftly produced his own sword, and without any words spoken, the men went straight into battle, throwing their heavy blades at each other from every direction. Every strike that Maxwell swung was filled with rage at all the pain this man had caused him. In fact, he could not really believe that, after all this time, he now had the opportunity to exact his revenge. Coming face to face with this man had been a long-held ambition, and now he could finally punishLaird Johnson the way hedeserved.
He had murdered his father—the swords clanged together as Johnson aimed for his legs. He had killed his betrothed—another blow came above his head, but Maxwell blocked it. And now, he was about to steal away with his wife—Maxwell finally lunged forward and nicked the laird’s arm. He was not going to allow him to take one more thing from him—the laird retaliated and nicked Maxwell’s leg.
“I would have thought,” Laird Johnson said, breathing heavily with the strenuous exertion, “ye would have been tired by now, Maxwell.”
“Tired o’ what?” Maxwell grunted, throwing the blade once more.
“Tired o’ seeing the people ye love die at yer own hand.” Johnson stumbled back a couple of paces. “Do ye nae think it is time ye simply gave up trying tae fight me?” He grunted again. “Ye ken it’s nae use. I always win.”
Maxwell threw a quick glance around him. There were more clashing swords as Bram and the others fought. Though the other men were doing their best, Bram’s huge power cut the laird’s soldiers down like weeds.
“It doesnae look like that tae me,” Maxwell growled in reply, ready to throw another blow. His two arms came above his head, and he stepped forward to strike. But he had not seen the dagger that Johnson had produced from somewhere. He was completely open, his arms taken with the weight of the heavy sword still above his head. In the second it took for him to realize what was about to happen, Johnson had already lunged forward and plunged the dagger into his chest.
* * *
Perhaps it was the dreadful racket, the metal clashing against metal, or perhaps it was the fact that she lay over a horse on her tummy, barely able to breathe in the position she was in, but eventually, Skylar’s eyes opened. She came back to a sight that sent a wave of relief through her pummeled body. She hardly felt the pain where she had been struck, for upon seeing Maxwell and Bram battling with Laird Johnson’s men, all other things were forgotten. He had come for her after all. He had seen through her letter and had come to get her back.
Almost absently, she looked down at her wrists. They were tied together tightly with rope, the coarse thread digging into her delicate flesh. Squirming her arms back and forth, she tried to loosen the knot, but the rope was simply too tight. Still trying to loosen the ropes, Skylar lifted her head and watched Maxwell battling with Johnson. They were arguing as they struck blows against each other, and then suddenly, Johnson lunged forward and stabbed Maxwell in the chest.
“Nae!” she screamed as Maxwell fell heavily down onto his knees.
She had tried so hard to stop this future from happening, but as she lay there sobbing, her world falling apart before her eyes, Skylar realized that it was all too late. Her vision had come true after all.
At the sound of her scream, Bram, who was smiting all around him, suddenly turned toward her and, following her gaze, looked astonished and terrified at the sight of his brother now lying on the ground, blood pouring from his chest. With a final stroke, he killed the man he had been fighting and ran to Maxwell.
“Max! Max!” Bram cried, dropping to his knees in the mud beside him.
Skylar launched herself backwards off the horse. She needed to go to him. She needed to help him. With her hands tied, she had no way to break her fall and losing her balance, she tumbled backwards when she landed. She was only grateful it was grass and soft moss beneath her. Struggling to push herself to a sitting position, she struggled, conflicted between trying to get to her feet and freeing herself from the rope at the same time.
“Bram,” she cried. “Bram!”
Looking up at her, he pushed himself to his feet, leaving Maxwell only a few feet away. Taking his dagger from his sock, he hurriedly sliced through the rope. It was then that thundering hooves were heard approaching.
There were now only two of Johnson’s soldiers alive. They stopped fighting immediately when they realized more of Maxwell’s men were arriving. Johnson himself suddenly looked perturbed, and Skylar watched as he quickly ran to his horse and mounted it. If he stayed, he would surely be killed, for with only three of them, Maxwell’s soldiers would easily overpower and slaughter them. Clearly, the cowardly brute knew that and planned to make an escape before that happened.
Instead of galloping off immediately, however, the laird approached Skylar while Bram still stood by her side. Reaching into the inside of his shirt, he pulled something loose and tossed it down to her.
Skylar caught it and looked at the small pouch in her hands with confusion. Fumbling with the cord at the top, for with her hands tied, her fingers had gone numb, she reached inside and felt some sort of soft strands. When she pulled it out of the pouch, Skylar’s eyes grew wide.
“Och, nae!” Skylar cried in despair, more tears now welling in her eyes. It was a lock of hair that she recognized, and immediately, Skylar knew that Johnson had Lana.
“It isnae over yet, witch,’’ he snarled, his horse rearing in its excitement and fear.
With her hand against her mouth in shock and misery, Skylar glared at him with utter hatred in her heart. Johnson only sneered in reply before digging his heels harshly into his horse’s belly and galloping off at great speed.
She watched him go, but it felt like everything around her was now happening in slow motion as Johnson disappeared from view. The men had finally arrived, chasing off the remaining two soldiers, but their movements appeared delayed. Finally, Maxwell’s men surrounded him as he lay bleeding on the ground. They were shouting and pressing on his chest to stop the bleeding, but Skylar could hardly hear their voices.
“Skylar. Skylar.”
