Page 5 of Highlander’s False Identity

The name burned in Beathan’s heart like fire. As he watched the McKinley filly speeding away again, Beathan could barely believe his eyes.

In despair, he shouted after her, hoping it would shame her into stopping. It did not.

“Edme! Edme McKinley! Come back here now, or ye’ll be the worst for it!” he called hopelessly after her.

God knows, Beathan had been having a bad enough day already. His mission had been simple: transport the Cairngorm brooch belonging to his mother from the Craig keep to the Duncan castle, which had been his grandmother’s home before marriage. This was mainly for safekeeping since, in recent times, attacks and skirmishes with the English and other bandits had seen a sharp increase.

So far, he had had to contend with a freak hail storm, an inexplicably spooked horse, and a loosed bull. His intended leisurely morning’s hunting had ended when he lost his father’s jeweled dagger and now this!

For a moment or two, Beathan watched in dismay as both sword and girl bobbed out of view, then he steeled himself. He wasn’t about to let them go without a fight!

“Edme! Stop!” he called, tearing after her.

Despite his intense fury – which was mainly at himself for allowing this to happen – Beathan could not help but feel slightly impressed at this slip of a lass who had somehow managed to get the better of him.

This chimed with Beathan’s vague memories of the slight, lively maid with honey streaked hair he recalled from Hogmanay gatherings at the McKinley castle. These were held annually and always well attended by the local clan Lairds.

If it was one thing that the Laird of McKinley knew, it was how to put on a good feast. Fondly, Beathan recollected childhood scenes in the vast McKinley castle with venison, haggis, pheasant, and other hearty dishes. This was washed down with wine and a local, single malt, which, even as children, they managed a wee dram.

But he couldn’t remember much of Edme, just a hazy recollection of a rather bossy wench with blonde tresses. Back then, she had been very much in her older brother’s shadow, and he could not remember having a lot to do with her, as girls barely entered his head back then, and when they did, they were more annoyances than acquaintances.

Well, that was one thing that had not changed! As Beathan watched the laughing girl run faster, he resolved that he would get the last laugh somehow. And it was not long before he got his chance!

Whump! A sharp cry sounded across the horizon, and Beathan watched the girl fall over and lay very still.

Unable to see if the girl was safe or harmed, Beathan sped along, over the craggy hillside and up to the spot where the fallen girl lay. It looked as though she had tripped over a branch and hit her head against a rock.

As he approached, Beathan took a sharp breath. The sight of her laying there so still, her shining honey-colored hair strewn recklessly about her whitened face, brought him up hard.

Everything about her seemed lifeless, her lithe limbs stretched out in various directions, and her eyes shut.

Beathan’s heart thumped painfully in his ribcage. With a sour twist, he saw his jeweled dagger lying on the wet grass before him as if it had been offered up by the Gods.

But he was so overwhelmed that he forgot to take it. Instead, he hovered over the girl’s unmoving form. Barely daring to breathe, he looked on.

Everything around him seemed to have stilled, slowed to a crawl almost, as if time itself had been halted.

Thump! Thump! Thump! His heart clamored loudly in his chest. She couldn’t be dead, could she?

His eyes widened in fear as he approached her cautiously, gently prodding her shoulder. There was no response.

“Edme?” he asked softly.

Heaven knows, Beathan had been trying his darndest to keep the trepidation out of his voice and act as if he was not affected. After all, she was a thief who had taken his dagger. There was not one person in the clan who would condemn him in any way for the course of events that had unfurled.

In reality, he would be wholly justified in walking away from the woman who had tried so hard to rob him. Perhaps he would even be doing the clan a favor, ridding them of such a troublesome wench.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had to injure someone in combat. Skirmishes with the English and their traitorous lackeys were becoming ever more frequent, and Beathan had had to assist his father, the Laird of Craig, many times in seeing them off. Just last year, he had been present at the battle at Glen Shiel, which had seen many of their best men slaughtered.

But that had been different, they had been under attack and fighting for the survival of the clan. Also, none of them had been women.

Beathan stared down at the pallid girl, lying rigid in the muddied bog, and gave an involuntary shiver. He tried to remind himself how this woman had just attempted to rob his clan of their jewels and their heritage.

However, just as he was about to pull away from the maid, he lingered. He could not do it. Despite his bravery in battle, Beathan still retained a softness inside. She was injured, and she needed help.

Pressing down closer against her, Beathan looked carefully for signs of life. It didn’t feel quite right, slipping his fingers in beneath her stays and checking for a pulse, but he did it anyway, knowing that every second she was unconscious put her further into danger.

“Edme, Edme,” he said softly, calling her name, trying to wake her.