Page 66 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fraser

Fraser rode hard with Gavin and Kenneth riding on either side of him. Only four more soldiers could be spared for such a journey, given the encampment of villagers still needed to be protected and the walls needed to be guarded. Fraser glanced over his shoulder, watching the men trailing behind him. He knew Colin well enough, seeing how the soldier was often trying to prove his worth; however, the others Fraser had only seen in passing.

Something churned in his stomach, something that made him want to turn around and retreat back to Dunnegan Castle. There was something wrong with the other soldiers, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He had only learned of their names that morn—Finley, Logan, and Wallace. Their faces were banged up and scarred as if they had been hit by something hard not all that long ago, and their gazes were dark as they stared at their laird. Fraser shook the feeling from him, suspecting it had to do with his worries for Laird Gordon.

Gordon’s soldier said the attack happened beyond the wood and near the cliffs overlooking the sea. It was near the borders of MacClery towards the Gordon lands and was nearly a day’s ride, but Fraser didn’t stop to rest. He knew Beitris’s father only had so long to live.

Fraser couldn’t get her red and swollen eyes out of his head nor the shivering of her body. She had looked so broken. Too much had happened to her these past days. He was surprised she was this strong that she could continue on despite the constant unrest in his lands. It was only a matter of time before she was completely worn down. If he could not bring her father home to her, he knew it would destroy her.

Fraser felt as if he was part of the problem. He knew he was. If she had never come to Dunnegan Castle, she would be safe within the Gordon walls. She wouldn’t be suffering so much as she did these past few days.

Don’t think that way, he told himself. His hands gripped the reins, and he urged his horse forward, concentrating on its panting and the thundering of hooves against the path. He needed to focus on finding Laird Gordon. That was all that should matter at the moment.

“Are we nearly there?” Gavin shouted while rushing forward.

Fraser could see the cliffs in the distance, the sea lying beyond with its dark waves. His gaze narrowed on a small group of men dressed in black, sitting on their horses. They stared back at him, watching and waiting. He slowed his horse, his jaw clenching with worry.

“Have they been waiting for us?” Kenneth asked, his voice low and ominous.

“It appears as if they have been,” Fraser said, halting his horse and waiting for the rest of his men to gather around him.

“My laird,” one man shouted, a smirk on his face and a scar marring his chin. “Shall we proceed?”

Fraser glanced over his shoulder at the trees. He could feel something calling for him, demanding he return, but he ignored it. Laird Gordon, he thought as another image of Beitris’s crying face surfaced within him. He couldn’t turn back now. He needed to find Laird Gordon, and these men most probably knew where he was being held. There were only four men loitering near the path. They were outnumbered.

Fraser and his men could take them.

Fraser nodded curtly. “Onwards,” he commanded while flicking the reins and galloping towards the group of men.

“Are ye sure about this, my laird?” Gavin called. “It could be a—”

An arrow whistled past and slammed into Gavin’s shoulder, making him shout with pain. His horse whinnied and bucked, and Fraser watched, mouth agape and wide-eyed, as his man fell off his horse.

“Gavin!” Fraser shouted.

Gavin groaned, slowly rising from the ground and rubbing his head. He grimaced and grasped the arrow, jerking it out of his shoulder. His leine soaked with blood while he wobbled to standing.

“Protect the laird!” Gavin shouted while drawing his blade. “We’re under attack.”

Fraser slowed his horse, allowing the others to swarm around him. Kenneth scowled at the group in wait, drawing his sword and urging his horse forward. The archer in the distance withdrew another arrow, aiming it at another soldier in the front.

“Shields!” Fraser shouted, but his order went unheard.

An arrow whistled past, going through Colin, this time a killing shot. Fraser watched as he fell over, his blood permeating the air around them. His men took their blades, holding them out while they surrounded the archer and his men with their hoods up, their faces covered in shadows. There was nowhere for them to go. All their blades pointed at the men.

“Who are ye?” Fraser shouted from his mount, his hand hovering near his hilt, ready to attack if need be.

The archer chuckled while slowly lowering his bow.

“Are ye the one who attacked my village? Are ye the one who shares my face?”

The archer shoved his bow over one shoulder and pulled down his hood, displaying an elderly face framed by long, matted dark hair. Dark eyes stared back at him, a deep scar marring his cheek. “Do I look like I share yer face, Laird MacClery?”

A chill went through Fraser. If this was not his double, then why was he on the path, attacking them, in the same place Laird Gordon went missing? “Who are ye? And how do ye know me?”

The archer smiled bitterly. “I know more than ye think, Laird MacClery. For I am Murdo, the Sire, and leader of the Black Stags.”