Page 54 of The Highlander’s Gypsy Temptation

Bran was convinced August was still in the camp. The real challenge was finding the rat where he was hiding. Bran tucked his sword into his belt then rushed into August’s tent with dagger in hand. As feared, he found the tent empty. He stepped out in disappointment and scanned the entire camp.

He considered searching through the tents one by one but admitted it would take him too long. He also would be exposing himself, with little room to navigate should he be discovered. He decided to return to the battle, which had only gotten louder as more enemies joined the fray.

He went back into August’s tent and rifled through his possessions. He noticed August’s strongbox was missing, and the implication dawned on him. August had fled the camp. If he had run away, then there was no other reason for Bran and his men to continue fighting.

He had to go and inform Tor and Dunn to perform a strategic retreat. There was no need to lose any more lives in a pointless battle. He and Mahala had been rescued, and they could all consider the mission a success. They could always go after August some other time.

Bran felt a deep disgust for the man. A commander who fled from the men in his command during an attack did not deserve the right to command the respect or loyalty of those men. Bran had always wondered why August’s men did his bidding or followed him, but he imagined he kept them faithful through fear, as he had done with him.

He made his way through the tents, walking slowly as he returned to the battlefield. The closer he got, the louder the sound of armaments grew. He broke off into a run as he saw one of Tor’s men on the floor, a gypsy soldier towering over him with a battle ax. Bran took out his dagger and flung it at the attacker.

The dagger pierced the man’s heart, and he froze, allowing the axe to drop to the ground, missing the soldier’s head by a few breaths. The gypsy soldier crumpled to the ground in a heap, his lifeless eyes staring into the cloudless sky. The soldier looked towards Bran with thanks and smiled, and Bran saluted in acknowledgement.

As Bran watched, a different gypsy soldier stepped forward and sliced the soldier’s throat as he tried to get up. Bran watched with horror as the blood flowed from his ally, and his eyes followed his limp body as it rolled in the dirt. He looked up from it at the face of the killer.

The killer grinned at Bran, his eyes flashing with murderous intent. He walked towards him, two other gypsy soldiers flanking him, cutting off Bran’s possible escape. Bran frowned with immense hatred as he recognized them.

Duncan, Ross, and Campbell. They were three of August’s most trusted men and had often accompanied Bran on his missions, to make sure he complied and executed his assignments. They were also the men who had captured him back at the castle and returned him to this hell hole.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Bran tightened his fingers around his sword and bared his teeth at the three men. They were the ones who had threatened to separate him from Idalia forever. He could not find August, and his anger needed to be channeled somewhere. He watched them and smiled delightedly.

Bran could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he watched the soldiers circle him. He loathed them. He had always hated them and how much they had enjoyed the killing.

He flexed his arm, working away some of the stiffness in his joints. He felt pain in a million places, and his vision was blurred from all the blows that had been rained on him. He knew he was running on sheer determination, but he had channeled all his energy into finding and killing August.

Energy pumped through Bran, and he forgot about his pain and fatigue. “Cowards,” he spat. “Took three of ye and a sneak attack tae bring me down before. Let’s see how well ye fight when the footin’ is fair.”

“Can’t you count? There’s three of us, and one of you… well, whatever is left of you. You’re a dead man walking, Bran. Really, was it so hard to follow orders?”

Bran spat on the floor. “I was done following your master a long time ago. Now, are we going tae fight? Or are we going tae stand and chat?”

“You seem to be in a hurry to meet your maker,” Duncan teased, stepping forward. “Consider your wish granted.”

Ross’s grin melted into an angry frown, and thick veins showed on his neck. He was the first to charge at Bran, and his comrades followed slowly, trying to flank him. Bran stepped quickly to his right, sweeping his sword in that direction to prevent Campbell from advancing any further.

He brought his blade around quickly to parry Ross’ strike. The blow was so heavy, it sent Bran skidding backwards. He had counted on that. Fighting any two swordsmen was difficult. Fighting three was something even the best of warriors tried to avoid. A number of things could go wrong, and the slightest mistake could spell death for Bran. He couldn’t die, though; he had too much to live for.

As Bran had hoped, Ross abandoned the pincer maneuver that Campbell and Duncan were trying to implement and flew into a one-on-one battle against Bran. He rained blow after blow, and Bran did his best to deflect the blows, allowing them to come close enough without doing real damage.

Bran parried the swings easily, then rammed the hilt of his sword into Ross’s exposed ribs. He heard a satisfying crack and knew he had completely smashed in several ribs. Ross wheezed loudly, his eyes wide with shock, and he fell on his knees, gasping for air.

Before Bran could deliver the death blow, Duncan and Campbell rushed at him, forcing him back into a defensive stance. He needed to find a way to incapacitate one of the others. His arm had started to burn furiously, and he knew he had to act quickly.

Thinking on his feet, he ducked under Duncan’s wide sweep, and made a circular sweep of his own. Duncan was a faster fighter than Campbell and had managed to leap backwards as Bran’s blade cut around. Campbell moved a bit slower and barely managed to block the attack with his own blade.

His stance was poor, though, and he stumbled off balance. Bran followed up quickly and kicked him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards. He feigned as if to follow up the attack on the falling Campbell, and Duncan rushed after him to defend his friend.

Bran pivoted instead and swung backwards, his blade zipping low across Duncan’s torso. He collapsed face first in the ground, clearly dead.

Bran picked his sword and jogged towards the main battle, leaving one dead and two souls still breathing, hoping that would go some way to pay for his redemption.

The battle ground was littered with corpses, most of whom belonged to August’s troops. Sadly, he saw his own men as well. Far too many. He thanked them silently for their sacrifice.

Bran scanned the battlefield for Tor or Dunn. He needed them to retreat immediately. He could see different pockets where the fighting continued furiously, and he found Dunn in the thick of it.

He ran towards him, sword held at the ready as he went. And then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He almost stumbled over a body in his shock. Climbing up the hill was August. And he had Idalia in front of him, with a knife held to her throat.