Timeless

Chapter Three

Chapter 3

His side ached where they had kicked him. His lungs burned as he sucked the cool spring air down. Yet still he fought, driving his stolen dirk into one filthy Fraser after another. The bastards thought they could ambush him on his own land. Fools. His clan knew he had been on his way home, and the men he had sent ahead knew the path he would take. He was supposed to have arrived back at Loganach the day before. His men would have been looking for him since first light.

He sliced at the captain’s arm, forcing him to drop his axe. The man had stamina, he’d give him that. After the honey haired beauty had knocked the breath from him, it had taken him less than a minute to join the skirmish. But now he was useless, his arm in need of stiff support before he could lift another weapon with enough strength to kill. Speaking of the woman, he slowed his attacks, watching her dance around the swinging blades and strike back with such grace, it hardly seemed to be the ruthless violence he regularly saw. Who was she?

“Look out!” Her strange voice pierced his haze of awe and curiosity, just in time for him to stop a downward blow from one of the scrawnier Frasers. That’s when he heard the thunder of hooves and looked to the horizon to see three riders, wearing the Logan plaid no less. He gave a vicious sneer towards the man whose attack he had just blocked, followed by a quick drive of his weapon into the man’s chest. That was four dead, two by his hand and two – make that five dead and three by her hand. He saw the woman slicing another Fraser’s throat as he turned to face her.

She ended in a crouch, sharp eyes whose vibrantly purple hue put the heather to shame flicking about in search of more enemies. It was obvious the she was no stranger to dangerous situations. Her eyes then sought out her companions, a young lad and a very beautiful but very typical female both currently sprinting for the forest. Quite clumsily, he might add. He waved to the three men, gesturing towards them in a way that said “retrieve them” while allowing his expression to convey that they were not to be harmed.

“Who are ye?!” A harsh grunt demanded. He turned to see the Fraser captain knelt a small distance away, glaring furiously at the woman. He felt a protective instinct rise in him that he had not felt since he had learned of his stepfather’s definition of “husbandly discipline”.

“Your worst nightmare.” The woman answered before he could, her melodic voice very chilling when speaking those words so calm and matter of fact. “And you are?” Her tone remained polite, yet distant, as though meeting a lord at court. Who was this incredible woman?

“Captain Angus Fraser,” the captain grunted, spitting the words out along with a clump of spittle, which he aimed at the woman’s strange shoes.

“My lord,” Darach, his second in command, spoke before he could decide to teach the Fraser cur some manners. “What’s happened?”

“The Frasers claim this is their land.” He growled, dropping the blade he had taken and picking his own weapons off of the body of the man who had stolen them from him.

“Fool,” Iain guffawed. “Yer land is a league to the east. Learn yer boarders if yer going to dispute them.” His brother looked quite content with the lass slung over his saddle in front of him, still kicking and screaming.

“Fiona!” The woman yelled. All attention was drawn to her and the girl fell silent, glaring at her.

“Do not tell me to be quiet Ri! I can scream however loudly I want to and there’s nothing you can do about it!” The girl opened her mouth to scream again, but the noise died in her throat at the woman’s next words.

“No, but I could knock you over the head so you can’t speak at all,” she didn’t say it cruelly, but she was obviously at the end of her rope.

“You wouldn’t dare.” The girl, Fiona was it, hissed. The woman brought a finger to her lips, making a noise by blowing air between her teeth meant to shush her. They were twins by the look of them, and the lad was obviously their brother. He did not need encouragement. Aside from the occasional whimper, he was completely compliant in the saddle in front of Darach. The third rider was a young warrior Darach was training.

“Now how am I supposed to know that they’re safe with your men?” The woman had rounded on him, one arm raised and bent at the elbow so that she could rest the flat of the blade she still held on her shoulder, just behind her neck. This seemed to be a strange stance. With minimal maneuvering, he could have plunged the tip through her throat and neck. Then again, the gleam in her eye told him he would probably be a fool to try. “What’s your name?”

“Wolf,” he grunted.

“Wolf is not a name.” She smiled in amusement.

“Shaw Logan,” he amended. “I am called Wolf.”

“Well, my name is Ri,” she gave him a small incline of her head, a faint imitation of a bow. “Ri Willow.”

“Shaw Logan?” The Fraser captain recognized his name. He opened his mouth, probably to spew venom.

“Quiet!” Shaw demanded.

“Shut up!” Ri ordered at the same time. Shaw cocked his head at her strange words, but brushed them off in favor of a better question.

“What kind of name is Ri?”

“A nickname. Like Wolf, except my real name doesn’t fit me as well of yours.” Her smile was radiant, piercing through the gloom of the early morning. “Do you mind if I call you Shaw?”

“You will call him My Lord,” Darach sneered, “if you are allowed to speak to him at all.”

“Peace, Darach.” Shaw stared the man down, but was distracted by the Fraser Captain cackling at his feet. “Pray tell, what do you find so amusing?”

“You missed one,” the Captain chuckled. Shaw scowled at him, wondering what he could mean. Then he heard footsteps behind him, saw the widening of eyes from Darach and his brother as they reached for their weapons. He drew his dirk, aware that his favored claymore would be too slow. But he did not even have time to lift his blade. As he turned he saw the dagger glint as it drove towards his torso. He was going to die.

“Unfh,” Something slammed into him, small and soft and warm instead of the cold, piercing sharpness he was expecting. Instinctively, one arm wrapped around a delicate waist and pulled it closely to him, while the other drove his dirk forward into the throat of the last of the Frasers who had attacked him. The man choked, coughed and spluttered, then crumpled.

The fragile form pressed against him clung to the arm that secured her. Shaw looked down into wide, yet surprisingly calm, vividly violet eyes, and then to the dagger imbedded in her gut. She had taken the blow for him, moved faster than anyone he had ever seen in doing so, and saved his life. She sagged against him, her eyes fluttering, and Shaw began to feel panic claw its way up his ribcage.

“Don’t!” She did not heed his command, more of a fervid whisper, or she did not care to obey. Either way, she grasped the blade and tugged it from her body, placing one hand over the wound. Shaw clapped his hand over her own, pressing down in an effort to keep her lifeblood in. She dropped the dagger and placed her tiny hand gently atop his, her thumb stroking almost absently at his knuckles.

“There,” She tried to laugh through a gasp of pain. “I saved your life. Now I can call you whatever I want.” Her breaths were shallow, shaky. “Take care of them.” She nodded to her siblings, prone astride his men’s horses. “They’re irritating and will make you want to tear your hair out most days, but they deserve a chance at life.”

“So do ye,” Shaw insisted. He did not like the way the color was fading from her cheeks.

“Then do something about it,” Her whisper was meant only for him. Or perhaps she was simply exhausted. Because it was at that moment that she succumbed to her wounds and allowed her eyes to drift shut.