Desiring the Highlander Read Free

we’re saying.”
    The leader’s eyes flicked from Cole to Rob and back to Cole again. Finally, he spoke. “The gaping one doesn’t,” the leader finally decided. “But the dark-haired boy does. You understand every word we are saying, don’t you? Just who are you? A farmer boy wanting to play soldier?”
    His voice was deep and had a sick tone to it. The man had more than just a willingness to kill; he enjoyed the act itself. His question also proved he understood enough Gaelic to interpret some of Rob’s lies.
    Cole leveled his hard gaze and let all emotion drain out of him. He was not afraid of dying and it must have shown because the leader chuckled and approached, his cruel smile growing larger as if he just thought of a delightful game involving pain and death. The soldier pinning Cole down adjusted his stance, but did not free him.
    The leader swung his polished blade around and pointed it at Cole’s neck. Cole could feel Rob squirming and heard him choking. That’s when Cole grasped it was not Rob’s chest they were using to pin him down, but his windpipe.
    Cole felt as if the hand of God had swooped down and torn him in half. The part with any emotion, any feeling, was screaming to save his best friend, to do something, say anything that would get the bastard to lift his foot and let Rob breathe. But the other part—the part that controlled his actions—refused to move. Every emotion, every foolish hope and childish dream he had ever had, was shriveling, leaving only a cold, empty shell in its place.
    Cole stared in silent defiance as the leader slowly pressed the tip of his sword into his throat. Warm blood began to trickle down the side of Cole’s neck and then past the back of his ear. When Cole remained unresponsive to the pain, the metallic edge began to move upward, unhurried, to slice the skin. Bit by bit the blade carved its way up the neckline, stopping at the curve of Cole’s chin. The man was waiting for him to fight back, put up some type of resistance. His enjoyment rested upon reactions—a cry, a flinch, a whimper…anything to let him know that Cole was afraid.
    But Cole wasn’t afraid of dying. What he was most afraid of was living.
    The leader must have seen it. Somehow, he had recognized that one weakness. The man smiled cruelly, lifted his blade, and then nodded at the soldier to his right. A second later, Rob’s raspy gasps filled the air. No longer was his friend pinned, dying for lack of breath. The leader then pointed at Cole and said, “Tie up the bastard. We wouldn’t want him to suddenly feel heroic and get in the way of our fun.”
    Cole heard one of his ribs crack as a foot collided with his side, forcing him to roll over. His arms were yanked back as a coarse rope was slipped around his wrists, binding them tightly together. But not once did his bright blue eyes lose their lock on the maniacal leader as he walked over to his friend’s side.
    He leered at Rob and then returned his attention back to Cole. “I’ll admit that I had thought to kill you first, but I have come to realize your death means little to you. So I have changed my mind. You will watch me kill your pathetic farmer-boy brother and the slaughter of your countrymen. And then it will be your turn. Maybe by the time your legs and arms are tied to horses, you will feel more inclined to fight back.”
    Then, without any more preamble, the evil man brought his sword high up in the air and then straight down, goring Rob right through his stomach and into the ground. A scream filled the air. The strike was meant to kill slowly, painfully. Then the madman struck again, his crazed smile growing each time Rob shrieked in agony.
    Cole knew he was only getting started. The man would continue his merciless attack finding more and more ways to exact pain before Rob finally succumbed to his death. And there was nothing Cole could do but watch. He knew if he closed his eyes for even one second, the English lunatic