Desiring the Highlander Read Free Page A

would think he had won.
    Suddenly, a trumpet blasted over the strath and a man riding an armor-covered horse broke over the ridge. Pausing only briefly to assess Cole and then Rob, who was now writhing on the ground, he rode straight to the leader. “Lincoln wants you and your men on the west bank now.”
    The confidence the leader had worn just moments ago dissolved upon hearing the order. “The west b…” He moved to look over the ridge at the troops below. For the first time since locking his eyes on the murderer, Cole broke his gaze and looked out.
    The English archers who had lined the western flank, ensuring the doom of the Scottish cause, were gone. Somehow, MacDonnill had maneuvered a handful of men behind them and they now lay dead. The battle would now be fought between the English cavalry and Scottish spearmen, a much more equitable turn of events. Cole knew who was behind the miracle. His brother. Conor must have somehow talked some sense into MacDonnill, and the pompous laird, recognizing his perilous situation, had listened. The English numbers were still significantly greater, but there was now a chance.
    The English soldiers must have seen the same thing. The leader pivoted, ordered his men to get their horses, and grabbed his sword still protruding from Rob’s abdomen. But just as he jumped on his mount, he turned to face Cole. “This changes nothing. Watch your people pray to God as they meet with their end, and when I return, it will be my turn to listen to you beg for mercy.”
    And then he was gone.
    Cole collapsed and closed his eyes, listening to his heartbeat. He tried to feel something…anything. Fear, anger, remorse. There was nothing. Then he heard Rob.
    “Cole…” Rob’s voice was weak and close to death.
    Cole scooted awkwardly over to his friend. “I’m here.” He wanted to say hold on, I’m going for help, you are going to be all right, but each time he tried, the words got caught in his throat. All he could mutter was “I’m here” again and again, hoping to reassure his friend that he would not die alone.
    “Do something for me.”
    Cole swallowed. “What?”
    “Live. I have a dagger in my belt. Use it to get free and then I want you to make every English blaigeard pay for what they do today.”
    “I will.” Cole choked on the two words. Hearing his dying friend speak in such pain was making everything seem more real, more awful. The detached part of himself was slamming back inside and his heart was wrenching.
    “Don’t forget me and what they did. Promise me, Cole. Promise me you won’t forget.”
    “I promise.”
    “And Cole…” Gurgles of blood started sputtering from Rob’s mouth. “Tell my father…”
    But before he could finish the request, his eyes glazed over and Cole knew that his best friend since he had been four years old was dead. A deep hatred began to slide over his skin, slipping into his pores. The urge to join the ensuing battle below was paramount. He would find the English leader with cold black eyes and drive a blade straight through his heart.
    Twisting around, Cole fumbled with the back of Rob’s belt for what seemed an eternity. Then he felt the small cool blade on his fingers and slid the tiny weapon out of its casing. A minute later, he was free.
    Picking up his broadsword, he swung it high in the air and then began yelling as he descended the steep slope to join the battle.
    Crazed, detached, almost unaware of his actions or what he was doing, Cole began swinging his weapon haphazardly at anything covered in armor that was moving. He plunged and sliced and created a bloody swath through every English soldier he encountered, searching for the one man who had dared to mutilate Rob.
    Then he found him. He was sitting atop his horse, behind the fighting, among several other English leaders, confident that he was safe. Cole was charging the small group when a lone arrow appeared and found its target. The man came down off his horse with a