Page 6 of Taming the Highland Beauty

The weapons of the men in the back dipped and their faces became ashen. The front three held their ground. “Once we ’ave the fairy we’ll have nae need of the village. We can use ’er magic tae conjure up a fortune and leave Dunvegan behind. Now move out of our way,” the grey-haired man said.

Callum drew his sword. “You’ll have to fight me to move beyond this point.”

“Let’s go home,” the redhead said, placing his hand on the grey-haired man’s shoulder. “I don’t want tae kill the fairy or this MacLeod. There is too much at stake fer our families.”

The grey-haired man jerked away from the younger man’s touch. “Don’t be a sissy, Arran. We can take this lad, tie him up, get the fairy, and be on our way before Laird MacLeod knows what we’ve done.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Let us pass, ’cuz we’ll ’ave that fairy one way or another.”

Callum steadied his sword in his hands, ready to strike whichever man advanced towards him. His breathing slowed, even as his heart pulsed in his ears, anticipating the battle to come. But with his next heartbeat, a whoosh sounded behind him. The tree branches near them swooped down, swatting at the villagers, knocking them to the ground. Their cries of distress sent the birds in the trees into flight.

Callum turned to see Gille behind him. With her cloak wrapped around her and her eyes blazing, she looked more like an avenging beast than a maligned fairy.

She held her hand out to him. “Come, Callum. We must flee. I’ll not have you sacrifice your life for me.”

Callum hesitated. “These men will only follow us.”

“I know where we can hide. Please, trust me,” she pleaded.

He sheathed his sword, and, taking her hand, allowed her to pull him deeper into the woodlands. He cast a glance behind him only to see the men rise. The four younger men in back turned and ran back towards Dunvegan village, but the older three gave chase. The woods around them echoed with the guttural roars of the three angry men.

Gille’s steps were as sure and swift as before. In moments, she put some distance between the two of them and the villagers as she wove her way around the trees into the thicker, darker part of the woods. The thought they might escape entered Callum’s mind until flickers of red pierced the darkness, growing in intensity with every heartbeat, casting grotesque shadows on the trees and the panicked animals fleeing all around them.

Gille’s steps slowed as she turned back to look. “They are setting fire to the forest.” Her voice was raw with fear.

The air, crisp moments ago, tasted thick with smoke as fire devoured the undergrowth. The enraged bellows of the village men mixed with the slow hissing of the flames, which quickly built to a roar. They could no longer hide. Every fallen log, every thicket, was now bathed in the flickering orange glow of the fire. The once vibrant forest was vanishing all around them, making hiding an impossible dream.

“We cannot stay here, Callum. We must go.” Gille squeezed his hand, her touch surprisingly strong.

“But if you leave—”

“If we do not leave, we will both die.” Tears streaked from her eyes, leaving twin trails in the soot now covering her face. The sound of pursuit faded as the crackling flames licked at the tree branches, consuming the canopy as they had the underbrush. Gille was right. They had to leave. It was their only hope for survival.

A splash of dappled light appeared ahead of them, between two trees. One path not yet consumed by the flames offered a sliver of hope. “There,” Callum said, leading the way towards the momentary haven. His lungs burned and his eyes stung as they broke between the trees to a steep, rocky incline. It promised a treacherous but perhaps a lifesaving path.

With a burst of energy, Callum pulled Gille through the trees only to find a near-vertical cliff on the opposite side, leading down to the rocky shore of Loch Dunvegan. He turned to Gille. “We must go down,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from the smoke. He was not certain if the villagers would follow. He knew from living at Dunvegan his entire life that the cliff was dangerous, but it was their only hope for escape.

Chapter Three

Gille’s heart was in her throat as she swung her legs over the side of the cliff, searching for footholds. She knew they had no choice but to climb down, but once her hands left the soil of the forest, time would become her enemy. She cast a quick glance at the sun through the haze of the smoke to see that it was halfway to its zenith. Seven days from now, at sunrise, she would only exist as a tree, unless by some miracle the forest was restored, or she broke her curse.

Callum saw the direction of her gaze and offered her a sympathetic smile. “I am certain we can find a way to keep you from . . .” His words died in the wind as he turned to concentrate on the task at hand. He moved slowly, making certain she saw the handholds he used as he lowered himself down the cliff before her.

Gille turned back to the blazing woodlands behind them. She closed her eyes and sent out a plea to the creatures that had been her friends for the past year, asking them to seek safety, to care for each other until she could return and try to repair the damage that had been done. If such a thing were possible. For her magic came from the flora and fauna. When they were destroyed, would her magic be as well? A flash of fear shot through her, clawing at Gille’s throat, its icy grip threatening to paralyse her.

“Don’t look down.” Callum’s voice pierced her anxious thoughts. “Simply focus on your next foothold, and before you know it, we will be safe.”

Gille turned her gaze back to the sandstone in front of her, and the fear in her chest eased. There was no fairy magic that could help either of them if they fell onto the rocks below. But Callum seemed convinced they could make it, so she would hold on to that hope and use it to lower herself.

Halfway down, Gille could feel the heat of the fire above and heard the angry shouts of the villagers as they too reached the edge of the cliff. One by one they threw their weapons at the pair. Callum flattened against the rock face, avoiding the scythe aimed at his head. It disappeared below. Next came a pitchfork that flew past them, and a torch followed. All the weapons missed her, but it only made the trembling in her body intensify. Her fingers slipped on a handhold, sending a spray of pebbles down upon Callum’s head.

“Steady,” Callum said. “You can do this.”

Gille appreciated his faith in her even as her vision blurred with exhaustion. Her climb might be easier if she released the tie that kept her cloak hanging about her shoulders, but Gille could not part with the garment. It was her refuge. If she died, she would die wearing it—whether on the rocks below or when she turned into a tree.

Ignoring her protesting muscles and the villagers also climbing down the cliff, she turned her thoughts to her next handhold or foothold until several minutes later she felt Callum’s hands at her waist, lifting her down to the rocky shore.

“We made it,” she said, her breathing still laboured.

Callum glanced at the men descending above them. “We are not safe yet. Now, it is you who must trust me. You know the forest. But I know this shoreline.”