Highlander’s War of Clans
Adamina Young
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Highlander’s Tempted Guard
Prologue
Chapter 1
Also by the author
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Prologue
The golden sun was rising in the sky. Birds sang and animals roamed about the fields of the forest, happy to forage for their meals and frolic with their families.
But the previous afternoon, a thunderous rumble had made the ground shake...
It was as loud as a storm, but the sky was still clear. A few wispy clouds hung against the sapphire canvas, witness to the carnage that was about to take place below. The peace of the forest was shattered as two angry clans met in battle. Armies made of hardened warriors and ruthless men were clashing. The air thrummed with the angry song of steel crashing against steel. Arrows whipped through the air. Axes were driven through armor and flesh. Bones cracked and death howls rose through the air as scarlet blood flowed as deep as a river across the green grass.
The men were all Highlanders, members of the Frasier and McClearey clans. These two clans had been mortal enemies for generations. While there had been bouts of peace over the years, it was only ever fleeting. Hostilities always erupted again and battles were fought, wars were waged, and there was only ever enough time to heal the wounds before something happened to inspire hatred again.
The Frasier clan was led by Malcolm, a fierce warrior with red hair and a flaming beard. His eyes blazed with anger and he spoke in a booming voice that made the walls of his castle rattle. He was a tall man, said to have the blood of giants in his ancestry, just like his father before him and his sons after him. He had taken up the mantle of war from his father and in battle he was like a raging tempest, whirling with his great war hammer, sending men flying as he caved in their chests. The force of his war cry was enough to inspire his men to even greater heights of bravery and they charged in around him, ready to give their lives for their charismatic leader.
On the other side was Bryn McClearey, a man who was more on the slender build. He had spent most of his life out in the forest, running with the wolves and hunting his prey. His mind was a tactical one and he had a reputation for being shrewd on the battlefield. He fought not just for honor, but for his family too, especially his eldest daughter Caitlin. His eyes were always darting about, looking for an opportunity to strike and prey on his enemy’s weakness. He wielded his sword gracefully, moving about the battlefield as though he was dancing. There was a brutal elegance as he made his way through the enemy troops, slashing and slicing at them, leaving a sea of blood in his wake. Blood and thunder raged in their minds as they both urged on their troops, but everyone else was collateral damage.
They wanted each other.
The rhythm of the battle shifted. It was impossible for Bryn to not know where Malcolm was, as the huge man stood out amongst the rest. His biceps glistened with sweat as he whirled his war hammer around. Bryn winced as he heard the crunch of bones breaking and a haughty laugh. He saw his troops run around and flank the onrushing enemy. It was as though they were trying to hold back the tide, and while he had confidence in his men, Bryn knew that the quickest way to end the fight was to end the threat posed by Malcolm.
Bryn used the bodies of the Highlanders as a shield. He shifted and dodged around the dancing soldiers as he made his way closer to Malcolm. Blood dripped from his sword and the smell of battle made him want to retch, but he quelled the urge and continued on his way, never taking his eyes off Malcolm.
The leader of the Frasier clan was hollering uproariously as he threw himself into the battle. There was nothing he enjoyed more than throwing himself into the heat of war and testing his strength and mettle against his foes. One by one they all charged at him, and one by one they all fell back. He strode forward, marching over a sea of dead bodies, his mighty hammer swinging like a pendulum, dealing mortal wounds to all who met it. But Malcolm’s eyes were always drifting across the battlefield, trying to find his equal—the man named Bryn. He was as wily as a fox, and Malcolm knew that he would have some plan to try and gain the upper hand. He squinted as he looked through the swirling morass of bodies, but Bryn did not appear to be anywhere.
Malcolm wasn’t going to let that worry him though. He continued his devastating destruction and waited for Bryn to come to him.
Eventually, the blade of a sword flashed and Malcolm turned around. Bryn had managed to sneak around and kill the two men on Malcolm’s right-hand side. The blade had caught the sun and Malcolm moved with surprising agility, evading the strike. He swung his hammer back, a low strike that aimed to sweep Bryn off his feet. Bryn hopped over it and Malcolm cursed. The two men glared at each other. Bryn’s hair fluttered as it caught the breeze, while Malcolm’s was tied into a tight ponytail. Bryn held his sword tightly and his entire body was rigid with tension, poised to strike at any moment. Malcolm was more relaxed but still wary. Bryn was more dangerous than he appeared.
“I wondered when ye’d creep up on me,” Malcolm sneered. “Are
