But Ian had no more capacity for words. He’d just killed a man after having sworn to never do so again. It was just like in the caliphate.
His ears filled with the bloodthirsty cheers of the crowd; his vision sharpened and intensified. He didn’t feel his body anymore. Pure fire seethed his veins.
“Aaarghh!” He launched himself at the first one.
The sword light in his arms, he met the man’s blade with a clang. Ian slashed again, and again, and again, every time meeting the steel.
The second man came at him now, from the other side, sword raised. Taking stock of his surroundings, he noted another man behind him pressed against a tree. A fourth man with a shield and a sword advanced.
Just like numerous times in the caliphate. Two, even three opponents against the unbreakable Red Death.
He went into another space. A space where he didn’t exist, where he was the spirit of the sword. Where everything around him moved slowly, and he was a deadly lightning strike.
He whirled and kicked and ducked. He cut. He slashed.
He killed.
Two armed men lay dead on the ground. One man still leaned against the tree, but now his guts were spilling out, his eyes staring but not seeing. Ian’s sword pressed against the fourth man’s throat, about to pierce it.
“Stop!” Kate’s voice broke through the red fog of death.
Ian stopped. The point of his sword still at the man’s neck, one hand holding his collar.
His heart thumping in his ears, he panted. The man’s wide eyes pleaded for his life. Ian’s sword dripped with blood, sprays of red on his hands and his sleeves.
“Ian, you don’t have to kill him,” Kate said.
I dinna have to kill him. I dinna have to kill him. The words reverberated in his skull as he tried to make sense of them.
This wasn’t the caliphate. Ian wasn’t a slave anymore. He had a choice.
He glanced in the direction of the rest of the camp. The atmosphere there sounded cheerful. Men spoke in a hum of voices, occasionally bursting out in laughter. By some miracle, no one else had paid attention to them.
Ian looked again at the man. Now that he could think more clearly, he realized he knew the face.
It was the man who’d taken Thor.
“Ye whelp,” Ian spat. “Ye whoreson. I’d gladly kill ye.”
“Please…” the man whimpered. “I’ll do anything.”
“Aye. Ye will. Shut up.” Ian looked up. “Kate, tie his hands behind his back.”
She took the longer part of the rope she’d been tied with and did as he asked.
“Now tear some of yer dress and gag him,” Ian said.
“Ian—”
“Do it. Or he’ll alarm the whole camp the minute we’re on the horse.”
“But—”
“I’m nae killing him,” he snapped. "Be happy."
She nodded. She tore a piece of her skirt and put it into the man’s mouth.
Ian tied the man to a tree, then glanced around at what he’d done. The first man lay on his stomach, a dark flower of blood blooming on his white tunic. The second stared unseeingly into the sky, a long gash on his side, his insides peering out.
He waited for remorse to weigh heavily on his chest, but it didn’t come. What was wrong with him? He’d just killed men in cold blood. Then he looked at the man leaning against another tree a few paces off. Not truly a man, but still a lad, he now realized. A waterskin and a loaf of bread lay on the ground nearby, no weapons. He didn’t even remember killing the lad.
He truly was a monster, just as he’d suspected all this time. His throat tensed and stung. The skin of his palms itched, and his tunic scratched as though made of nettle.
He needed to move. He’d dwell on what he’d done later. Someone might come any moment.
Quietly, Ian undid the reins of other horses and gently slapped each on the hip to send them away. The English would be slowed down in their pursuit.
Mounting Thor, Ian helped Kate up. Then they went slowly through the trees towards the loch.
“Ian, what were you—”
“Shh,” he said. “We’re nae out of danger yet.”
He was glad for some time in silence. He wouldn’t have a lot of comforting things to say, anyway. The aftershocks of his rage rippled through his blood. Kate sitting in front of him, the scent of her, the feel of her soft, warm body against him, was a pleasant distraction from the memories tormenting his psyche.
They rode Thor slowly for a while in silence. Soon, the laughter, the music, and the voices from the camp vanished. Thor’s hooves thudded softly, leaves rustled above their heads, and birds chirped. They descended to the shore of Loch Awe, gravel rustling under Thor’s hooves. Ian looked carefully for shadows behind the trees or armor glistening, but everything remained calm. Once he knew they weren’t being followed, he spurred Thor into a trot.
Dry blood covered his hands. He had tucked his enemy’s sword into his belt.
Who was he now that he’d broken his own oath?
He was the beast he’d thought he was for eleven years. Just coming home wouldn’t rid him of the death he’d brought to people.
Kate had seen him kill an innocent man and two warriors. She’d seen him at his worst. She knew who he truly was.
A cold-blooded killer.
The thought maimed him, gnawed at his soul, and lacerated his heart.
Chapter 16
Kate held on to the horse’s mane, the trot sending shots of pain through her head. But for the first time since she’d arrived here, her mind was clear.
The slap had done something. Like with an old TV that didn’t work, a hard hit had connected the wires. When that man had hit her, the detonation of blinding pain had come with a memory of another hit—of her falling into a blinding darkness while trying to get away from Logan Robertson, the celebrity chef.
That memory had finally brought the last two pieces of the puzzle together. Specifically, why she’d been with Logan
