Chapter 23
She was right. As Lex stood in the empty hall of his manor before a cold ash-filled hearth, everything was as he had found it when he arrived. Cold, dark, and empty. His coming really had not changed anything. His whole reason for living, to seek justice for his brother and crush the MacEwen clan, had been wiped away by the same loving hand that had welcomed him so openly. She was most certainly the MacEwen Charm, born only to achieve one thing in her life, to end the prophecy. His clan would join to hers and it would be as if the MacLachlans never existed in these parts, as if he never existed. His last act as a Highlander would be to help her achieve that.
As he closed the door behind him he took only one large traveling bag that would not weigh down his horse overmuch. Even Corkie insisted on staying behind to tend their heathen ways, as she had put it, though he suspected her tending was going to rest heavily on one old, scrawny MacLachlan in particular, Oran. The rest of his belongings he left for Sandra, in the chamber she would share with her MacLachlan husband, be it Mangus or another. He owed her at least that much. He could not leave the gold. He had to return that to the king for the job he was not going to complete. If he rode fast and hard he knew he could beat Worthington and his men back to England and explain the MacEwen matter clearly to King Edward before anyone was sent out to finish his mission. There might be another sent out to retrieve another Highland chief, but it would not be him and it would not be these clans.
His horse's breath was like hot steam off a bath puffing out into the winter air, another reminder that he did not have much time to make his way south before another heavy snow fell and made further travel impossible. Already the tracks of Worthington’s soldiers were barely evident under the thick layer of white camouflage that had fallen in one night. One more good snow would wipe them out completely, making their trespassing here as if it never happened, just like him.
He looked ahead at the well-laid path of sludge Worthington had left for him to follow, but he suddenly noticed that the tracks were not headed south for England as they should have been. At the bottom of the last hill that was the edge of MacLachlan territory, the horse-beaten tracks turned back toward the sea. From the top of the hill he could see they made a wide sweep around the outer edges of his land and were headed down the banks of the far loch. Two lochs trapped both sides of the narrow strip of land his clan called home, and their land put a third side on the triangle of MacEwen land that pointed out to the sea. There was only one thing back that way that Worthington could want, and Lex cursed himself for a fool for sending her into a waiting trap.
***
"So you say you are the chief of this clan, do you?" Worthington circled slowly around the sennachie and looked him over thoroughly as if deciding the fate of an over-worked horse whose prime had passed. His Gaelic was harsher on the ear than Lex's had been when he first arrived. Sandra was sickened that their beautiful language was so butchered as it came out of his permanently sneered lips as if he were spitting out something uneatable.
She stood behind the clan captain Gordon's hulking body and watched as the sennachie sacrificed himself for her father. After all the guilt and pain she had felt in her heart on the long cold trip home, this was her final slap in the face for loving Lex. What she thought was an unselfish act of love on his part turned out to be the finishing touches to his plan. He let her go so easily. He even sent his clan along with her to ensure everything would proceed as planned before his arrival.
Worthington's forces had already overpowered the men who guarded the gate and murdered anyone else foolish enough to step in front of their swords. Four dead bodies greeted her as her welcome home, and without question, she knew who was responsible. Lex.
"Aye, I be the chief of the MacEwens," the sennachie said, his narrow, pointed chin jutting out proudly. He made a sad picture of what a leader of a barbaric Highland clan might look like, but in all honesty he was much more hearty and hale than their real chief, her father.
"I happen to have it on good authority that you suffered a crippling spell as of late." Worthington whacked the back of the old seer's knees with the back of his sword, causing him to buckle to the floor like an empty cloak dropped from its hanger. "I would spare such a man who did not have the ability to walk, but you...you will look very nice indeed on display in his majesty's tower."
Sandra put her foot forward and tried to push her way between Gordon and Rory. Neither man moved to let her pass. They actually elbowed her back behind them. She knew they were doing it to protect her, but she could not just stand there and let that foul excuse for a man degrade their most honored elder.
There was a shuffle at the top of the stairs that she could hear but could not see. Then a hush of mumblings went through the gathered clans as they were held at bay by the sword edges of Worthington's soldiers.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Something heavy was dragged down the stairs by the few men who had gone scavenging through the castle. They were no more than common thieves given lease to rape the Highlands by their foreign king. She managed to pry Gordon and Rory's flexed shoulders apart just enough to see what was being stolen from them. Her heart was nearly ripped from her chest by what she saw.
They had her father. With no regard for his pride or honor, they dragged him by the arms down the stairway, his limp, paralyzed legs trailing behind him as dead weight. Each thud of his knees on the hard wooden stairs kicked the lump further up her throat that she was trying to fight back. They had not even had the decency to wrap his tartan around him over his nightshirt. Raping thieves, the lot of them.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs they dropped him face down in front of Worthington's shiny black leather boots. Sandra watched as her father tried with little hope to raise himself up. He had not the strength or ability in his limbs. A look of disgust pulled at Worthington's lip as he wedged his polished boot under her father's chest and flipped him over like a capsized sea tortoise.
"So this is the great MacEwen chief my king paid handsomely for," Worthington said as he circled around her father, inspecting him as if he were a piece of chattel, just as he had the sennachie.
Sandra could take no more of this abuse to her father or disgrace to their clan. If her father could not help himself any longer, it was time for her to take her rightful place as his heir.
"Leave my father be," she said as she burst forth from behind Gordon with her small dagger already drawn and pointed threateningly at Worthington.
The evil man's scrutinizing gaze flew to her. His black eyes seemed to smile without his lips ever curving upward. The gray on either side of his temples streaked his thinning black hair like the horns of a beast. "I have seen you before," he said as he approached her and began to circle her, his new prey. Sandra said nothing. No one did. "If you want to see your father live to the light of tomorrow, girl, you will tell me the truth. Which one of these scurvy men is your brother?" His threat and insult brought a forward surge of her clansmen, but they were held helpless by the weapons and strength of Worthington's men who held tight to their protective circle around him.
"I have no brothers."
Worthington dropped to his knee by her father's head with surprising speed for a man his age. In one swift move he drew his dagger from its sheath and twisted her father's head up at a contorted angle, exposing the unprotected white flesh of his neck. "No more games, girl. If he dies right now, who takes his seat?"
Sandra saw her father shake his head ever so slightly in Worthington's death grip. She turned to Gordon. He shook his head too. They did not want her to give herself over to him, but what choice did she have? Her father's life, no matter how short it might be, was worth any sacrifice. With a trembling but straight chin she said, "I would become chief."
"You?" Worthington said with a laugh as he let her father's head hit the hard floor with the care one would give a discarded bone. "You are only a woman...but a very pleasant wench, I would have to admit," he said vulgarly, looking right at her breasts. His arm snaked out as fast as it had grabbed her father and wrapped around her neck, pulling her within an inch of his thin-skinned pale face. There was another shuffle behind her and she heard Gordon groan. Even though she could not see what had happened she knew he had just paid for trying to help her. They would all fight to the death before they let Worthington take her. She could not let that happen. As the MacEwen Charm her goal was to preserve their clan at all cost. Sacrificing herself would do that. Maybe this had been her true fate all along.
"I speak for my clan already. Take me with you. I will do whatever you want."
"Aye, you will." Worthington released his painful hold that had nearly pulled the hair from the back of her scalp. He took a step away from her and plucked the tip of his dagger with his index finger, tearing at her courage with every nerve-wracking flick of the blade. "Would your husband speak for your clan as well?"
"I have no husband," she said with a pleasure she never thought to feel after leaving Lex behind, but that was before she fell so neatly into his waiting trap.
"She lies," came a fierce voice from behind her.
She did not turn to face her accuser. His long strides striking the floor had walked up behind her many times before at MacLachlan Manor.
Worthington had a smile on his face, an odd forced smile that was barely discernible from his sneer except that both sides of his lips curled up. "I knew you would come to finish the job, Lex. You have never failed the King before."
Lex stopped just behind her left shoulder, his body touching hers with a familiar closeness she did not wish to acknowledge. "Aye, I have come to finish the job."
Sandra turned, and with all the hatred she had roiling up in her since her arrival home to this trap, she slapped his face as hard as she could. He rubbed his hand over the already reddening skin of his cheek.
"I suppose I deserved that."
"Now I remember where I saw this spitfire," Worthington chuckled. "What a wonderful plan you laid, Lex. Win their trust, paralyze their chief, and marry his heir. From the fire I witness between you two, I can see why you had a temporary change of heart." He looked around to his men for a supporting round of laughter.
"She is the reason I have a heart," Lex said, staring deep into her eyes and making her wish they were somewhere else, in another time and place where none of this was happening between them. "I am her husband. I will not let you take her or any of these people. The king will see my point when I explain what I have learned of my brother's murder."
"No," she said, holding her hand to his chest. Her emotions were unsure again, but her duty could not be swayed. "He is not my husband."
Lex raised a brow at her. "I believe the Highland law allows for our hand-fast to remain in effect until enough time has passed to determine if you will bear me a son."
"You have been released from your obligations to me and this clan."
"Have you already forgotten who kept you warm through this last...long...snow-storm, Sandra?"
Sandra could not deny his allegations or the look of remembrance in his eyes. She turned to her father for help.
"If it is so, Sandra, then he is our chief. Let him do what he must." Her father could not raise his head from the floor as he spoke. He gave a single nod to Lex, then his eyes closed in exhaustion.
"Do not look so fretful, my dear," Worthington said as he came up to her and put his arm around her shoulders in a false show of concern.
"Take your hands off her," Lex ordered, his short sword already halfway drawn.
Worthington turned and with a flick of his wrist lodged his ready dagger into Lex's right arm. His soldiers quickly moved in and restrained Lex from any counter-attack while Worthington's stride never faltered as he continued to walk Sandra away from Lex. "As I was saying, my dear lady, it matters not what your husband or father say because I will make all the decisions for you."
Sandra tried to look back at Lex but Worthington twisted her face back toward his with a brutal hold on her chin. She was shaking her head no to his every nod yes. "Take what you want and leave," she finally managed to get out with some semblance of authority.
"Then I will take you to warm my loins on the trip home, I will take your husband and break any resistance left in him before offering him to Edward as a consolation, and I will take your father..." He looked thoughtfully over to her poor father lying there helpless as a worm above ground after a winter rain. "...well I will just kill him now and put an end to his miserable life. Bring me the sword," he ordered.
One of his men rushed over with a sword that was as much a part of her clan as her father himself. "No!" she screamed as he held her back with the strength of one arm and raised their own ceremonial sword over her father's motionless body. She saw her father's eyes close once again as if he were ready to accept this fate. "Lex!" she cried out in a desperate hope that someone could stop the inevitable. She saw the huge MacEwen blade descend past her face in a terrorizing slow motion. She raised her own small dagger in a meager effort to stall him. Just as her blade was about to make its entrance into Worthington's flesh, Lex broke free and lunged forward.
"Sandra, no!" he yelled, grabbing for her wrist just as Worthington turned to grab it as well.
In that terrible instant, Worthington's evil mind worked quicker than anyone's. Her blade was forced against her will into flesh, then muscle, and a final shove found solid bone. Lex's bone.
Worthington's anger as well as the MacEwen sword were suddenly focused on Lex, both his arms now terribly wounded and bleeding badly enough to soak his tunic sleeves to his wrists while small red circles of blood grew larger and larger on the floor.
"Just take me and leave the rest of them be," Lex offered as he held a hand over each of his wounds, his sword hanging half out of its sheath, useless at his side. "I am the one who broke our deal. These people are innocent."
The blood seeping from his arms pained her as if it were her own. He was doing it again, pulling her heart-strings back into his powerful embrace when she had finally decided to severe him from her completely.
"No, Lex," she said with tears in her eyes that she no longer cared about exposing. He had been telling the truth. He was trying to make everything right. She could not lose him now.
Worthington pushed her across the short distance into the grasping arms of the man who had brought him the sword, then walked toward Lex with his slow, fate-deciding strides. "It is far too late to bargain with your worthless life, old friend." He reached out and gripped Lex's arms directly over his wounds with an undisguised ruthlessness meant only to cause pain. "But since you are favored by the king...why I do not know...I will allow you a fair chance to redeem yourself for this blatant misjudgment. You claim to be the best sword the king can hire for his gold. I have always wanted to test your mettle." He held the MacEwen sword and his smaller short sword by their hilts in front of Lex, then dropped them both on the floor between them with a clatter of metal that made Sandra's eyes flinch. "I will even let you choose your weapon, Lex."
"This is not a fair fight, you coward," Sandra shouted at Worthington's back as she fought the restraining hold of the soldier. Neither Lex nor Worthington seemed to hear her objection. She watched as Lex knelt down, careful to keep his balance while still holding his arms to staunch the blood flow. His right hand reached out toward the short sword. Sandra closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. She knew as well as anyone present who could see Lex's injuries that he had little chance of beating Worthington in a sword match right now, no matter how skilled he might be when he was healthy.
When she reopened her eyes her heart dropped. His hand passed over the short sword and grabbed the claymore. It was five times the weight of the smaller sword and the difference in size showed in the pained look on Lex's blood-drained face.
"One foolish move after another for love," Worthington said. "Heroic, but oh so foolish."
"Do not, Lex. Take the other sword," Sandra pleaded with him.
"I will wield the MacEwen." Lex turned with his emotions clear on his face as he looked at her. "I will wield it for you."
Sandra cried out and tried to break free once again, but it was no use. She could do nothing. The fight was going to happen, and the man she loved had little chance of surviving it. "I love you, Lex MacLachlan." She knew he heard her this time. A slight smile turned up the corner of his lips.
"I know, MacEwen. That is why I must do this."
"Enough already," Worthington shouted as he sliced through the air with his first strike and nicked Lex's shoulder. Once he had everyone's full attention his wicked smile reappeared. "Let us make it to the death, shall we, Lex? Winner takes all. I like my odds today."
"To the death." Lex countered Worthington's next attack but the pain he suffered was clear in his clenched teeth and groan.
Sandra felt so helpless. As the charm of her clan and the daughter of the chief she had never had anything out of her reach or control. But this, the one thing that had come to mean more to her than her own life, was something she had to stand by and watch as it was taken from her. She wanted to turn away from the slaughter but her eyes would not even blink for fear she would lose him in that instant.
Lex managed to deflect Worthington's blows but he had no strength to lift the heavy claymore for an attack of his own. It was only a matter of time before he lost enough blood and the ability to even defend himself.
"I believe you are beginning to see the wisdom of making choices with your head and not your heart," Worthington taunted him with a slap of the flat of his sword to Lex's injured arm. Blood gushed anew from the wound when Lex flexed his arm in agony.
"You are just envious because you do not have the second option," Lex countered, his wit holding up much better than his body. His control over his pain showed its first signs of faltering when the tip of his sword fell to the floor and he did not lift it up. Sandra's arms flexed in an effort to lift it for him. He had to live. He had to.
"Try, Lex. Do not let him win."
As if her words were a message from God that struck the last frozen part of his heart with a fiery lightning bolt, Lex stood straight up, his back stiff and his sword poised to strike.
Not at all intimidated by Lex's last attempt to stay alive, Worthington held his arms out to his sides for Lex to have an open target at his full torso. "Make it good, Lex, for I am tiring of this sport quickly," Worthington said as he dusted invisible dirt from the velvet sleeve of his extended left arm.
A roar came from Lex, a deep roar that made the hair stand up on the back of Sandra's neck and brought Worthington's attention back to his attacker. With every ounce of strength and courage that could possibly be left in him, Lex raised his sword over his head with both hands and charged straight for Worthington's open chest at a speed that left Worthington fumbling to raise his short sword to shield himself. Then, as if being claimed by the devil himself, Sandra watched as Lex's sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor just inches before his right shoulder struck the same spot.
"No!" Sandra screamed as she watched her lover's last attempt begin to crumble into dust. But she had spoken too soon. Her thoughts, like Worthington's and everyone else’s who was watching, were not the same as Lex's.
His legs, uninjured and possessing the power of a seasoned war horse, kicked out as he rolled up from his somersault dive and struck Worthington square in the stomach with the soles of his boots. Worthington’s body flew across the floor and he landed with a thud. Their positions reversed, Lex planted his foot on Worthington's fine velvet sleeve and pinned him to the floor with a knee and a dagger to his neck. The move had to have caused Lex great pain, but there was a smile on his face.
"Are you ready to meet your maker...in hell?" Lex asked him, his heaving breaths coming out hard in Worthington's face as he leaned down close to the motionless man.
"You will never get out of here alive if you harm me." Many heads were turning amongst Worthington's men as they pondered whether to fend Lex off of their leader or hold the growling clansmen at bay.
"You are right," Lex said as he backed off of Worthington with raised hands. "I want no harm to come to these people...especially my kinsman, Iain." Sandra was about to scream at Lex to put the knife deep into Worthington's shriveled heart while he had the chance, but Lex looked so calm and in control again, like the chieftain she knew he could always be. "Is Iain here, Sandra?"
Sandra’s mind whirled to connect the question to an answer, then she smiled too, and relaxed her fight against her captor. "Aye, he is here."
"Do you think he would enjoy a chance to get to know a real Englishman?"
"He says he would," Sandra said.
Worthington sprang up from the floor and pressed his sword tip to Lex's neck. "You are a bigger fool than I thought--" Lex was quick to move his throat to the side as Worthington was seemingly struck from behind by an unseen attacker and he dropped to his knees. The telltale sagging head meant Iain was busy at work doing whatever it was that ghosts did when they took over a body.
"A wise way of thinkin', lad." Worthington's head snapped up with a smile that stretched his dry skin taut because it was so unaccustomed to the expression. Instead of raising his sword again, his arm came up and wrapped around Lex's shoulders. "Relax, men," he ordered. "We are guests of the new MacEwen chief now."
Worthington's men looked back and forth at one another. "I said relax your stance, ya blubberin' fools!" All the English swords were lowered after his roar. "That is better," he said with a jester's smile that Sandra had always pictured on Iain's face when she could not see him.
Sandra shook her numb arms out when she was finally released from her guard's painful restraint. "Our future is in your hands, Lord Worthington," Sandra said, pretending respect for his authority.
"Then I suggest you settle this hand-fast arrangement and stop all this silly mucking around. And here," he said, pulling a folded parchment from his inner tunic. "I give you all rights to these lands as the King of England's gift to the two of ya's, as witnessed by all these soldiers of the king present." Worthington's sudden change in heart and in speech raised a few eyebrows and suspicions amongst his men, but none spoke out or acted on them. Even the Highland clansmen were a little in awe at the sudden transformation Lex had managed.
"How do we know he is not riggin' us up for another slaughter later?" Gordon shouted out. He pushed past the man who had slugged him earlier and dared him with a deadly glare to try it again. The other man backed down after one dismissing flick of Worthington's wrist in his direction.
"Yes, my Lord. What guarantee do we have for our safety?" Lex asked with a sincere furrow to his brow.
Worthington seemed to contemplate the dilemma for a moment. "How 'bouts I tell ya a secret of mine that no one else should ever know? That way you will have something to remind me of how you spared my life if ever I should return."
Worthington pulled Lex's head toward his and whispered into his ear.
"And the king knows nothing about it?" Lex exclaimed with a chuckle loud enough for all to hear. Worthington nodded his head gleefully. This got even more looks of doubt from the English soldiers, who were now worrying for their own wellbeing with the clans shoving in closer and closer and their leader losing large portions of his sanity by the minute.
Another short round of whispers and they both began to laugh. Iain had obviously gotten Worthington to spill his most vile acts against the crown, tidbits that would entertain the clan around the hearth fires for many winter nights to come.
"We will be off then," Worthington said as he bid Lex a farewell with kisses to both his cheeks. His men followed him out the hall doors with wary looks both in front of them at their commander and behind them at the laughing clansmen, not sure who they should be more afraid of.
A sudden blast of frigid wind blew through the room toward the open doors and Worthington turned with an evil glint back in his eyes. His glare went straight to Lex and then shot to Sandra. His jolly stint with a Scotsman was over and the true wickedness within him made Sandra shiver under his glare.
"Your secrets are safe with me, Worthington..." Lex paused and looked at Sandra with uncertainty. "...as long as I am here in the Highlands and you are securely back in England."
Worthington's eyes were wild as he accusingly searched the many laughing faces around him. Frustration etched deep into his confused face, he turned on his heels without uttering another word and left.
Gordon was the first to break the sudden quiet their unexpected departure created. "I misjudged you, Lex. I would be proud to call ya kin." Lex supported his still bleeding arm as Gordon shook it with a little too much enthusiasm.
Rory stepped up and thoughtfully stopped the jolting. "Can ya not see the man is recovering from his victory fight? Besides, there are others here who want to embrace the hand of our new chief." Rory was about to take Lex's wrist in a manly shake when he looked to where Sandra was still standing across the room as they celebrated without her. "That is...if...if you will be staying on here as the chief of both our clans," he finished with a stutter that warmed Sandra's heart with fond remembrance.
A quiet fell over the hall as everyone present looked to her and waited for her answer. Most of the faces around her were smiling, assuming her answer would be an invitation for him to stay after his miraculous defeat of their enemy. But one was not. The one who knew all the different factors she was weighing in her mind and heart. The love, the doubts, the happiness, the deceit.
Sandra went first to her father's side, dropped to the floor, and lifted his head into her lap. He was the one who had always decided things for the clan. He was still the one man she trusted unconditionally. "Father?" was all she had to say.
"You are the MacEwen Charm. Today is your destiny. You must decide for our clan now." His voice was weak, his breathing faint, and he looked like he hung on only to hear her answer as well. She stroked the gray strands of his hair from his forehead as her tears dropped one by one over her combing fingers. "Let him win, Sandra. Let him win," her father said in a whisper so slight she doubted what she heard. But she knew she had heard it right, and she knew what her answer had to be.
Still sitting on the floor with her father's head cradled with care between her hands, she faced them all. "No. He will not be the next MacEwen chief."