His mind stalled every time he remembered. Thinking it was only a day ago, maybe a little more, when she had been curled up shivering within his arms. Yet alive. Gorgeously, beautifully alive. They would not be in this predicament in the first place if not for the English. A heat started in his chest and spread outwards. It was not a pleasant sort of heat, but a burning agony filled type of heat. One that was created by and fuelled completely by an anger that was threatening to consume him.
The English had caught up with them quicker than they had anticipated. How they had not frozen was a mystery? Catching them unprepared as the cold had finally gotten to him and his men, the English had managed to surprise them. None had died initially, but Artair knew that one of the men had been hit in a way that could cause fatal without help further down the line. Yet he could not find it within himself to care for Kendrick's men at that moment. All he could think of and feel was the utter rage within him. There was nowhere for it to go. Nowhere for it to be directed, except at the memories of the attack.
Remembering how they had ambushed them against the rock they had sheltered under. How it had taken precious minutes to react, splitting up from each other in order to scatter the English enough to lose them. Only to find they had lost each other in the process. Clasping Rohesia hand tightly within his own. Unable to keep anything but her safety in his mind. One male just stepped out of the snow, materialising before them. It had taken but a second to dispatch the fellow, as much taken by surprise by their presence as they were by him. Yet, he had seen the damage done to Rohesia by watching him kill another. Her face had sheened over with shock.
Pulling her along further, pushing forward was the only way he could think of to do at that moment. Yet he had left her alone. The anger turned inward, towards himself, no one could blame him worse than himself at that moment.
The hand that landed heavily on his shoulder jolted him upwards. Throwing himself into a protective stance before Rohesia. Nobody was to take her from him. No one at all, it did not matter the reason they gave. His gaze could not focus on the large shape before him, some movement and vague blurs was all he could see. Words flowed and merged together to make white noise in his ears. It was with the focus on the world unclear that he realised something was dripping from his chin. Using all of his concentration, which at that point was limited, he managed to get control of his arms and raised his hands to his face. Noting with a peculiar detachment that his cheeks were wet, and tears had tracked to gather and fall from his chin.
Crying...was he crying? As his brain slowly clicked into motion once more, he realised it had been years since he had cried. In fact, he could fairly say it was most probably when his sister had...passed on, that he last had shed a tear. But never like this, not since he were a bairn, if ever. How did he cope with this? How was he to get through? Raising his stinging, burning eyes to lock them on the male before him. Alfred was ashen faced, his red hair burning like fire in every direction about his head. He could not speak, only stare as the English male who had brought him too late to a place of safety, stood awkwardly before him.
YOU ARE READING
Highland Bear (Book 4)Historical Fiction
The Druids were a hunted people long ago...they made a pact to scatter their children throughout time to keep them safe from the massacre to come. These children became lost, both in time and in the memories of people. At first they were looked for...