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Alisdair went still as the realization crashed down on him like a boulder. He had always known it, but it was different to hear it.

Catherine… That man had killed Catherine and his unborn child. And now he had his sights on Isla.

“Aye.” Sinclair swung his blade. “I will take everything ye love until there is nothing left.”

Alisdair did not respond.

Sinclair faltered. If he was expecting Alisdair to panic or be distracted, he had made the wrong bet.

A calm, clear resolve settled over Alisdair. He handled his sword with renewed purpose, and his moves sharpened.

Sinclair immediately took a step back, sensing the shift. One of them was not walking out of this clearing alive. And it sure as hell would not be Alisdair. He had promised Isla to come back, and he would keep his promise.

They fell upon each other like feral beasts fighting for survival. Alisdair’s blade whistled through the air like a falcon descending. Sinclair stumbled backward but found his footing right as Alisdair thrust his sword forward.

For a second, the two men locked eyes. Sinclair pivoted on his heels while Alisdair took an offensive stance. He felt a grim satisfaction at seeing the flash of fear on Sinclair’s face.

“Ye filthy beast!” Sinclair roared, blocking a blow.

Dread had crept into his eyes. If he had imagined this would be easy—Alisdair dead, the path to the castle open, Isla unprotected—he was in for a great disappointment. All those imaginings crumbled under the deadly precision of Alisdair’s attacks. Sweat ran down his forehead, and his arms started shaking. Still, he snarled and pushed forward.

Alisdair deflected easily, drawing Sinclair’s blade down. Then he drove his elbow into the older man’s chest, throwing him off balance. Sinclair staggered backward and fell into the mud.

Alisdair towered over him, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. Sinclair looked up, spitting blood, and swung his sword weakly. Alisdair hit it, and it flew away, leaving Sinclair defenseless.

“Damn ye, MacLeod,” Sinclair spat.

The battle around them stopped. Sinclair’s men were controlled by fear, not loyalty. The moment they saw their Laird on the ground, they stopped, unwilling to risk their lives.

“Ye think ye won?” Sinclair growled, rising slowly to his knees.

Alisdair looked around. Duncan, covered in blood that was not his, looked at him, waiting for orders.

He looked back down at Sinclair. “It is over,” he declared.

“Never!” Sinclair yelled.

The moment stretched out, slow and strange. Alisdair watched Sinclair’s hand dart to his boot and pull out a dagger, before the man lunged forward to bury it in his belly.

Alisdair moved on instinct, faster than thought. His sword rose and came down across Sinclair’s shoulder, nearly severing the arm at the joint. The dagger fell to the ground, and Sinclair slumped forward into the mud, coughing as blood pooled beneath him.

The two men stared at each other.

Sinclair chuckled, hatred still burning in his eyes. “Ye think ye won? She will never be yers. I will take everything from ye. Ye will never ken peace. See ye both in hell.”

Alisdair did not respond, watching as the light faded from Sinclair’s eyes. The silence weighed heavier than any words he could have offered the man who had killed his family.

Behind him, he heard the panicked voices of Sinclair’s men as they fled. Duncan ordered the MacLeod warriors to stand ground and not give chase.

Alisdair dropped his sword on the ground.

Eight years. Sinclair had shaped eight years of his life. And now he was gone, his plans undone. And yet Alisdair felt no triumph, no feral satisfaction, no wild joy to have prevailed upon him. He took his revenge on the man who had destroyed his family, and still the deep vindication he had expected never came.

The only thing he felt as he stared down at Sinclair’s dead body was a bone-deep relief that the bastard would never lay his hands on Isla again. That his fearless, beautiful wife was finally free.

“Alisdair?” Duncan prompted.

“Take care of the wounded,” Alisdair ordered, not looking up. “If anyone cannae ride, leave them here, and we will come with carriages. Also, post some men at the border.”