Promise of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  "That was the plan," Maggie replied with a shrug. "But Ross had other ideas. He charged me to keep an eye on ye and make sure ye didnae do aught stupid."

  Lia sighed. She'd promised Ross that she would remain behind in the castle but ever since he'd ridden off this morning, she'd known she could not keep that promise. She was so edgy it felt as though she had a million insects crawling under her skin. There was no way in hell she could sit here whilst he was out there, facing danger.

  Maggie's expression softened. "What exactly do ye think ye could do out there?"

  "I don't know!" Lia cried, throwing up her hands. "Something! Anything! Maybe they’ll need me at the engineering works. All I know is that I can't just sit here and wait. Have you seen Thea? She's been pacing up and down the Great Hall since the small hours. God knows how she has the strength to stay here whilst her son's out there. I don't have that strength! So unless you're going to tie me up, I suggest you stand aside because I'm going to him, whether he likes it or not!"

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the other woman, daring her to defy her. Maggie watched with an unreadable look on her face.

  "I told him," she said at last. "I told him that if he really wanted to leave ye behind he should have locked ye in yer room. Ah, well. He canna say I didnae try. Come on then."

  She grabbed the door handle.

  "What are you doing?" Lia asked, surprised. "Aren't you going to try and stop me?"

  "Stop ye?" Maggie said, raising an eyebrow. "I’m not sure I could if I tried. But I'll not have Ross say I shirked in my duty. Somebody needs to keep an eye on that impetuous head of yers lest it be knocked from yer shoulders. If we hurry we can catch up with the army before the battle starts."

  Lia drew a deep breath and then laid a hand on Maggie's arm. "Thanks."

  Maggie indicated for Lia to precede her through the gate. "Thank me when I get ye back here alive," she muttered.

  They hurried through the postern gate and shut it behind them. A narrow path led along the cliffs behind the castle and then around its outer edge and back down to the river. They saw not a soul as they hurried along it. There were no bridges on this side of the castle and so they made their way along the eastern shore, following the trail that Archer and his men had taken that morning. The sun was rising, painting everything in light and shadow and the air was crisp and biting. The two women moved quickly and silently, leaving Dun Ringill behind and moving steadily upriver.

  Maggie suddenly held up a hand and Lia froze. Maggie cocked her head, listening. Lia strained but heard nothing. She could see the engineering site just fifty metres or so upstream but both banks looked deserted. Where was everyone?

  Maggie's hand suddenly darted to her dagger and she had the weapon half-drawn when an arm went round her neck and a knife-blade was pressed against her throat. Lia gasped as she felt the sharp tip of a blade pressed between her shoulder blades.

  "It's me yer damn fool!" Maggie hissed.

  Hands grabbed Lia and she was spun around to find herself facing Archer and a handful of his commanders. The outlaw leader did not look pleased.

  "Me, a fool?" he snapped. "Curse it, woman, I could have bloody skewered the pair of you! What, by all the bloody hells are you doing here?"

  Maggie opened her mouth to speak but Lia replied. "It's not Maggie's fault. I insisted I come."

  "And why would that be?"

  Lia turned to gaze across the river. Ross was out there somewhere, only a narrow span of water separating them.

  "I've come to oversee the engineering works," she said, meeting Archer's gaze. "To make sure nothing goes wrong."

  Archer glowered at her for a moment and then sighed. "Fine. But ye'll stay well away from the fighting and do as you're bloody-well told. Clear?"

  Lia nodded. She and Maggie followed Archer into the undergrowth and hunkered down to wait. Beyond the screen of trees the river wound its sluggish way towards the sea and somewhere a bird called "pee-wit, pee-wit."

  Lia found herself biting at her nails again. How long would they have to hide like this, waiting? It was unbearable.

  Then an almost imperceptible shiver went through the ranks of men around her and Archer leaned forward intently, hand going to the hilt of his weapon.

  Up ahead, a ship rounded the bend in the river.

  Chapter 18

  It was a mark of the discipline which his father and uncles had instilled in the warriors of Dun Ringill that no one moved an inch nor made the slightest sound as the first of the raiders sailed into view. As he got his first good look at them, Ross realized Lia had been right. The boat was shallower in the draft than he expected, a new design that would allow them to navigate upriver and also make a sea-crossing in decent weather. A large single sail drove it steadily down river.

  Ross spotted figures moving on the deck and caught the glint of weapons. As the first ship rounded the bend another appeared behind it and then another. They flew no colors to announce their allegiance and the men aboard made no sound. They moved as swiftly and silently as ghost ships.

  Ross held up a hand to signal his warriors to hold their positions as the fleet began moving past their concealed lines. The lead ship got closer and closer, approaching the spot where the stakes waited below the water. Any minute now Ross expected the alarm to be raised, indicating that either the river defences or the defenders hidden along the river bank had been spotted but there was only silence.

  Ross held his breath. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. If this didn't work, those ships would have free passage to Dun Ringill—

  A huge crash of splintering wood suddenly rang out, as loud as cannon fire in the still air. The lead ship's hull smashed into the stakes, the iron-shod tips driving through the timbers in an explosion of splinters that rained down on the water.

  Panic broke out on board and Ross saw men desperately trying to bring the ship about whilst yelling warnings to those behind. But it was too late. A second ship drove into the stakes, its momentum halted so abruptly that it began to swing about, turning broadside into the current, one whole side splitting in a shower of timbers. The ships behind had become aware of the danger now and they began trying to turn.

  “Now!” Ross bellowed.

  With a huge war cry, his warriors rose to their feet, stepping out from the concealment of the undergrowth. Finlay raised his hand and his archers nocked burning arrows to their bows. The first volley went arcing out over the water. Some fell short, to drop hissing into the river, but more found their mark, thudding into the wood of the struggling ships. Crewmen hurried to douse them but even as they did so, the first rank of Finlay’s archers dropped to their knees in a practiced maneuver, allowing the second rank to fire. From the other bank, Archer’s bowmen did the same.

  The morning sky was suddenly alight with flaming arrows, more than the crewmen aboard the ships could douse. The ships began to burn. Flame licked along the prow of the lead ship, quickly growing into a conflagration that ran up the rigging and sail, sending bits of burning fabric floating into the air. Smoke billowed out.

  Fire ignited on the other ships as well and those furthest behind managed to slow enough that they avoided smashing into those already caught on the stakes. They desperately tried to turn, to escape upriver but there were so many of them that there was no room on the river for them to maneuver.

  Shouts of mingled fear and anger rose up from the ships and for a moment all was confusion. Then an odd sound cut through the air, a shrill horn that carried above the din of the burning ships.

  Ross’s eyes sprang upriver to where another ship waited, this one untouched by fire. It floated at anchor a good way behind the others and a mist rising up from the river shrouded it so Ross couldn’t make out the details. All he saw was a patch of shadow sitting on the water and the faint outline of the prow and sail.

  The shrill horn call went up again from that ship and in its wake the pandemonium on the other ships subsided. He hea
rd commanders shouting orders and the warriors began to abandon the boats in good order, holding shields over their heads to guard against further arrows.

  Ross raised his arm in a signal and the archers stepped back, allowing the infantry to come forward. They spread out in a line along the river bank, shields and swords held at the ready.

  “Hold yer lines!” Ross shouted. “No matter what happens, ye will hold yer lines! We willnae let them get through to threaten our home and our families! Who’s with me?”

  A huge roar of assent went up from the assembled warriors. By his side, his uncle Finlay gave a grim smile. Ross drew his sword and signalled for his men to wait. Lining the top of the riverbank as they were, they had the advantage of the higher ground and his orders were to wait for their enemy to come to them, wet and disorientated as they would be after their dunking in the river. Even so, he could see some of his men fidgeting, fighting the urge to wade into the shallows and take their opponents as they emerged from the water. Ross had argued with his commanders about that. He’d fought enough battles to know that such a move would only weaken their lines and get them tangled up in melee fighting made all the more difficult by being knee-high in water.

  Ahead of him a man staggered out of the river. He wore boiled leather armor and had the wide shoulders and thick arms of somebody who spent their life wielding weapons. Seeing Ross, the man pulled his lips back in a snarl, drew the sword strapped across his back and charged, howling obscenities in Irish Gaelic.

  Ross stepped to meet him. He parried the raider’s first blow, their blades meeting with a clang. The man was strong. Lord, he was strong! Even fighting uphill he had the strength to push Ross back a few steps. Ross growled deep in his throat and brought his sword around, swinging for the man’s mid-riff. The raider stepped back a pace, avoiding the swinging blade, giving Ross enough time to land an upper-cut into his chin that staggered him. They traded a quick series of blows, swords singing, before Ross managed to sweep his legs from under him and then stab his sword down into the man’s belly. The man twitched and went still.

  Ross had no time to mourn the senseless loss of life. Another attacker sprang at him, this one wielding an ax in each hand. He was laughing a berserker’s laugh, the sound high and grating. He came at Ross like a mad man, swinging the axs so hard and so fast that they became a blur. Ross raised his shield and one of the axs slammed into it, lodging there. Ross sliced through the man’s other arm and then head-butted him. The attacker collapsed and slid down the river bank where he lay still.

  Ross had a moment’s respite to look out over the scene. Both banks of the river had become a seething mass of fighting. The ships were still burning and clouds of smoke wafted across the river, obscuring his view but through the drifting smoke he saw that his warriors were holding their lines. Not one of the attackers had made it through. But the press of men wading out of the river seemed endless. Lord, there were so many of them!

  “For Dun Ringill!” he bellowed. “For our home!”

  The men responded by redoubling their efforts. The clang of weapons split the air but above this a chant sounded. “MacAuley! MacAuley!”

  Ross shared a quick look with Finlay. His uncle was grimy and blood-spattered but he grinned. “The day will be ours. They canna break us!”

  Ross saw that it was true. Despite their numbers, step by step they were being pushed back towards the river. And, having nowhere to retreat, they were being cut down. A surge of hope went through Ross. They were going to hold!

  But even as the thought flowered, that shrill horn call rang out again, three short blasts that sounded like the shriek of a banshee. Ross’s eyes sprang to the shadowy ship. It hadn’t moved during the fighting and Ross could still see nothing moving on its decks. Wreathed in mist, it seemed like a ghost ship.

  Then something flickered on the ship’s deck. Ross squinted, trying to see better. It looked like some kind of disturbance in the air, like heat-haze over a bonfire. As he watched, it suddenly exploded outwards, blasting out in all directions and engulfing everyone on the riverbank. Ross yelled, flung up his hand but felt nothing as it washed over him. It was gone in an instant.

  For the barest fraction of a heartbeat, everything was still. Ross looked around in confusion. What by all that’s holy—? Then, with a wrenching battle-cry, the raiders surged forward. They smashed into the MacAuley lines with renewed vigor, throwing themselves against the defenders without caution or restraint. Many went down under the MacAuley blades but many more replaced them, shrugging off injuries as though they didn’t feel them. Horrified, Ross saw a man whose leg had been sliced off at the knee drag himself across the sand to flail at a defender, he saw a man take a sword cut to the face that took out an eye, only for him to turn around, grin at the man facing him, and throw himself into the fight once more.

  “I know what this is!” Finlay cried in a hoarse voice. He was staring at the shadowy ship, a look of mingled fury and horror on his face. He shook his fist to the ship. “I know ye! Curse ye! Canna ye leave us be?”

  “What is it?” Ross yelled, ramming his elbow into the face of an attacker, knocking him out cold. “What’s going on?”

  “See how they fight?” Finlay replied. “Like they feel no pain? No exhaustion? No fear? That’s how your father and I fought that night twenty five years ago! The night we were imbued with the power of the Fae!”

  A wave of cold fear passed through Ross. His eyes sprang to the ship. The Fae. Could it be true?

  He spun to meet another group of attackers and found himself pressed back-to-back with Finlay. They fought ferociously, cutting down enemy after enemy. Yet the ranks of attackers never seemed to thin. Around him, he saw MacAuley warriors going down under the onslaught, the defensive line beginning to buckle.

  At least Lia is safe, he told himself desperately, clinging to that thought as his breath began to burn in his lungs, his arms to feel as heavy as lead. At least Lia is safe.

  LIA DIDN’T THINK SHE’D ever been so terrified in her life. Around her, men fought and died. The air was filled with the clash of weapons, the stink of sweat and blood, the cries of the dying. It was chaos. Her heart thundered, her hands shaking where they continually twisted the hem of her tunic. What had possessed her to come out here? What did she think she could possibly do?

  At first, when the ships had crashed into her defenses and had been halted in their advance, she’d been jubilant. Her plan had worked! But she’d not counted on what came after. She’d not counted on the fire arrows, the burning ships, the eruption of hand-to-hand combat that was more brutal than anything she could have imagined.

  She and Maggie were hunkered down behind Archer’s fighters, hiding behind a scraggly bush. Twice Maggie had fought off raiders who’d made it through Archer’s lines and found their hiding place, twice the two women had survived by the skin of their teeth. For a moment it had looked as though Ross’s forces would win the day but then that odd wave of energy had exploded out from the rearmost ship and the raiders had gone berserk. Now Dun Ringill’s defenders were fighting for their lives.

  “We have to go!” Maggie shouted above the din. “We have to get you back to the castle whilst we still can!” She grabbed Lia’s wrist but Lia shook her head stubbornly.

  “I’m not leaving!” She peered through the leaves of the bush, eyes scanning the far shore, desperate for any glimpse of him.

  “Ye canna help Ross!” Maggie cried. “None of us can! I swore to him I would protect ye!”

  “And I swore I’d never let anyone I love die ever again!” Lia shouted back.

  I have to find a way to save him, she thought desperately. Don’t you understand? I have to find a way to save you all.

  But she also knew Maggie was right. If they didn’t move, this position would soon be overrun and she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could do anything to turn the tide of the battle.

  Her eyes settled on the lone ship. It had not engaged in the battle. It sat there, gen
tly rocking, enveloped in mist. What had been that strange ripple of power that had emanated from it? Who was aboard and why did they sit there, waiting? The mist swirled, alternately hiding and revealing the ship.

  The mist...

  Lia narrowed her eyes. She’d seen that mist before, on a lonely hilltop with a single standing stone that came crashing down...

  “It’s him!” she cried, rising to her feet.

  “What’s him?” Maggie replied. “Get back down before ye get shot!”

  Lia swallowed. She could feel malevolence emanating from that ship like a dark cloud. She was suddenly certain that the battle could not be won—not whilst the power on that ship maintained its hold over the raiders. She turned to her friend.

  “We have to get aboard that ship.”

  “Have ye gone mad?” Maggie snapped. “We have to get back to Dun Ringill!”

  “Listen to me! It doesn’t matter if we get back to the castle—the raiders will win the battle and storm Dun Ringill if we don’t act! There is no safe place, not from him. Please, you have to trust me. We have to get aboard that ship.”

  She held Maggie’s gaze, willing the woman to do as she asked. Maggie watched her for a long moment, hesitating. Then she shook her head.

  “I must be the one who’s gone mad. Come then, if I’m to die today then I’ll take some of the bastards with me.”

  Lia nodded tightly. Then, keeping low, the two women began heading along the river bank towards the ship.

  ROSS HAD LOST ALL TRACK of time. The battle could have been raging for hours or only minutes. His world had shrunk to the next swing of his arm, the next parry, the next sword-thrust, the next crazed opponent baying for his blood.

  They were losing the battle. The MacAuley line had disintegrated and now knots of fighters fought back-to-back, individual melees with no coordination. He howled in rage and frustration. It would not end like this! It would not! There was only one choice. Perhaps that’s all there had ever been.