Angry that it had come to this despite how hard Grant and his family had tried to save their beloved country, she fought with a whole new ferociousness. One that had her slashing men down before they ever saw her coming. One that had her roaring in denial.
Where was her warlock?
Where was the cause of all this?
She wanted its blood more than she had ever wanted anything. She wanted to chase it down and wrestle the God forsaken evil right out of it. Slay it so thoroughly that even hell wouldn’t exist for it. Wipe its scummy residue from the Earth.
Almost as if her prayers were answered, she could have sworn she saw it just ahead through the forest. The same slippery shadow she and Graham had seen in their dream. Eyes narrowed, thinking only of Scotland and even Jessie now, she raced after it. When she did, she kept utilizing her gift and sprinted with all the power she had.
“Och, lass, slow down!” Graham and Bryce roared into her mind, but she didn’t listen. She was out for vengeance, and nothing was going to stop her. She would kill it for what it was doing to this country and her friends. More than that, she would kill it because of what had happened to Kenna. Because, one way or another, if it weren’t for these evil warlocks, her friend would still be alive.
Clearly startled that she could move so fast and was gaining ground, the warlock spun back and confronted her. Seeing nothing but its tall, slimy darkness, she roared again and thrust hard.
Only for Graham’s blade to intercept hers.
Somehow, he had caught up and managed to stop her. But why?
“What are you doing?” she seethed, wide-eyed and furious, only to find the warlock clutching none other than Jessie in front of him.
Dear Lord, she had nearly run a sword through her friend.
“Kill me, Christina,” Jessie said, her face without expression and her voice level as her eyes held Christina’s. “Graham, step away and let Christina do what she needs to do. It’s the only way.”
“Yes, kill her,” the warlock rasped, his eyes trained on Christina. “Run that sword through her, warrioress.”
Bryce and Sven skidded to a stop, their eyes taking in the tense situation.
“Absolutely not.” Christina shook her head as she lowered her blade and narrowed her eyes at the warlock. “Release my friend.”
“Kill me,” Jessie said calmly, her eyes steady. “Or he will kill you, Christina.”
Something about the way her friend was looking at her made everything else fall away. Almost as if she could sense her in a whole new way. The steady throb of her heart. The utter lack of fear someone facing imminent death should feel.
Jessie was trying to tell her something with that look.
She was letting her know it was okay to let go.
That this was meant to be.
As if caught in the same thought process, she felt Graham’s mind skirt alongside Jessie’s. They mutually agreed. It was as though they saw something only Jessie could show them. Something they barely understood but trusted. They trusted the feeling so much that they ended up doing the unthinkable.
Christina and Graham plunged their blades into Jessie at the same time.
Or so they thought.
At the last moment, evidently sensing what they were going to do, the warlock thrust Jessie aside and took the blade for her.
Then everything happened very quickly.
The warlock shuddered, his saddened eyes firmly locked on Jessie as he wailed mournfully, decomposed rapidly then burst into a cloud of dust. Meanwhile, Jessie’s eyes narrowed on Sven and Bryce whose eyes narrowed right back.
“Death comes to those who fly,” she whispered, repeating the same words Rona had said back in New Hampshire. “Death comes to Scotland.”
Then she bolted into the woods.
Half a second later, Sven and Bryce bolted after her.
Though she should probably race after them, she was too stunned and needed a moment to process everything. Jessie would be okay. Two dragons had her back.
“What the hell just happened,” Christina murmured, dumbfounded as her eyes fell to the pile of ashes. All that was left of the warlock. “Did we just kill...” her eyes floated to Graham. “Did we just kill our warlock? Was it that easy?”
“Based on your gem,” he said softly, his eyes on her ring, “I’d say we did.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered as she stared at it. “Am I seeing things or is my gem a beautiful shade of deep dark brown?”
“I’d say mayhap ‘tis,” he murmured, smiling as his eyes met hers. Gorgeous eyes the same exact shade as her gem. “I’m fairly certain we just ignited our MacLomain, Broun magic.” He shook his head. “I never should have been able to move fast enough to stop your blade from hurting Jessie.” Awe lit his eyes. “And I’ve never seen you glow as brightly as you did when we destroyed the warlock.” His smile widened in what some might call triumph. “Not even when you and Bryce fought together.”
She barely breathed, and her heart hammered in anticipation as she looked from him to the ring several times before she whispered, “Does this mean what I hope it means?”
He took her hand and reeled her closer. “What do you hope it means, lass?”
“I think you know.”
“I’d rather hear you say it.”
“I bet you would.”
He grinned. “So?”
She met his grin. “I guess I hope it might mean you’re my one true love.”
He perked his brows, pulling her closer still. “You guess you hope it might mean? ‘Tis bloody vague, lass.” His eyes stayed with hers. “What do you want, Christina?”
She didn’t have to think twice.
“Well, you, handsome.” She winked and kept grinning. “Who else?”
Before she could get another word out, she was firmly against him, and his lips were on hers. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet or curled her toes with desire while still standing up. Their tongues tasted and sampled and the kiss deepened but not for long.
“I dinnae mean to disturb ye but ‘tis time to battle and I thought ye might like to watch if nothing else,” Robert the Bruce’s voice interrupted.
Surprised, Christina and Graham pulled apart, only to find themselves standing in front of a fire outside of Robert’s tent. It was still morning, and all the signs of warfare and slaughter had vanished. Instead, it appeared all were marching off to a battle that had yet to take place.
“Yes,” she whispered and nodded, more than a little confused.
“It seems the second day of battle is about to begin,” Grant informed as he, Adlin, Milly, Conall, and Lindsay joined them. His pleased eyes went to Christina and Graham. “We Scots are getting ready to march on the Sassenach.”
“We did it then,” she whispered, her eyes drifting to Graham’s. “We fixed history?”
“Aye,” he murmured, with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “So it seems.”
“Och, I look forward to my wife looking at me like that again,” Robert muttered. “But first we’ve got to win this battle then take back Stirling Castle.”
His wife? He remembered her? Better yet, she existed once more? That’s when she noticed that Robert no longer gazed at her with desire. If anything, he looked at her with simple fondness.
Adlin and Grant smiled at her and nodded, evidently having followed everything that just happened. All was exactly as it should be now. Or should she say so far? She wasn’t foolish enough to think things couldn’t go wrong still. Not when it came to magic. And not considering how darn easy it was to kill their warlock. Nevertheless, everyone was certainly more optimistic as they joined Robert and headed for a battle none would soon forget.
“Unless we are needed, we will sit this one out,” Adlin informed Robert. “We shouldnae risk being remembered in history if possible and this battle is fairly well documented.”
“Aye, of course.” Robert nodded, a pleased and emboldened look in his eyes as they met Adlin’s. “That te
lls me victory will be ours.”
Adlin only shrugged and grinned, but it was more than enough. Who knows? It might have been the final push of confidence Robert the Bruce needed to win today’s battle.
A battle, thankfully, that Graham explained to Christina in better detail as the events unfolded. Events they made sure to stay far away from this time so they wouldn’t inadvertently end up in the midst of battle again.
The Scots advanced out of Balquhidderock Wood to face the enemy as the morning sun crested the horizon. Abbot Bernard of Arbroath carried the Scots’ ancient lucky talisman, the Breccbennach—or Monymusk Relquary—which held the relics of St. Columba.
“Wow,” Christina whispered, in awe of the sight.
Robert made an impressive, rallying speech invoking the power of St. Andrew, John the Baptist and Thomas Beckett. His men roared their approval, their eyes eager and full of battle lust. Shortly after that, horns resounded, and war standards flew in the cool morning wind.
“What’s happening now?” she murmured as the Scots grew quiet and respectful.
“That is Abbot Maurice of Inchaffrey,” Graham explained as a robed man walked out in front of the army. “He will lead mass now.”
As he did, the Scots knelt in prayer.
As it turned out, the tactic was more than just spiritual.
“That will allow Robert’s captains a few extra crucial minutes to form the battle lines,” Graham said. “Where across the Carse, King Edward, and his army thinks we Scots are surrendering.”
As she nodded, Graham continued, explaining how Edward reputedly said, “Yon folk are kneeling to ask mercy.”
Then Sir Ingram de Umfraville, a Balliol supporter fighting for Edward, replied, “They ask for mercy, but not from you. They ask God for mercy for their sins. I’ll tell you something for a fact, that yon men will win all or die. None will flee for fear of death.”
“So be it,” Edward retorted.
Bunch of dumb asses, Christina thought. But thank God for downright stupidity and arrogance.
“That whole stretch is the Bannockburn,” Graham informed, pointing out the long, snaking waterway for which the battle was named. “’Twill most certainly prove King Edward’s nemesis.”
“Then it’s good the battle ended up where it’s supposed to,” she remarked.
“Aye,” Graham agreed, keeping her hand in his the entire time. She got the sense based on their excitement that he and his cousins would have loved to battle here.
An archery duel soon followed, but the Scots schiltrom rapidly took the offensive to avoid its inevitable outcome. Robert’s brother, Edward’s schiltrom advanced on the English vanguard and took down the Earl of Gloucester and Sir Robert Clifford, while Randolph’s schiltrom closed in on their left.
“Rumor has it, just before this happened an argument broke out between King Edward and the Earl of Gloucester,” Graham commented.
“It seems he complained that the Sassenach forces needed rest after spending a sleepless eve in the marshland getting eaten alive by Scottish midges last night.” He smiled and continued. “When the King accused the earl of cowardice in front of the men, Gloucester did what you just witnessed. He jumped on his horse and charged the Scots.” He gestured at the battlefield. “And that’s how he ended up. Carved up in full view of both sides.” He nodded, pleased. “Another morale dampener to be sure.”
“It does my heart bloody good to see Robert Clifford finally fall as well,” Conall muttered to Lindsay. “He’ll never have the pleasure of being enchanted by you again, lass.”
Lindsay had enchanted Robert Clifford when she and Conall were on their adventure. In doing so, she had saved a band of Scots from being slaughtered on a hillside outside Happrew. Instead, as she continued to enchant Robert, an ambush was set up, and the English were killed. All but Robert who they allowed to escape so he could someday be a part of history.
More importantly, so he would die today.
“Now see what’s happening,” Graham said to Christina, impressed as they watched. “The Sassenach knights are caught in between the Scots schiltroms and the mass of their own army and cannae bring many archers to bear.”
He pointed to show her what was happening. “Some are trying to break out on the Scots flank to down them with arrows.” He shook his head. “But ‘tis too late. They’re already being dispersed by Sir Robert Keith’s Scots cavalry.” He chuckled. “The rest were badly deployed. Now their arrows fall into the backs of their own army!”
In the center of the field, a ferocious, deadly hand to hand combat between knights and spearmen ensued as it almost seemed the battle hung in the balance.
“See what the Bruce does now.” Graham pointed in another direction. “’Tis a crucial moment and he acts wisely committing his own schiltrom.” He smiled, pleased. “They include Gaelic warriors from the Highlands and Isles.”
Her eyes widened as the English seemed to be losing ground under the onslaught. Meanwhile, the Scots warriors cried, “On them! On them! They fail!”, as they drove the English back into the burn.
“Och, the bloody cowards,” Graham seethed as he scanned the battlefield then narrowed his eyes on a retreating retinue. “Now that the battle’s momentum is obvious, they’re escorting King Edward away.” He shrugged. “I might not like it but ‘tis as it needs to be.” He shot her a crooked grin, excited. “Because just watch what happens next.”
As Edward’s royal standard departed, panic set in.
The English knew they were in trouble.
The Scots schiltroms hacked their way into the disintegrating English army. Those fleeing caused chaos in the massed infantry behind them. In the rout that followed hundreds of men and horses were drowned in the burn desperately trying to escape.
It was nothing short of incredible watching everything unfold first-hand.
Though somewhat overwhelmed by the large-scale loss of life, she wasn’t as horrified as she figured she should be. Perhaps because of her gift igniting? Or perhaps because of the men she had so recently killed. Whatever the cause, something had changed inside her and made seeing all of this easier to cope with.
Even so, she was glad when the battle eventually came to an end.
Scotland had won.
“Sassenach casualties are heavy,” Graham reported, relish in his eyes as he peered down at the remnants of the battle. “Thousands of infantry, at least one hundred knights and one earl lays dead on the field.”
According to Conall and Lindsay the night before, some escaped the confusion including the Earl of Pembroke and his Welsh infantry. They made it safely to Carlisle, but many more, including several knights and the Earl of Hereford, were captured as they fled through the south of Scotland. Edward II with five hundred knights was pursued by Sir James “the Black” Douglas until they reached Dunbar and the safety of a ship to take them home.
The capture of Edward would have meant instant English recognition of the Scots demands. As it was, the British could absorb such a defeat and continue the war. Nevertheless, for the Scots, it was still a resounding victory. Robert was left in total military control of Scotland, which would enable him to transfer his campaign to the north of England.
“Politically, he just won Scotland’s defacto independence and consolidated his kingship as former supporters of Balliol will quickly change sides,” Graham said. “In exchange for Bruce’s noble captives, Edward will be forced to release Bruce’s wife, daughter and the formidable Bishop Wishart, who’s been held in English captivity since thirteen hundred and six.”
For the Scots soldiers, there was the wealth of booty left in the English baggage train and the exhilaration of victory. It wasn’t long before word spread that Stirling Castle’s gates had opened and the English within surrendered.
“Do ye wish to head that way and see the castle without...”
“Nope, I’m good,” Christina replied before Graham had a chance to finish. “I think I’ve seen all I want of Stirling Castle
for one lifetime.”
“Then let’s head back to the encampment.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. “’Tis bound to be a night of celebration.”
She grinned back, well aware of what he meant. Yet, she worried.
“What do you think happened to Jessie?” She shook her head. “And Bryce and Sven?”
“’Tis hard to know,” Grant said sometime later as they sat around a fire outside. “But I suspect we’ll find out soon enough.” A wise look entered his eyes. “I would say Bryce has begun his adventure. It can be no other way now that ‘tis clear Christina is not meant for him.”
Milly frowned. “So he's on his adventure with Sven along?”
“Aye, it seems verra likely,” Adlin said. “But he’s a good ally to have and verra likely part of all this somehow.”
“As is Aðísla,” Lindsay murmured. “Someone we’ve barely seen this time around.”
“Someone Sven is in pursuit of,” Conall added as he kept an arm around Lindsay.
Adlin shrugged. “I dinnae doubt he will catch up with her in the end.”
“I suppose I always figured she would return to her people after we corrected Scotland’s history.” Graham frowned. “So I dinnae ken why Sven is here at all.”
“Nor do any of us,” Adlin said. “But I’m sure we will before all is said and done.”
Grant’s eyes went between Christina and Graham as his voice grew soft. “You should know that Sven sent Adlin and me one last telepathic message before he vanished. It seems Kenna did confide in him about why she thought you two coming together was going to make all the difference for this country.”
A respectful silence fell as he continued.
“She dreamt about you racing through the woods this morning determined to end the warlock...determined if nothing else to avenge her death.” He looked back and forth between them. “Both of you. Together. As a team fighting with the unmistakable passion of two people who had fallen in love and would do anything to protect Scotland. Anything to ensure a brighter future for her country.”
“Why not tell us this sooner?” Graham murmured, pain in his eyes.
“Because she didnae want to risk disturbing your destiny, lad. Or Chistina’s. She wanted you both to have the happiness you deserve and of course save her country in the process.” Dampness glistened in his eyes. “May she be at peace with God now. For she was the best sort of person, indeed. One with a great deal of courage in a situation where most would lack it. She was an admiral Scotswoman and a true hero.”
Promised to a Highland Laird Page 23
