by Barbara Bard
“In a month, all these mares wi’ hae young ones at their sides. Then I wi’ turn the lad loose, let him breed them again.”
“I imagine he’ll be exhausted,” Myra said with a wicked grin.
Greer laughed. “Aye. He may.”
Though no more lasses where killed on the moors in recent weeks, Kerr ordered his clansmen to remain near the villages.
“We dinnae ken what is Primshire’s condition,” he told Greer and Myra. “I doubt he be dead, and I fear he be planning a retaliation. We did steal his prizes from under his nose, remember.”
“What can he dae, Da?” Greer asked. “He cannae cross intae Scotland wi’ an army. He be sulking in his castle.”
“That may be, lad,” Kerr replied with a sharp nod. “I am just cautious where our lasses are concerned.”
He also kept a light patrol of his lands, and an armed guard on the stolen stock. Planning a scenario whereby Primshire did indeed try to steal them back, he ordered the guards, at any sign of trouble, to shoot fire arrows into the sky and herd the cattle and horses into the next valley. That way, they might be defended more easily.
Days passed without Primshire making any attempts to retrieve his animals, and Greer began to believe he most likely would not. Given Primshire’s cowardice, Greer suspected he dared not cross into Scotland or challenge the might of the MacEilish Clan. He himself relaxed some of his vigilance, and permitted Myra and her friends to ride to the pastures and look at the mares as one by one they started to birth their babies.
“There’s a black one,” she crowed as she and Idina trotted into the bailey. “It’s a male. Can I have him, Greer? Please?”
“Dinnae pick until ye see what else there be,” he warned her as she dismounted. “There may be others wi’ better qualities be born soon.”
Pouting, Myra hugged him, gazing up into his eyes. “Very well, you can help me pick. But I still want a black foal.”
Greer rolled his eyes. “Then a black horse ye shall hae.”
“Imagine us riding side by side, both of us on black steeds.”
His love for Myra continued to grow, and he often found himself eyeing her flat belly.
Do she carry me bairn in there? Be she wi’ me son? Me daughter?
It was wrong for her to give birth out of wedlock, yet he could not gather enough courage to ask her to marry him. While she did not actively flirt with the other men of the castle, he knew quite well she enjoyed their attentions. As he performed his duties around the castle, or trained the stallion, he often observed Myra encircled by her admirers, laughing, smiling, her sleek black hair tossed in the light wind.
“Ye need tae honor her, lad,” Fiona said from behind him as he saddled the stallion, flicking his eyes over the horse’s back to where Myra stood in yet another small group of chatting warriors. “Offer tae marry her.”
Greer nodded. “I ken. I wi’, Maw.”
“When?”
“I dinnae.”
“When ye work up the guts?”
He turned toward her. “It be that obvious?”
“Aye.”
Gazing over the bailey and the activity within it, he shrugged. “Look at her. She hae her pick o’ men. What if she nae want me?”
“And what if she daes?” Fiona set her hands on his hips, frowning. “She clearly loves ye, Greer. She dinnae wish fer nae other husband. Dae right by her.”
Greer continued to saddle the horse. “I will.”
***
Lying in bed, unable to sleep, Greer tossed and turned, his mind churning. Myra slept beside him, slumbering peacefully even amid his restlessness, her light even breathing the only thing to break the silence. Propping his head on his elbow, he gazed at her flawless features, her black hair spilling around the pillows. His guilt as his inability to ask her to marry him nudged at his gut.
It isnae that hard. Just ask her, ye fool. Of course she wi’ say yes.
Despite his stern order to himself, he could not force the words from him. Not that day, nor the day before that. Tomorrow, he vowed. Tomorrow he will take her riding to see the mares and their long-legged foals. He will kneel in the grass, take her by the hand, and ask her to marry him.
Tomorrow, I swear it.
Rising, he paced naked to the window, and leaned his hands on the sill. The sliver of the moon rode high in the inky night, the stars glittering like diamonds resting on black velvet. A great owl ghosted past his window on silent wings, nearly invisible, and he turned his head to watch its flight until it disappeared within seconds of his spotting it. The light breeze tickled his nose with the scents of heather and wild flowers, ruffling through his hair like tiny fingers.
The wind brought a strange sound to his ears. Greer stuck his head further out the window, listening hard, searching the dark with his eyes.
Hooves. Galloping. Heading toward the castle.
In that same instant, horns on the ramparts above him sounded the alarm. Invaders rode on the attack. Greer flung himself from the window.
“Myra,” he yelled, striding toward the bed. “Wake up.”
Awake instantly, Myra sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“We be under attack,” he snapped, shoving his legs into his lienes, grabbing his tunic. “Get dressed. Gae tae yer rooms and bar the door. Ye and Idina stay there.”
Scrambling from the bed, Myra hurriedly clad herself in her gown and leather vest, pulling on her short boots. “Who could be attacking us?”
“My best guess be our auld friend Primshire,” he said grimly, buckling on his sword belt.
Trotting to the window, Greer listened briefly as the horsemen approached, and the sounds of the clan rousing to the defense. Below in the bailey, torches flared and men yelled, saddling horses. He turned back to Myra, and took her by the arm.
“Nae bravery, Myra,” he said, his voice firm. “Primshire wants tae kill ye. We cannae let him hae a chance o’ doin’ sae. Promise me.”
Myra nodded, then flung herself into his arms. “I promise, Greer. I will stay inside with Idina.”
“Good lass. Keep yer blades handy,” he said, striding toward the door, taking her with him. “Protect yerself, but dinnae come out until I come fer ye.”
“You be careful, too,” she said as they entered the faintly lit corridor and paced quickly down it toward her rooms. “Remember, a coward be thrice as dangerous.”
Greer chuckled as he opened her door. “Aye, me love. I wi’.”
Inside, Idina had lit a candle and stood in the middle of the anteroom, watching them, a dagger in her free hand.
“Ye promised now,” he said, “ye stay in here wi’ door barred.”
“I will.”
Greer kissed her hard on the mouth. “I love ye.”
“I love you.”
He paused until she closed the heavy door and he heard the stout bar slide into place. “I wi’ be back fer ye, Myra.”
Not waiting for a response, Greer ran down the corridor and joined the clansmen swarming from their rooms, some still dressing into their brigandines, buckling their swords about their hips. He saw Jared and Gavin racing down the passageway, dodging a few warriors who moved slower than they.
“What be coming?” yelled Jared, joining him.
“Primshire be up tae his deviltry, I expect,” Greer replied grimly, taking the stairs down three and at time, his warriors doing the same.
In the bailey, as clansmen still ran from all parts of the keep, ducked into the barns to saddle their mounts. Grooms had many already ready to go, the warriors leaping into their saddles. He found his own bay, and Jared’s and Gavin’s mounts, being led from the barn at a trot. Finding Kerr, Leith at his side, bellowing orders for the men to ride out and confront the invaders. His own piebald and Leith’s grey were brought to them, and they both swung into their saddles.
“Da!” Greer yelled, vaulting into his saddle.
“Greer, take twenty lads tae the north,” Kerr shouted back, reining his horse toward
him. “The buggers just galloped oan by us.”
Greer reached down to grab a bow and quiver of arrows a servant held up to him. Hanging the quiver on his pommel, he started to kick his horse into a gallop, and yell for twenty followers to ride with him. Above, flaming arrows lit the night, warning the patrols and guards on the herds that trouble had arrived. Just then a shout rang out.
“We hae more coming in from the west!”
Other voices from outside entered the bailey over the noise within it. “Riders at the east!”
Kerr gestured for Greer to ride. “He is splitting our forces,” he yelled. “Greer, gae. Leith, take men tae the west. I wi’ take men east.”
As Greer kicked his mount into a fast gallop, he heard his father cry, “Chase these buggers tae hell!”
With twenty clansmen galloping hard behind him, Greer rode into the deep dark of the night. His horse, able to see better than himself, leaped deadwood and rocks, climbing the rolling moors at a dead run, flinging his body down the far side as nimble as a goat. Against the stars, he glimpsed riders topping the hill, shadows darker than the night around them.
“What they be doin’?” he asked Jared who galloped his mount hard beside him. “We passed the horses and cattle.”
“They nae be making any effort tae get them back,” Jared replied.
“Maybe they want us to chase them until we think they be gone, then circle back,” Gavin offered from just behind him.
“Nay.” Greer took his right hand from his reins to point. “They be swinging around tae fight.” Raising his voice to the warriors behind him, he yelled, “Spread oot. Circle them aroond. Use yer bows till we close wi’ them.”
Leaving his horse’s reins on his neck, Greer plucked an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow, drew the string to his ear.
“MacEilish!” he screamed.
“MacEilish!”
The enemy soldiers raised their own war cries. “Primshire!”
Charging straight at the attacking Sassenach men-at-arms, Greer loosed his arrow. Not waiting to find out if it struck his mark, he loosed another, then a third. Ahead of him, he saw a horse fall, tumble headlong into the ground. Arrows flew past him, striking men and horses alike. Whinnies and screams met his ears, and then he was riding straight at the enemy.
Dropping his bow to his pommel, he drew his sword and seized his bay’s reins again. Spurring hard, he yanked back on the horse’s bit at the same time. The big horse reared, front hooves flailing, and struck the horse charging at him in the face. The other beast tried to dodge, swung to the side and enabled Greer to slice his enemy across his eyes with his blade.
The Sassenach screamed, his blade falling, then he tumbled from his saddle, lost in the dark. Wheeling his mount, Greer charged into the mix of men fighting, cursing, hacking at one another with their swords. He sank his steel into a chest through the soldier’s leather jerkin, and yanked it out, then spun to slash another’s arm open to the bone. The soldier tried to lift his arm and defend himself, but torn muscles and tendons failed to obey him. With a wicked slash, Greer cut his throat, and didn’t bother to watch him fall to the ground.
Turning his horse, seeking another enemy, Greer discovered the survivors of the short and bitter fight fleeing in all directions, scattered like chaff on the wind. On the ground, the wounded moaned and screamed, but he had eyes only for his own. “Jared! Gavin! Dae we hae casualties?”
“Aye,” Jared called back from the ground. “Gavin be cut.”
Trotting his horse across the fallen, Greer found Gavin, also standing, cursing under Jared’s ministrations.
“I be fine, ye damn bastard,” Gavin groused. “It be a wee cut.”
“How wee?” Greer asked, gazing down.
Jared laughed. “Well, the lasses dae like a scarred warrior. It be oan his face.”
Greer raised his voice. “Clansmen, any dead or wounded?”
He found two badly injured enough that they needed immediate care, men to bind their wounds and help them back to the castle.
“Ten o’ ye stay wi’ the wounded,” Greer ordered. “Keep them safe in case the Sassenach come back. The rest come wi’ me. Gavin, can ye ride?”
“Of course I can ride, ye bloody nitwit.”
Kicking his horse southwards, something nagged at Greer. If this was an attack on the castle, why did they ride so far north, only to turn and fight miles away? It made little sense to him that Primshire would divide his men and yet not truly attack the MacEilish stronghold.
“What be he up tae?” he wondered aloud, galloping hard for the south. “He cannae get intae the castle wi ‘oot his soldiers.”
“Aye,” Jared replied grimly, “he can.”
“What do ye mean?”
“He be after Myra, Greer,” Jared went on, his voice harsh. “He cannae attack in force, but he can sneak in wi’ a handful o’ men.”
“Nay.” Greer shook his head. “Tae many would see him, raise the alarm.”
“Who would respond? We be out here chasing his soldiers tae hell and back while he be stalking Myra in our own castle.”
“All this be a distraction.” Greer’s heart sank as he realized Myra and Idina would be trapped in their rooms. He had placed her there. If he had let her – He shook his head fiercely.
“I hae nae way o’ knowin’,” he growled.
“None o’ us did,” Gavin said. “He wi’ hae tae find her, break her door doon. That take time.”
“And we ridin’ back tae save her wi’ take as much,” Greer replied, wanting to howl his rage and fears to the sky. Lifting his voice he said, “We ride, now, kill these buggers if we hae tae. But we wi’ get there afore that bastard gets tae Myra.”
Chapter 33
Clutching her dagger, gazing down into the torchlit bailey, Myra listened to the yells and shouts as the clansmen rode out to protect the castle and its occupants. Riders flowed like water out of it to vanish into the darkness. Turning, she met Idina’s fierce blue eyes and set expression, her own dagger ready in her hand.
“We’ll be safe enough here.”
“Aye.”
Nervous, restless, Myra paced her rooms, unable to halt the feeling that she had trapped herself here. If that truly was Primshire out there, it didn’t appear that he was attacking the castle. The clan rode out into the night to confront the invaders.
Why would he have his men scatter only to be chased down by the Scottish warriors? That didn’t make sense if he wanted his stock back.
Neither motivation for Primshire’s behavior, either to attack the castle or retrieve his animals, made any sense to her.
Pacing, she frowned, thinking hard. “The castle is all but undefended,” she muttered. “Primshire cannot seize it with just a few men, and he doesn’t have the thousands it would take to hold and keep this stronghold from the clan. So what is he doing?”
The thought struck her at the same time Idina said, “He be coming here. Fer ye.”
He was coming here.
“Oh, God.” Myra spun around. “We need to get out of here, hide somewhere else. All he has to do is capture and scare a servant into telling him what rooms we are in.”
Dashing to the door, she unbarred it, and swung it open. To her dismay, the sounds of armed men climbing the stairs toward them echoed through the corridor. Her rooms stood at the end of the hall. There was no way past the men, nor was there another way out. She shut it quietly, then set the stout bar back in its iron brackets.
“They’re here,” she told Idina. “It’s too late.”
“He wi’ ne’er take ye,” Idina replied, her voice without fear. “Nae while I be alive.”
“That’s the point,” Myra said, trying to think. “He’ll kill us both. Our daggers stand no chance against their swords.”
Her eyes fell to the furniture, all made of sturdy, heavy oak. “We pile as much as we can against the door. Buy us some time. Greer will figure all this out and ride back, save us.”
&nb
sp; Together, Myra and Idina started to drag a table when a loud pounding came at the door. “Open in the name of the Earl of Primshire.”
Myra glanced at Idina. “Keep going.”
The loud pounding continued, but Myra knew the door would hold for a time against a small battering ram. And from the sounds, that was exactly what Primshire had out there. She and Idina toppled the heavy table flush with the door, then quickly piled chairs within its legs. The bar splintered under the rain of blows from the outside, the planks of the door parting.
