by Amy Jarecki
Pray the MacDonalds continue their business between Colonsay and Sleat for another sennight at least.
14
It was dark when Eoin and his men arrived on the summit of Beinn Resipol. William led them directly to the lookout sight and introduced the other two MacIain men as Malcolm and Rob. Though their hands were sooty and their fingernails caked with dirt, Eoin shook their hands. “Good work spotting the MacDonalds straight away.”
“It wasn’t too hard, given the black smoke billowing from the north,” Rob said while Malcolm nodded.
Eoin scanned the terrain below, but could only see blackness. “Where are they now?”
Malcolm threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Headed southeast, I wager they aim to pillage their way to Mingary.”
Eoin instantly thought of Helen and prayed Aleck had already arrived to defend the keep. Since the MacDonalds were heading south, it now made even more sense to sail a patrol galley through Loch Sunart. Thank heavens he’d thought to have Helen pass along the message. “How many are there?” he asked.
“Forty, near enough,” said Rob.
“All mounted?”
“Aye. I reckon they rode down from Tioram.”
Eoin looked at the sky and shook his head. The news was just as he’d predicted. If only Aleck MacIain had a brain the size of his cods, they might have stopped the invasion before it began. Now a poor crofter was out of a home, his farm burned.
“Have they set up camp for the night?”
“Aye.” Malcolm pointed to a range of craggy hills, a darker black against the cloudy sky. “Behind them crags.”
“Gather round, men,” Eoin said, beckoning the group in a huddle. “We’ll eat and camp here for the night. I want the watch changed every hour. Before dawn, we’ll ride to the southeast and set a trap in the ravine.” He looked to William. “What say you, how long will it take us to ride to the base of the hill, yonder?”
“An hour. If we head out afore the birds start chirping, we’ll be there by dawn for certain.”
“Very well.” Eoin looked at the expectant faces staring at him. “That’ll be the plan then. Get some rest. I guarantee we’ll have a nasty battle to face on the morrow.”
“Get up you laggards!” Eoin had no sooner found a comfortable patch of grass when Aleck MacIain’s irritating voice brayed across the campsite. “What the hell are you doing making camp, you miserable flea-bitten swine?”
“M-m’laird.” William immediately sprang to his feet. “Sir Eoin gave us orders to rest afore we head off the MacDonald.”
“Sir Eoin, aye?” Aleck panned his glare around the camp until he found Eoin. “Why haven’t we attacked?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Eoin stood and sauntered forward. “Why are you not protecting Mingary’s sea gate? I left word with Lady Helen—”
“A woman will never give me orders. And you’re wrong. The MacDonalds have nearly moved all their men to Colonsay.”
“Aye?” Eoin leveled his stare with MacIain’s. “That’s only a half-day’s sailing from Mingary at most. I wouldn’t put it past them to double back. Och aye, they’re uniting.”
“And I aim to stop them right here in Sunart.” Aleck shoved Eoin’s shoulder. “I asked you to tell me why we have not yet attacked.”
Grinding his back molars, it took every bit of self-control Eoin possessed to explain his plan while MacIain glared at him with those beady black eyes. Satan’s bones, Eoin wanted to slap the bastard—not only slap him, wrap his fingers around his neck and squeeze until he dropped—Aleck would be a whole lot more use if he were unconscious.
When Eoin finished, Aleck snorted with an arrogant smirk. “That’s the poorest idea I’ve ever heard. And from you, a king’s enforcer? My mother was a better strategist.”
Enough.
Before he blinked, Eoin’s hand darted out and clutched MacIain’s throat. The big man’s eyes bulged. Aleck tried to pull away, making choking gasps, but with his every move, Eoin clamped his grip harder while his gut churned with bile. “You might play the almighty chieftain to a lesser man,” Eoin hissed in a low growl. “But if you ever try to belittle me again, especially in front of the men, I’ll reach down your throat and cut that flippant tongue out.”
Aleck gurgled and clawed at Eoin’s hand. It was a matter of heartbeats before the bastard would drop from lack of air.
“Do. You. Understand?” Eoin demanded.
MacIain gave an eye rolling nod—at least as much of a nod as he could manage. Eoin shoved Aleck away. The dull-witted toad launched into a coughing fit, clutching his hands around his neck.
“He tried to kill me,” MacIain coughed out. “D-did you see that? He nearly c-committed the abominable sin of murder!”
Eoin gave him an emotionless stare. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead, you daft Highlander.” He backed away and stood between Fergus and Samuel. As far as he was concerned this battle of wills was over, but he didn’t trust MacIain to let it rest. “Now, I’d like to get some sleep afore I ride into battle.”
The firelight was bright enough for Eoin to see the faces of Aleck’s men. They were unshaven and haggard—each one looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a sennight. Not that this night would be restful. “You all look like shite.”
“The MacIain Clan can withstand a night without sleep,” Aleck rasped. “And I will not take orders from a MacGregor.” He pointed to the horses tied at the edge of camp. “We’ll be collecting our horses and we will beat back the MacDonalds without the likes of you.”
Fergus stepped beside Eoin, gripping the hilt of his sword. Eoin sliced his palm through the air. “Let them go.”
“You’re serious?” The henchman dropped his hand.
“Aye.”
After Aleck had ridden off with the horses, neither Eoin nor his men could sleep. They all sat around the small campfire staring at the flames as if mesmerized.
“Why didn’t we fight them?” Fergus asked.
“You want to spill blood for naught?” Eoin studied the faces of his men. They all questioned him as Fergus had. “Over the past month have you found MacIain’s men disagreeable?”
“Nay, just their leader,” said Samuel.
“Exactly.” Eoin shrugged. “Let them venture down to meet the MacDonalds. The grade is steep and it won’t be any faster going with horses than on foot. We’ll wake as planned and we’ll cover their backs…if they need us.”
Fergus chuckled. “Oh, I’ll wager they bloody will need us and in short order.”
Eoin stood and headed toward his patch of grass. “As MacIain said, let them fight their own battles. Besides, while Clan Donald is toying with the chieftain, they’re not threatening the king at the moment. And that’s the reason we’re here—to subvert any action against the crown.”
He flopped down and pulled his plaid over his shoulders. The only problem with Eoin’s current plan was that he was too far away from Mingary. He could hardly believe Aleck hadn’t at least left a few seasoned soldiers to guard the keep.
He lay on his back and a rock poked straight into his spine. Worse, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Helen. No matter how much he wanted to be there to protect her, it wasn’t his place, dammit. And blast her for refusing to pursue an annulment.
From the outset, he knew the king shouldn’t have sent him to Ardnamurchan. He was doomed the day he arrived. The first person he saw when his galley sailed ashore was Helen Campbell and, ever since, he’d been able to think of little else.
Even worse, he’d had no recourse but to bite his tongue and witness MacIain’s deplorable treatment of the lady. And she was so frail. When she was young, she was smaller and more delicate than her sisters. Lady Helen needed someone to revere and protect her—not issue a slap at every disagreement.
Eoin slapped a hand to his forehead. Ballocks. Did he have to kiss her after they’d found shelter from the rain? What the hell had he been thinking? But, God almighty, she felt like he
aven in his arms. What was a single man to do when a soaking wet woman’s succulent body was pressed against him? Protect her you stupid lout.
But Lady Helen wasn’t going to make it easy for him to safeguard her. Oh no, and Eoin didn’t blame the woman. She was right to worry about her daughter. What Eoin feared the most was as soon as the bairn reached an age where she would be playing about the castle, her father would behave like a tyrant. MacIain had already proved he had no qualms about striking a woman. What reprehensible things would he do to a child?
Eoin didn’t want to find out.
And when the time came, he didn’t want to leave Lady Helen alone to endure her miserable marriage. But he couldn’t force her to seek an annulment…and she was right. If Aleck MacIain discovered she’d even thought about approaching the Pope, he’d lash out at her. She’d said he’d already threatened to kill her.
Eoin tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Why the bloody hell did the king send me here?
Eoin did eventually fall asleep, because after Fergus stirred him awake, he could have sworn someone had bludgeoned him between the eyes. But once the men were up and on the trail, the pounding in his head ebbed.
God, he loved the Highlands. The crisp morning air filled his lungs with vitality, as the frost-kissed grass crunched beneath his feet. The men headed down the mountain at a steady jog, Eoin’s legs brushing the heather. Though it would be a month or so before it was in bloom, brilliant green grass peeked everywhere. At one with nature, this was Eoin’s favorite part of his membership in the Highland Enforcers. He was meant to live off the land and sleep under the stars. Breathing the fresh clean air away from the stench of humanity revived his soul.
As the sun rose, the path ahead grew clearer and the men sped their pace. Eoin and his band of warriors could continue all day, only stopping for water and food.
They’d traversed about six miles when the orange glow completely receded from the wisps of clouds above and the sun fully illuminated the path ahead. Eoin estimated they’d nearly reached the place where he’d planned to set a trap for the MacDonald reivers.
Ahead, voices rose in a battle cry. Had Aleck opted to wait until daylight? Most likely, the witless Highlander.
“It looks as if you’ll have your fight after all,” Eoin said, taking a deep breath.
Fergus chuckled. “At least…they’ll wear them down first.”
With any luck, the MacIains would send the MacDonalds running for their mothers.
But when they ran atop the ridge, Eoin’s wishes were dashed. Blood splattered everywhere. Some horses were down along with their riders. Clad in a full set of battle armor, MacIain spun his mount in the middle of the mayhem, bellowing curses as he wielded his sword like he was hacking with an ax.
The sheep-headed maggot is going to get himself killed. What the chieftain lacked in skill, he made up for with the pure aggression reflected in his technique. But no one could last long, brandishing a sword as vigorously as MacIain with such little effect. The men attacking him on either side dodged Aleck’s enormous blade each time it swung their way. As predictable as the tide, the chieftain didn’t even bother to change the cadence or direction of his swings. Above all, he could have benefited from a bit of training in the courtyard.
Eoin motioned for his men to fan out. “It looks as if the MacDonalds have the upper hand. We’ll not let them keep it.”
Bellowing their battle cry, the MacGregor warriors pounced like phantoms from the hills. If there was one good thing about Aleck’s dull-witted decision to ride ahead, it gave Eoin and Clan Gregor the element of surprise.
When the MacDonald men realized they’d been surrounded by yet another army, Eoin caught the panic in their eyes. Their movement became more urgent, exerting desperate strikes while they fought to gain any advantage.
Aleck remained mounted in the center of the fight, roaring like a wounded bull. Clearly tiring, he wielded his weapon with sluggish hacks. The two men attacking him on either side grew more daring. If Eoin didn’t reach him quickly, the MacIain Chieftain would be dead. But why am I saving his arse? Eoin battled his way toward Aleck. Because that’s what King James expects of me.
Mayhap if Eoin saved his arse, Aleck would be more humble—develop some respect for Clan Gregor. Eoin reached the chieftain just as a MacDonald drew back for a killing thrust of his sword. Eoin caught the assailant’s arm and used its momentum to throw the varmint to the ground.
“I do not need your help, MacGregor!” Aleck bellowed.
“Aye? Then stop chopping wood and bury that sword in someone’s gut.” Eoin spun and faced the man he’d sent to the dirt. With a bellow, the warrior charged—straight onto the point of Eoin’s razor-sharp sword. With a grimace, Eoin kicked him back and yanked his blade from the dying man’s flesh.
Aleck’s horse reared. Shrieking, the chieftain flew from the saddle, then crashed to the ground in a heap. A MacDonald man sprang over the MacIain with a high-pitched wail. Lunging, Eoin swung his sword up in time to deflect the man’s deadly blow.
The guard regarded Eoin with a grating chuckle.
The two circled, their eyes assessing one another. The MacDonald man sucked in heavy gasps, while he bled from the nose. “Ye come to be killed?”
“Nay. But you did.” Eoin sprang forward. Years of perfecting his trade had turned him into a lethal killing machine, and he quickly dispatched the man, and the next, and the next. When blood changed the dirt from brown to red, the MacDonalds turned tail and ran for home.
Eoin knelt beside Aleck and removed the big man’s helm. He was out cold, but still breathing. Eoin had seen far too much of the bastard whilst out cold—though he preferred comatose to the usual braggart. Beneath the lower vambrace plate, MacIain’s arm rested at an awkward angle. Aye, he’d broken the limb during his fall no doubt.
Eoin inclined his head toward his henchman. “Fergus, bring me a couple sturdy sticks. I must fashion a splint.” He then tore a bit of cloth from his shirt. The same one Lady Helen had recently stitched for him. He hated to do it, but Aleck’s arm needed to be set straight away. Eoin unbuckled the armor guard from Aleck’s forearm.
Fergus came over with the sticks. “Jesus, that’s a nasty break.”
“Aye. Good thing the varlet’s unconscious, otherwise setting it would hurt like hell.” Eoin motioned for Fergus to move beside him. “I’ll do what I can to straighten the arm out, then you slide the splints in place.”
Fergus nodded.
Eoin glanced at a pair of onlookers. “You men, hold him down just in case he wakes.”
Eoin grasped either side of the break and tugged. Then using all his strength he used the heel of his hand to force the bone back in place.
Aleck bucked and bellowed. “Bleeding, bloody, pox-ridden ballocks!”
“Quickly. The splints!” Eoin yelled.
Fergus clapped the sticks in place and held them firm while Eoin tightly wrapped the bandage.
Aleck bellowed like a bull in the castrating pen. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Nay,” Eoin said, tying the bandage. “Just saving your arm, you ungrateful boar.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Eoin smirked. “Mayhap next time I should let them kill you.”
Aleck hissed through gritted teeth. “I was wearing them down, you smug bastard—I always win in the end.”
Eoin clenched his fist around the bandage, close to smashing his knuckles into the bastard’s face just to shut him up again. “Och, you would have been run through after you fell from your horse and were out cold.”
“Aye,” Grant said with a hint of admiration in his voice. “I’ve never seen a man move so fast. Sir Eoin arrived in the nick of time. Any later and you would have been skewered for certain, m’laird.”
Aleck turned a shade of green as if he’d swallowed a vile tonic.
Biting his bottom lip, Eoin choked back a laugh while he finished securing the splint. Once he’d tied off th
e bandage, he stood and looked to Grant. “Any dead?”
“Three of ours. Six of theirs.”
“Only six?” Eoin asked, a little surprised. He’d killed four of them. “And the injured?”
“Scrapes and cuts—the usual,” said Samuel.
“Any injured men ride the horses. I ken you’re all tired, but we cannot leave the keep guarded by a handful of aging soldiers.”
He prayed there would be no more surprises. Though he was a trained killer, every time he took a life, a piece of his heart tore away. After many a battle, Eoin had taken to the seclusion of the Highland mountains just to be alone with his demons. He saw every face in his dreams. Men all looked the same when they faced certain death—stunned and terrified until their eyes turned vacant.
15
Helen cradled Maggie in her arms and sat in the rocker while humming a madrigal. The bairn cooed and gurgled as if she wanted to sing with Helen too. Reaching up, Maggie grasped at Helen’s linen wimple, her eyes wide as if the bairn liked the feel of the cloth.
“’Tis soft, is it not?” Helen took the bairn’s hand and guided her fingers over her woolen kirtle. Maggie’s eyes rounded with surprise and she laughed. “You like the different textures?”
The babe reached up and tugged Helen’s veil until it nearly came off. “And you’re a strong lassie if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Aye she is,” Sarah said from her perch in front of the hearth. “And almost as bonny as her mother.”
“How sweet of you to say.” Helen smoothed her hand over Maggie’s curly black locks and gazed at her daughter with warmth filling her heart. “I daresay this little one will be far more beautiful. Who could possibly resist those enormous blue eyes?” As soon as the words came out, Helen could think of only one person who wouldn’t be entranced by Maggie’s eyes, and that was the bairn’s father. If only that man would take the time to simply look at her. He would fall in love just like everyone else.
