Fraser 02 - Highland Quest (15 page)

A temporary reprieve did not mean she was free—far from it. But in case they returned, she decided to wait several minutes before climbing down. When she felt it was safe to do so, she lowered herself to the ground, but not before tearing strips of fabric from the bottom of her kirtle and wrapping them around her feet. The makeshift bandages provided meager protection for her throbbing soles, but offered some relief and would hopefully prevent further injury.

Despite her discomfort, she took off running again. She had no idea how close she was to Loudon Hill, but she knew it was east of the camp, and she willed herself to forge ahead.

Keep going. You can do this. Bryce needs you.

The deeper into the woods she moved, the farther away the voices sounded. Relief washed over her and she paused to catch her breath. Had she managed to get away?

A tree branch snapped, and her head shot up. She felt certain she’d been discovered. Winded, and unable to take another step, she closed her eyes and waited with baited breath for Keith to pounce.

Steely determination coursed through her veins. She’d not give up without a fight. A thick hardwood stick lay at her feet and she snatched it up, along with a palm-sized rock, her pulse pounding and her breath coming in ragged pants. She widened her stance, braced herself, and prepared to face her fate.

A red doe and her fawn stepped onto the path and passed a few feet from where she stood. With a soft cry of relief, Fallon dropped the stone and sank to her knees.

Her hope of escape renewed, she climbed to her feet and moved through the woods with speed and vigor. Certain she must be getting closer to her destination, she decided to return to the path. She scurried up a small embankment, only to come to a dead halt when she reached the road. In her effort to avoid her pursuers, she had somehow doubled back and had almost run full circle. How could fate be so unkind?

There was no point wallowing in self-pity and she had no time to waste. Fergus had been captured before he’d had a chance to send a messenger to warn the Bruce. It was now up to her. Reoriented, she took off running along the path, in the direction she had originally intended to go.

It had been a while since she’d heard Keith’s voice and the forest around her was silent. Had she managed to elude capture? She blew out a shuddering breath and slowed her pace to brisk walk.

The sound of an approaching rider caused her heart to lurch. As the echo of hooves pounding against the ground got closer, she frantically searched for a place to hide. But it was too late. The rider rounded a bend in the path and came to an abrupt halt directly in front of her.

“Going somewhere?” Dungal slid from his destrier and stomped toward her.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes and her shoulders slumped forward as she faced her enemy.

“Where in damnation is my brother? He better provide me with a good explanation as to how you managed to escape. I should never have left that buffoon in charge.”

She wanted to dash again, but her legs felt like anvils. Before she took a single step, he was on her. He buried his fingers in her hair and snapped her head back. “What have you to say for yourself? Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now. Or mayhap sate my needs. This time, no one is around to hear you scream or to interrupt.”

“Over here!” someone shouted.

Keith and his companions stumbled onto the path, all looking the worse for wear.

“Dungal.” Keith stopped in the middle of the trail. “Let me explain. I—”

Dungal placed his hands between her shoulders and shoved, forcing her to her knees. He faced his brother. “There is no excuse for your incompetence. Leaving you in charge was obviously a huge mistake. I’m gone for a few hours and come back to find my unfettered prisoner darting through the woods with a band of idiots chasing her.”

Dungal pulled a rope from behind his saddle and approached her. “Give me your hands.” When she didn’t comply, he lunged forward and grabbed her wrists then tied the rope around them. “Stand,” he growled and dragged her to her feet. He glared at his brother. “We join Aymer at daybreak so best you return to camp. That is if we still have a camp to go back to.” He whistled and his horse trotted forward. He hoisted Fallon onto the saddle and mounted behind her. “I will be briefing the men on the battle plans before we leave. I’d suggest you start walking, brother.”

Six hundred strong, the Scottish patriots assembled atop Loudon Hill. Dressed in their heavy quilted gambesons, steel and leather skullcaps, they prepared for battle. Bryce joined Alasdair, John Kennedy, James Douglas, and a few other Scottish nobles, including Robert’s brother, Edward, as the Bruce prepared to address his army.

Robert stood before them and raised his hand. The boisterous crowd immediately grew quiet. “Today we face our enemy, Aymer de Valance, second Earl of Pembroke. For some of you, this will be your first skirmish with the blackguard, but for many, this is an opportunity to seek revenge for the losses we suffered at Falkirk, Methven, and for the years of English tyranny we have been forced to endure. Your bravery and dedication to the fight for freedom will long be remembered. Scotland’s sons and daughters will forever be indebted to you. Before we enter into combat, join me in prayer.” He dropped to one knee, bowed his head, and began to speak in Latin.

After the benediction was completed, Robert’s expression hardened. “Fight well and hard, as if today was the last day of your lives. Fail to win, and de Valance will have you hanged for treason. Keep that in mind as you face the enemy.” Robert rose and lifted his sword. “With the Lord’s help, success is in our grasp!”

“Aye, Bruce!” The men, primarily spearmen, hoisted their weapons and targes, echoing their leader’s enthusiasm. The few bowmen present did the same.

Following Robert’s speech, Bryce stood on the rocky ledge overlooking the plain below. He tried to focus his mind on the upcoming battle, but thoughts of Fallon flooded his mind.

It was as if she called out to him. He’d swear he could hear the soft lilt of her voice, feel the beat of her heart in rhythm with his own. He could smell the sweet lavender scent of her hair and the spicy tang of her arousal when they made love. He could see her beautiful face and reached out to touch her, but she wasn’t there.

“Are you ready to kill some English?” Alasdair joined him.

Bryce inclined his head. “Today is a good day to fight and, if need be, a good day to die. Aymer de Valance appears to agree.” He pointed at the sea of English soldiers, some on heavy horse, the rest on foot. They spread out in rows across the flat grassland in an age-old pattern typically used for battle. “I must admit they are an impressive sight in their polished armor, chainmail, and stark white hauberks.”

Brightly colored pennons flapped in the breeze and armor-clad warhorses restlessly danced beneath their Saxon riders.

“They must number at least three thousand.” Alasdair cupped Bryce’s shoulder. “I wish you’d heeded my request, little brother, and were on your way back to Fraser Castle.”

Bryce slid his hand over Alasdair’s. “I couldn’t let you hog all the glory again. Besides, someone needs to watch your back.”

“I can fend for myself and would rest easier if I knew you were out of danger. I can still speak to Robert and tell him you are not strong enough to fight after your injury at Loch Ryan. He’d understand.”

“You’ve been like a mother hen, protecting both Connor and me since Da was killed. I appreciate your concern, but this is something I must do.”

Alasdair pulled Bryce into an embrace. There was no witty banter or sarcasm, just a genuine show of affection between brothers. A bond no mortal man could sever.

“Do you think the MacDougalls are among them?” Bryce asked.

“I’m certain of it. We will have our revenge, brother. Not just for the losses suffered in battle, but for the slaughter of our parents and brothers,” Alasdair replied.

“I’ll not rest easy until Longshanks is in his grave, Dungal is brought to justice, and Robert sits on his rightful throne.” Bryce turned to face James and John as they approached.

“The men are ready. Will you and Bryce lead the first line of attack?” John glanced from one brother to the other.

With a spear in hand and Bryce at his side, Alasdair shouted to the group of patriots assembled and awaiting his orders. “
God spede
and keep your heads on a swivel.” He crossed himself, spun around, and led them in a charge down the slope.

After a short sprint, they reached the bottom of the hill and manned the first trench. There, they waited for the English to launch their assault.

Following a volley of arrows, the ground vibrated under the thundering hooves of heavy horse. Bryce wrapped his hand around the shaft of his pike, hoisted his targe, and drew in a slow, deep breath to steady his nerves. He’d been on countless battlefields, but had never grown accustomed to the unsavory mix of heart-stopping excitement and gut-wrenching anxiety. “May the Almighty be with us.” He raised his weapon as the first warhorse attempted to hurdle the trench.

Horses became impaled, along with their riders. The shatter of spears on armor and the bloodcurdling cries of wounded men and beasts echoed across the moor.

“Robert’s plan is working.” Alasdair yanked a claymore from the baldric on his back and swung it in a sweeping arch, felling the English soldier racing toward Bryce.

“Thank you, brother.” Bryce inhaled sharply, then quickly spun around, his sword connecting with that of an English knight approaching from the other direction. No match for his skill and determination, his attacker soon lay facedown in a pool of blood.

Bryce sheathed his blade, picked up a pike, and spoke to Alasdair. “The blackguards who dinna die in the trenches and manage to filter through the small gaps of land face an even bigger challenge with our spearmen and bowmen.”

“The enemy is in a state of chaos. This is the perfect time to press forward.” Alasdair swung his claymore over his head to rally the men. He shouted out a war cry then led them onto the plain, boldly confronting the unorganized English forces as they advanced.

In the confusion of battle, Bryce lost sight of his brother. He prayed the Lord would look after him and continued the fight. The skirmish was fierce, but brief. Despite being outnumbered, the patriots forced the English back.

Atop a black charger, Robert approached at full gallop. “We are victorious. De Valance retreated and fled the field, along with the remainder of his army.” His words were drowned out by the cheers from his men.

“How many warriors did we lose?” Bryce’s stomach clenched with worry as he surveyed the area in search of Alasdair.

“We suffered few casualties compared to the English.” Robert struggled to keep his spirited mount under control. “The men fought with valor and have reason to be proud.”

Relieved to see Alasdair walking toward him, Bryce raced to his side and threw his arms around his brother’s broad shoulders. “I’m glad you’re well and uninjured.”

“And I’m pleased to see your pretty head remains where it belongs.” Alasdair laughed and tousled Bryce’s hair as one would a wee bairn.

“As am I. War is always a terrible waste, but it's a necessary evil." Bryce glanced around at the carnage. He squatted down, then rolled over the body of a felled Scot warrior and stared into lifeless eyes.

“Our casualties were light. The English dinna fare as well.” Alasdair softened his voice.

“Tell that to Brian.” Bryce slowly rose to his feet, brought his sword to his nose, and snapped his heels together in a show of respect for his fallen comrade.

“There is nothing you can do for him. We must be away. Robert will send men to bury the dead and aid the wounded.” Alasdair motioned for Bryce to follow him.

“I come anon. Give me a few minutes.” Bryce watched his brother trot up Loudon Hill before dropping to his knees. He buried his face in his hands and wept for those who’d lost their lives in the battle. Not usually this sentimental, he found his thoughts strayed once again to Fallon. He prayed she was safe and that he’d made the right decision to leave her in Turnberry. But once again an uneasy feeling of trepidation tugged at his gut, and he feared the worst.

He’d felt a strong connection with Fallon since the day they met. But until this moment, he didn’t realize how much he cared about her. Was Alasdair right? Had he let her breach the wall he’d so carefully built round his heart? Despite his effort to keep his distance and remain focused, was he falling in love with her?

Bryce cursed. After what happened to Ashlen, he’d sworn never to love. His heart could not take the pain again and he wasn’t worth of a woman’s adoration and trust.

He slowly rose, and after a final salute to the lost souls who littered the battlefield, he raced up the hill.

“Where is your brother, Alasdair? He dinna return after the battle. Have you seen him?” Concern resonated in John Kennedy’s voice.

“I’m here. Did anyone encounter the MacDougalls?” Bryce crested the hill and strode toward the gathering of men.

“Aye. They attacked the trench near the bog. Many of their clansmen fell. The rest turned tail and ran off.” James Douglas joined the group.

“What of Dungal? Did he escape?” Bryce impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other in anticipation of the response.

“He was seen fleeing on horseback with a wounded man slung across the back end of his horse.”

Bryce slammed his balled fist against the open palm of his other hand. “Damnation, I’d hoped to meet him on the field or at least hear he was dead.”

James patted Bryce on the shoulder. “You still may have your chance to meet him in battle. They made camp five or six miles from here.”

Bryce shook his head and raised his hands in question. “What makes you think they will return to their camp? If they do, I doubt they’ll remain there for any length of time? My guess is that they would return to Galloway as quickly as possible.”

“They will go to their camp to tend their wounded. With our own to care for, they won’t be expecting us to follow right away,” James replied.

“Then we best make haste. I won’t rest until Dungal is punished for his treachery.” Bryce moved toward the horses, prepared to give chase, but stopped when he saw Robert approaching.

“I want him punished as much as you do. Mayhap, more so now than ever before.” Robert spoke with conviction.

“Something is amiss.” Alasdair stepped forward.

“Aye. One of Dungal’s wounded men was captured and taken prisoner. Before he died, he boasted about a hanging that took place a few days ago in Turnberry.” Robert bowed his head.

Feeling as though he’d been gut-kicked and momentarily forgetting respect for his king, Bryce grabbed Robert by the shoulders. “Fallon?”
Dear Lord, let her be alive.
He swallowed hard. “Tell me who was hanged.”

“Fergus.”

Fallon fidgeted, certain she’d go insane if word of the battle did not reach them soon. She remained tied to the tree, and the man left to guard her would not speak to her, let alone answer her questions or her request to tend to her needs. Attempts to clear her mind of worry proved futile. She feared for Bryce’s safety and prayed he had survived the confrontation unscathed.

The rumble of hooves broke the silence. Fallon craned her neck, uncertain if it was her nemesis or someone coming to save her. She was a healer, her life dedicated to aiding the ill and relieving their suffering. Until today, she had never prayed for a man to die. She made an exception in Dungal’s case.

The guard drew his sword and broadened his stance. He stood between Fallon and the direction from which the sound came. Had she not been so frightened, she might have laughed at the man’s foolish bravado against unknown odds. She had to give him credit. He would die loyal to his leader if the need arose.

The guard lowered his weapon and bolted toward the path leading into the clearing. Several MacDougall men rode past him, many carrying wounded and dismembered victims of the battle.

There was no sign of Dungal or his brother. Dare she hope he had met with his demise? If he was dead, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to her at the hands of his men? Would they let her go, or would they ravage her and later slit her throat?

She bit down on her lower lip in an effort to suppress the growing terror squeezing her chest, and inclined her head when Dungal entered the camp and slid from the saddle.

“Over here! My brother is in need of assistance.” Dungal rounded his horse and lifted Keith’s body from across the rump of his steed.

Several of his clansmen ran to his aid. Together, they carried Keith to a spot beneath a tall oak tree and positioned him on his side. “Fetch the wench, and dinna tarry,” Dungal growled.

The guard cut the ropes binding her to the tree and dragged Fallon to her feet. “Dungal wants you. Dinna give me any trouble.”

Fallon nodded and accompanied the man.

Dungal squatted and focused his attention on his brother.

“Dinna die on me. I’ll not allow it.” Dungal tore open Keith’s bloody tunic to reveal a jagged chest wound with a metal tip protruding from it. The arrow had entered through his back, but had not gone all the way through.

Fallon gasped at the sight. She’d tended many wounded men in her days with Clan Scott, but her gut told her Keith’s injuries were grave, and if he died, she’d be blamed.

“Don’t stand there staring at him. You’re supposed to be a healer. Do something to assist.” Dungal leaned close to Keith’s ear. “Hold on, brother.”

Keith moaned, but did not wake when Fallon knelt beside him and peeled back his shirt. “If I am to assess the full extent of his injuries, I’ll need something to cut away the fabric.” She held out her hand, waiting for Dungal to respond. She wanted to ask about the outcome of the battle, about Bryce, but she didn’t dare.

Dungal took a moment to ponder her request then pulled his dirk from its sheath. “If you do anything foolish, or my brother dies, you willna live long enough to tell about it.” He gently stroked his brother’s cheek, but his eyes remained fixed on Fallon’s every move.

She turned the dagger over in her hand. It would be so easy to lunge forward and kill Dungal, but it wasn’t in her to take a life, even to save her own.

The concern Dungal showed for his brother took her by surprise. The last thing she’d expected was compassion and even a small showing of affection. She honestly believed him to have a heart of stone. His brother’s injury had obviously unnerved him, which, she concluded, made him more dangerous than before.