Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero (22 page)

Marcus had to concentrate on the fighting at hand. He hoped that he, his men, and Wynfield’s killed Tearloch and enough of his people that the rest would realize they were defeated and return home. If Lord Pembroke was truly alive, it wouldn’t make any difference to Marcus. He had rescued Isobel and married her in good faith, believing Pembroke’s nephew would take over the earldom and John had no need to decide matters for her. Marcus and Isobel had done what they had wanted to all along, and he wouldn’t give her up for any reason or anyone.

Lord Wynfield shouted off to the east in the direction of the crannog, “‘Tis me! Lord Byron Wynfield. Marcus sent me here to help protect Lady Isobel.”

Marcus prayed no one would kill Lord Wynfield by accident, and that the baron would recover from his injuries. Which made Marcus wonder again what had truly become of Lord Pembroke. Had the baron hoped to still wed the lass and used that as a ploy to return her home?

“Nay!” Isobel shouted, her voice frantic with fright.

“God’s wounds,” Marcus swore, fearing for Isobel’s safety, and broke off the fight with another man he had engaged. He turned his horse around and galloped back to the stone enclosure. The man he’d been fighting and another raced after him.

When he reached the peninsula, he saw Tearloch on foot, his sword at Wynfield’s throat, the two of them facing the crannog, both men’s horses nearby.

Marcus cursed again and rode toward Tearloch as Finbar held Isobel tight in his grasp, not letting her leave the enclosure. Her face was red and frustrated, her eyes narrowed as if she would kill Tearloch herself for threatening Wynfield.

“Tearloch!” Marcus shouted, “Let the old mon go and fight me! A Highlander. Not someone who hasna held a sword in his hand for a good ten years.”

“Send Isobel out to me and I will let the Sassenach go,” Tearloch snarled.

Two of the Chattan clansmen were ready to release arrows, but they didn’t and Marcus knew they were afraid to hit the baron.

As soon as Marcus was near enough to Tearloch to engage in combat, two men came out of the fog to fight Marcus. The archers targeted them instead and the three brothers charged out of the enclosure to help Marcus fight the new arrivals, leaving only three behind with Isobel—the two archers, and Finbar who was still holding her tight, not allowing her to go to the baron’s aid.

All at once, it seemed the battle had come to Marcus, though he still could hear fighting in the distance, so he knew it was not so. Five more men appeared and began to fight with him and the others while Tearloch finally shoved Wynfield into the loch, turned, and attacked Marcus.

Wearing heavy chainmail, the baron struggled to keep afloat, sputtering and flailing his arms, unable to make it to shore and would surely drown.

“Let me go!” Isobel said to Finbar. “Lord Wynfield will drown.”

“Stay,” Finbar ordered, and then he ran out of the enclosure to reach the baron.

Marcus prayed Isobel would stay put as Tearloch attempted to injure Marcus’s horse. Marcus jumped down from his saddle and engaged Tearloch face to face. The Highlander had a strong swing and he was fast. But Marcus struck just as hard and quickly as his opponent, one gaining ground and then the other.

Finbar was still struggling to pull Wynfield out of the water when Gunnolf slayed his opponent and sprinted to help him, knowing one man would never be able to save the baron from drowning in the lake, wearing the heavy mail.

Isobel screamed, and Marcus turned his attention for a slip of a moment toward the enclosure. Tearloch slashed at Marcus’s belly and he only just managed to block the blow that could have killed him.

Still, he had to reach Isobel and protect her.

Two of Chattan’s men were still in the enclosure with Isobel, he thought. Then the sound of swords clanking inside the walls made Marcus’s blood run cold. He slashed again at Tearloch, but he dodged the slice of Marcus’s sword.

Then she screamed again, and Marcus thrust his sword at Tearloch, then fell back, trying to get closer to the enclosure. Tearloch lunged forward and Marcus jumped back, stumbling over a dead body and went down.

***

To Isobel’s horror, dripping wet and armed for a fight, four MacLauchlan clansmen climbed over the barrier from the back side. The two guards left behind to protect her rushed to fight them. Three of the MacLauchlan men quickly engaged them.

The fourth MacLauchlan clansman forced her into a corner so that she would not get in the way of the fighting or help the guards. His blond-bearded face stern, his blue eyes narrowed, he held her at bay with his sword. Angered and frustrated, she could do nothing to help the other men. Should they kill the other men, she couldn’t fight four men with just a
sgian dubh
when they were armed with much longer swords. With her heart thundering and her skin chilled, she watched the man keeping her pinned against the wall, hoping for an opening where she could attack him and get away. To her alarm, she saw both of her guards collapse in bloody heaps before the remaining MacLauchlan men turned to face her, their chests heaving and their bearded faces flushed with exertion.

At least her back was pressed against the wall, and they couldn’t reach her without her slicing at them. Everything happened so fast after that, it was almost a blur.

The blond-bearded man risked getting close to her and grabbed her left arm and yanked her away from the wall, exposing her back. She slashed at his arm, slicing it. He cursed, released her, and fell back. The other men moved in so quickly, that though she swung around to cut another, one maneuvered behind and seized her by the waist. Another captured her right wrist, twisted hard, forcing her to loosen her grip on her weapon, making her cry out in pain. Before she dropped her weapon, he yanked it out of her hand and tossed it to the earth. Two of the men fought with her to shove her over the rock wall, away from the entrance, and away from the battling men. Isobel screamed to alert Marcus or anyone she was in trouble.

They intended to steal her away while everyone else was fighting. Neither she nor the men protecting her had heard them coming.

No matter how much she struggled against the brigands, she could not break free to grab the blade. Nor could she stop them from hoisting her over the wall. She landed hard on her knees, smacking the rocks strewn there. Her pursuers heaved themselves over the wall and onto the other side, landing beside her, just as she gained her footing and ran to the other end of the peninsula. She nearly reached the loch and intended to jump into the water and swim away.

She was a good swimmer, though wearing a brat,
léine
, chemise, and shoes would weigh her down in the frigid water. Not to mention the cold could quickly affect her, but she couldn’t let these men spirit her away.

She ran into the loch, but her gowns dragged at the water. She dove in and shivered as the cold water closed around her.

“Grab the woman,” one of the men said.

Splashes behind her assured her that she was not swimming as fast as she needed to. Not with the way her garments were weighing her down the wetter they got. Then someone grabbed the edge of her brat, and it tightened around her throat, forcing her to stop swimming. Her fingers stiff from the cold, she fumbled with the brooch to unfasten it, but she couldn’t manage it and stay afloat, too.

The four men suddenly surrounded her, grabbing at her arms, forcing her to go with them to reach a closer shore. She then saw their horses tied up to trees near there.

If they managed to get her to shore and onto one of their horses, they could ride off with her and rendezvous with the others, leaving Marcus, his cousins, and kin behind before they even realized she was gone.

She cried out, “Marcus!”

She hoped that he would realize she was in the loch and no longer in the enclosure. That she needed his help or his men’s if anyone could even hear her voice.

She scuffled with them, trying to hit them with her fists, attempting to kick them. But she was having a time keeping her face above water, choking on it, gasping for breath. They kicked and swam and attempted to get her to the shore as quickly as they could. Every stroke brought her closer to their horses, and every stroke made her panic more. Kicking and trying to yank her arms free did nothing but make them angrier as they tightened their grips on her arms and dunked her to half drown her and make her behave.

“Once we reach the shore, knock her out,” one of the men said.

If they knocked her out, she’d never be able to escape, she feared, as she coughed, and tried to catch her breath, but she didn’t stop fighting them, praying she’d still manage to get free.

***

Sweat pouring off his face red with exertion, Tearloch nearly smiled with dark intent as he thrust his sword at Marcus, who was scrambling to get off the body of one of MacLauchlan’s men and ready his sword.

Tearloch stabbed at Marcus’s chest, but he managed to roll to the left and gain his feet. He was about to thrust at Tearloch, when they both heard Isobel cry out from the direction of the loch. The whoreson broke off the engagement with Marcus and ran off.

Marcus’s heart beat even harder at hearing Isobel’s cry of distress from the location of the loch. He sprinted to where his horse had taken refuge in the enclosure, remounted him, and raced him back to the mainland. Four MacLauchlan men were in the lake, trying to swim to shore with his wife, who was fighting them as much as she was able.

He galloped around the loch to reach them. The men were still a long ways from the shore, attempting to swim with a reluctant hostage. He cursed again under his breath, seeing red he was so angered.

Before Marcus reached the men and Isobel, someone rode after him. Hoping it was one of his own kin, he turned, only to see Tearloch on horseback, getting ready to swing his sword. God’s knees! Marcus needed to rescue his wife!

Turning his horse, Marcus swung his sword with such force, Tearloch nearly lost his weapon. Marcus thrust for the kill, but Tearloch jerked his horse to the side to avoid the impact.

The blade sliced across Tearloch’s side and stained his brown tunic red. He cursed bloody murder and turned his horse again to strike at Marcus.

For the tromping footfalls of their horses, the clashing of swords, the sound of fighting in the distance, of men yelling and crying out, of swords clanking and horses neighing, Marcus couldn’t hear what was going on behind him.

Isobel was too quiet and he feared someone had knocked her out to make her compliant. He was ready to kill the bloody bastard. But he was trying to concentrate fully on the menace before him and hoped he could run him through before the men reached the shore with Isobel.

Where were Marcus’s men?

When he heard the sound of men splashing on the rocky shore, grunting, trying to make it to their horses, Marcus wanted to swing around and kill them all now. But he couldn’t turn his back on Tearloch.

“Angus! Finbar!” Marcus called out. If any one of his men or his kin could hear his voice he would know Marcus was in dire need of help or he would not ask them to come to his aid when he knew they had to be in the thick of battle themselves.

Instead of any of his men, three of Pembroke’s knights came into view, surprising Marcus. He hoped that if they slew Laren’s men, that Pembroke’s knights didn’t try to take off with Isobel next.

“We have got her,” Sir Travon said, galloping past him.

Marcus recognized the two other knights who had forced him to leave the dance held in Isobel’s honor before he was bushwhacked. That realization didn’t make him feel any less uneasy as he slashed again at Tearloch.

No matter how hard he swung or thrust at the villain, Marcus couldn’t break free from his battle with Tearloch, both of them wearying.

“You ken I killed your da, eh?” Tearloch taunted, his face a mask of fury, as he readied to take another swing.

His blood burning with anger, Marcus blocked Tearloch’s swing with a mighty clang. He hadn’t known. No one had. Not only would he kill the whoreson for attempting to take Isobel, Marcus was glad to avenge his da’s murder!

“And that sweet lassie will be beneath me before long. Mark my—”

Marcus thrust his sword into Tearloch’s chest, saw the look of wide-eyed surprise, right before the man sputtered and tilted on his horse.

Marcus yanked out his sword and watched the bloody bastard fall to the ground, not stirring, his eyes wide in death, leaving his men to their fates.

Marcus turned his horse to join the knights and fight the MacLauchlan clansmen who had stolen Isobel from the crannog. But Laren’s men were done in by the swim in the cold loch and the fighting before this. One of the men held a sodden Isobel over his shoulder like a sack of wet grain. She wasn’t stirring. And Marcus was furious with the bastard as he leapt from his horse and stalked toward the man.

Three of the soaking wet Highlanders dropped their weapons and sank to their knees. Isobel’s captor waited for someone to take her from him, wisely not releasing her like they had their weapons.

One of Pembroke’s knights gathered the men’s weapons while another directed them to sit on the ground.

Sick with worry over Isobel, Marcus took her from the man, cradling her in his arms, holding her tight to warm her chilled, wet body. “Isobel, lass, can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond, but her skin was pale pink, not blue and she was breathing, her breath warm against his chest, which were all good signs. Marcus had to get her into the enclosure right away where a fire was burning at the hearth, the smoke curling above the boulders. “Can you hold these men here, Sir Travon?”

“Aye, what of Lord Wynfield?” Sir Travon asked.

“Injured. We will take him to Lochaven as soon as my reinforcements get here.” Marcus glowered at the MacLauchlan men. “What did you do to her?”

“Naught,” a black-haired man growled. “She just got quiet all of a sudden.”

Marcus would ask Isobel as soon as he could revive her. “If I hear it wasna true, I will be asking you again how she came to be this way.”