Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (18 page)

“Tighten the shields,” Garik heard a voice cry. The shields overlapped, deflecting hundreds of arrows, which rained down upon the spear men. Garik stooped lower, knowing the English archers would once more stretch their longbows to the sky. He raised his own targ while he waited, listening. Then he heard James’s command for the Scottish cavalry. Garik dared to spread apart two of the spear men’s shields. He peered out just as rugged ponies emerged from the wood and descended upon the unsuspecting archers before they could release another volley.

The English command to advance roared across the plain. The Earl of Gloucester, with his colors of gold and red, led the first charge, but Garik nearly burst out from hiding when he witnessed many of the English infantry hesitate. Fear already claimed their enemy. Blinded by rage, the earl continued his charge, despite the paltry number of men who had actually heeded his order. He advanced toward certain death. With a single word from the Bruce, the Highland infantry raced across the plain. They surrounded the earl and his few followers, killing them all.

Still, another wave of English infantry charged, but the Scottish Schiltrons gave no quarter. The enemy struggled to hold their position, and then their formations scattered. In the distance, Garik could see the English soldiers in the rear already begin to retreat. Victory was theirs.

The Schiltrons broke apart as the Scots raised their spears, swords, and axes to the sky. Odds had been against them, but their smaller army had dominated the battle grounds. They had done the impossible—taken Stirling Castle and driven off the mighty English forces.

Logan and Duncan came running at Garik, relief and wonder colored their exclamations of triumph. Garik’s heart raced as he raised his face to the sky. The warmth of the sun caressed his skin and conjured memories of Nellore, but then a movement drew his gaze. The leafy trees near the wood line shook, and a man stumbled out onto the plain. Blood oozed down the side of his face, and he cradled his right arm to his chest. Garik stared, stunned, at the man who they all had believed to be dead.

“Logan,” Garik hissed. “Find Ronan. Tell him Balfour lives.”

*

Garik peered over Ronan’s shoulder at Balfour who lay on the ground, receiving treatment for his injuries.

“Finn told me Calum had deserted with a band of my men,” Balfour spat. “He said our brother planned to break our treaty and attack your lands. So I went after him with only Finn at my side, not expecting I rode with the true Judas. He led my horse over a ravine. I plummeted down the length of five men. The good Lord alone knows how I survived. Before Finn got to me he had betrayed Calum, only Calum did not share in my fortune. His body will confirm my story.”

“And Finn?” Ronan said.

“He left me for dead,” Balfour hissed.

“God’s blood,” Ronan swore. Then he looked to Angus Og. “Ye ken what this means,” he said.

Angus Og nodded, but it was the Bruce who spoke first. “Ronan, you and your men may take your leave.” Then he turned to Angus Og. “Send forty of my infantry to Mull under Ronan’s command.”

Garik’s heart lurched. “Finn has more than a full day’s start.”

Duncan raked his fingers through his hair. “How soon can we make the journey home?” he said.

“Three days’ time if we push our horses,” Logan replied.

“Mull MacKinnon,” Ronan shouted. “To me. We haven’t a moment to lose.”

Garik remained a constant in Nellore’s mind. When evening fell and she was alone, she would speak to him, recounting the day’s events, sharing bits of village gossip. Her troubles and joys were topics reserved for the evening meal, and at night she lay on her side and pictured him lying opposite her. Her promises of love and longing would penetrate the darkness. She would stare into his wintry eyes and savor the comfort of his unhurried and lilting replies, and it would feel as though he were only a breath away. She knew she was talking to herself and not to him, but without her imaginings, she would lack the courage to face each new day alone.

Days hurt less than nights. Often, she found herself too busy to acknowledge the underlying heartbreak that shadowed her every step. She assisted Hamish with the watch, and now that she resided in the village, she helped Anna and Bridget tend to the sick. She found that she enjoyed making poultices and mixing potions, but most of all she loved attending childbirths. When a newborn filled her mother’s arms for the first time, in that moment, everything somehow seemed right in the world, despite the terror and bloodshed that so often defined their lives. She had also listened to her husband’s council and taken up furniture making. Garik had been right. She loved working with her hands, and over the months since he had been away, her skills had flourished.

That morning, Nellore had decided to rise early and visit her mother and sister. Much to her delight, as she made her way through the village, she encountered Bridget.

“I need a distraction,” Bridget said as they hooked arms. “Long has it been since my husband left my side.” Sorrow filled Bridget’s silver eyes. “It has been five months. To be honest, I thought these days were behind me—one of the few consolations of old age.”

“Are you angry with Ronan for leaving?” Nellore asked.

“Och, nay, sweetling. My Ronan is a warrior. This is the fight he has prayed for for decades—the fight that will see a true king of Scotland take our country back. I would not deny him his rightful contribution.”

As they ascended the slope toward her family’s home, Nellore’s spirit began to soar.

“They saw our approach,” she said, waving to Brenna and Rose, who had just left their croft and now were trudging up the hill to meet them. Glancing Bridget’s way, Nellore saw her lady’s eyes crease as a brilliant smile covered her face. Nellore laughed and surged forward, but then the bite of fingers dug into her arm.

“Listen,” Bridget hissed. The other women must have noticed the change in Bridget’s countenance, for they froze midway up the hill. Nellore’s heart pounded as she trained her ear back the way they’d come.

“Run”, Nellore yelled as the pounding of horse’s hooves filled the air, but not from the direction of Gribun. “MacLeans!”

They fled down the hill. Brenna and Rose raced back toward the hut, but Nellore stopped them. “Nay,” she shouted. “To the barn. We need weapons.”

Nellore arrived first and flung open the barn door, rushing to where their bows rested in an empty stall. Her own sword was strapped to her back, but she also took up a bow and a quiver of arrows. The other ladies followed her lead. By the time they left the barn, the MacLeans were upon them.

“This way,” Nellore shouted as she raced toward a wagon. “Lift with me,” she cried. They strained against the weight of the wagon but it soon toppled onto its side. Then they hastened around and took up their positions behind it.

Five warriors blazed toward the croft with fiery torches in hand.

“Nay,” Brenna shouted.

Nellore stood with her bow string already taut against her cheek. She let loose the arrow and it found its mark, felling a large warrior who had just tossed a flaming torch upon the rooftop.

“Take up your weapons,” she shouted to the three ladies at her side, who stared in shock at the horror unfolding before them. “Kill them,” she screeched at the motionless women. Spurred on by her command, the other women jumped into action.

Nellore let loose another arrow, striking a warrior through the neck. Two dead. Three warriors remained.

“Behind the wagon,” one of MacLeans shouted. The warriors raced toward them. Nellore leapt up onto the side of the wagon with her sword drawn. A rider surged toward her with his own blade brandished high. She parried the blow of his sword and whirled around, slicing his belly open. She seized the reins, pushing his dying body to the ground, and then leapt onto the beast in his stead. The horse rose up on its hind legs. She had to fight to keep her seat, but gaining control, she charged toward the men circling back upon the wagon. Arrows, released by the might of her women, flew past her and pierced an enemy chest. He dropped his reins and struggled for breath. Nellore surged forward and swung her sword as she passed. She glanced back to see his head roll across the ground. Then she heard a distant growl. She turned to face the last of the warriors. Her breath hitched when she recognized his scowling face. It was Finnean, the youngest of the MacLeans. She could not contain her surprise. His once weak eyes now glared at her with malicious intent.

“I am coming for ye,” he shouted. Then he kicked his horse in the flanks and charged toward her. She turned her horse about and readied her defense. Almost upon her, he dropped his reins and raised his sword with both hands over his head. “Ye’re mine,” he shouted, but then his eyes flared wide just as the whiz of arrows soared passed Nellore and sank into his flesh. His hands grappled at the shafts protruding from his abdomen before he slunk in his saddle and slid to the ground.

Nellore turned around and her heart filled with pride and wonder. Rose, Brenna, and Bridget stood together on the side of the wagon, their bows still held at the ready. Nellore dropped to the ground and was soon joined by the other women. Together, they made their way to the wheezing man’s side.

“To think, I pitied ye,” Nellore said. The life drained from the small man. His lank blonde hair fell across eyelids that had closed forever.

They turned away then and surveyed the damage to Brenna’s home.

The house and barn still burned. There was naught they could do.

“I’m so sorry, Brenna,” Bridget said.

Nellore put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. Brenna’s deep blue eyes filled with tears as she watched the roof to her home cave in, but then she thrust her shoulders back and grabbed both Nellore and Rose by the hand. “It matters not,” she said. “The stone will not burn. ‘Tis nothing that can’t be rebuilt. What matters is that my lassies are safe,” she said.

As they moved away from the fire, the sound of horses on the move once more reached their ears. They climbed the hill, keeping low when they reached the top. Dozens of MacLean warriors raced toward Gribun.

“’Tis a full attack,” Nellore cried.

“What should we do?” Rose asked. “We cannot follow. They will reach the village before we do.”

“The watch will sound the alarm. Hamish will not make a stand against such a number. He will lead the villagers to the caves,” Nellore said.

“What of us? We cannot stay here. There will be no place to hide, and we dare not try to make it to the cliffs if Gribun is overrun,” Brenna said.

“Should we take to the wood?” Nellore asked. “We can find shelter and food.”

“Nay,” Bridget said as she stood. “I will take ye to my home.”

“But Bridget, the MacLeans are sure to take Dun Ara Castle. ‘Tis only a matter of time,” Rose said.

Nellore grinned, knowing of which home Bridget spoke. She looked to her mother. Brenna nodded, for she too knew Bridget’s secret. Only Rose appeared lost.

“Come along, Rose,” Bridget said. “’Tis time ye knew my real story.”

The wind barreled over the moors. As they headed west, Nellore made sure to watch for MacLeans giving chase. Her heart feared for her people, but she had faith in the discipline of the watch and in Hamish’s judgment. She did not doubt that the exodus of the villagers from Gribun was underway. The caves along Mull’s shore would offer her people refuge until their land and homes could be restored.

Nellore peered around her mother to where Bridget and Rose walked together, their heads joined in quiet council. Nellore smiled when she glimpsed Rose’s stunned gaze.

“There,” Nellore shouted, pointing to the witch’s hut in the distance.

“Faster,” Brenna urged.

Nellore worried over Bridget keeping such a strenuous pace, but when she glanced at Bridget, she was struck by the change in her lady. She glowed. Her silver eyes shone like polished metal. The lines etched across her face had softened. Suddenly, her stride possessed the strength of youth despite her advanced years.

With radiant confidence, Bridget gripped the handle on her hut’s round, over-sized door and said, “’Tis my greatest pleasure to welcome ye to my family’s home.”

Nellore moved inside and felt her spirit lift. Enclosed within Bridget’s hut, they had found a safe haven from all danger. Still, Rose hesitated in the doorway.

Nellore turned to her. “Search your heart, and you will find no fear, only habit.”

Rose drew a deep breath and nodded. Then she eased into the small quarters.

“Our safety is assured, for no one else would dare enter here. But I would know what has happened to our clan,” Brenna said.

Rose wrapped her arm around her mother. “We dare not risk moving closer to the village,” she said.

Nellore stood then. “I will go. I have some skill at moving unseen. I know I can get close enough to judge what has occurred.”

“I know a way ye can walk straight into the village without fear,” Bridget said.

Nellore joined Brenna and Rose as they stood with expectant eyes trained on their lady.

“How?” Nellore asked.

Shoney moved to a line of pegs and removed a dark, tattered cloak, and then she spun around and presented it to Nellore. “Ye can move unseen concealed beneath the cloak of the Witch of Dervaig.”