The ride was grueling, the air biting against his clammy skin. He clung to the reins, his body slumped forward over the horse’s neck as dizziness threatened to pull him under. Each hoofbeat jarred his injury, sending fresh waves of agony through his torso. He closed his eyes, and everything went black.
The darkness that engulfed Marcus was not silent. Instead, it echoed with thoughts of his father.
Faither would be angered to the hills if he saw me now. After all his training… after all his warnings to always have a man at me side, I ignored them and went on me own.
Marcus had started his training at a young age like all men of the clan. However, he had been trained by the Laird, his father, a fierce warrior, and he became a skilled warrior himself, never backing down from a fight. Sometimes even relishing in a good brawl every now and then.
The horse moved forward, climbing over some fallen limbs that jolted Marcus in the saddle, and his eyes opened. He looked around at the unfamiliar terrain. He gritted his teeth and adjusted his seat in the saddle. The weight of his father’s expectations spurred him onward as he thought about how his father would encourage him in this hour.
Faither would say, “Fight for what matters, lad; fight for it with everything ye’ve got. Fight!”
The words jarred him into action. He cursed again, his words slurred as his blood loss began to take its toll.
He raised his head and looked in the distance on all sides, then he saw black smoke rising in the distance. He had no choice but to urge his horse in that direction and hope the smoke was from a chimney of a friendly cottage and not the smoke of a campfire with raiders sitting around it. If he faced the enemy now, he would die.
The horse trudged on, and Marcus kicked his heels into the horse to make it go faster. The pain seared through him with the movement. However his choice was to take it slow and hence take more time and possibly lose all his blood, or move faster, bear the pain, and arrive on time to save his life.
Just as he feared he would pass out in the saddle, the faint view of a village appeared in the distance. Relief warred with despair as he realized he’d never make it to the heart of the settlement.
A single cottage stood on the outskirts, its windows glowing faintly with warm light. Marcus directed his horse toward it, each movement requiring immense effort.
“That is our way,” he said. The horse followed the order.
By the time he reached the door, his vision was narrowing to a pinpoint, darkness clawing at the edges. Sliding clumsily off his horse, he stumbled to the door. His moves were so heavy, he fumbled against the door with a loud thud. His knuckles barely rapped against it with the last of his strength. No longer able to hold himself, he slid down to the cold ground.
I made it faither. I am in the hands of whoever is on the other side of the door.
The door opened, and through the haze of his exhaustion, Marcus saw her.
An angel.
His mind grew sluggish as he took in her beauty glowing in the light and her soft eyes, wide with surprise.
Surely, I’ve died.
Her voice broke through the haze, clear and melodic, wrapping around him like a soothing balm. The words carried him briefly, like a lifeline, though he couldn’t shake the wariness clawing at his fading consciousness.
Wold this woman save him, or would she bring doom?
The thought flitted dimly through his mind as his eyes closed, not knowing if he had found help or walked right into a trap.
“Maither, come quick! He’s gravely wounded!” the lass called out, urgency lacing her words.
Marcus felt hands against him, soft yet steady, guiding his crumpling body.
His thoughts were cut short as the darkness swallowed him whole, her voice the last tether to a world he could no longer hold onto, but being the Laird he was, his last thoughts were of his people.
If I die, I pray for protection of me clan from what’s to come.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Maither!” she shouted over her shoulder, her voice sharp with urgency. She hooked her arm beneath his, trying to drag his weight into the cottage. The man groaned faintly, his head lolling as she strained to move him.
Claire appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene.
“Saints above! What’s happened here?” she gasped, rushing forward to help Annabeth. Together, they heaved the injured man inside, his boots dragging across the floor as they maneuvered him toward the small room at the back.
“He’s losin’ blood fast,” Annabeth said breathlessly. “We need to get him up onto the bed. Quickly now!”
