That accounted for four of eighteen. Nae, he’d not think about the odds. If he died, ’twould be slaying the bastards.
Hooves pounded the turf like belches of thunder. The line of English knights neared.
“Ready?” Patrik called.
Fergus lifted his dagger. “Aye.”
An arrow lodged a handsbreadth from Patrik. Another drove into the wagon. Shadows of the approaching men flickered across the slats.
“Now!” His weapons held tight, Patrik rolled away from the wagon. He sprang to his feet, aimed, then threw.
The closest knight tumbled from his horse.
With a war cry, Patrik angled his sword, charged.
Another knight, but paces away, whirled his mount.
Patrik lunged forward, swung. Steel echoed with a violent scrape. He angled his blade, drove it through the man’s heart.
Shock rippled across the man’s face. On a gasp, he tumbled from his mount.
Wild-eyed, the knight’s horse reared.
Patrik caught the reins, swung onto its back, reined hard to face his next aggressor. Pain seared his back. He slammed against the mount’s withers. Another blade from behind sliced into his left shoulder and his vision began to blur.
A knight rammed his horse, shoved his boot into Patrik’s face.
Pain shattered Patrik as he tumbled off his mount, slammed against the ground. Body aching, he reached for his sword.
A harsh grin carved his latest enemy’s face as he dismounted several paces away. The knight dropped his reins, raised a hand to the others who had approached.
“Finish off the other Scot,” the knight ordered. “I will dispatch this wastrel.”
The arrogant bastard! With a war cry, Patrik wiped away the blood smearing his vision and shoved to his feet. His body shuddered.
“Away with you, you dung-fouled cur,” Fergus yelled at the knights attacking him. Steel scraped. A grunt sounded.
From the corner of his eye, Patrik caught a knight stumble back, drop. Another man less. He focused on his attacker.
The Englishman charged.
Patrik met his assailant’s blade, twisted his sword. Before the man could break away, he shoved the knight back.
Fury darkened the warrior’s expression as he regained his balance. The knight surged forward, his blows merciless.
Patrik met his swings, each impact taking its toll upon his already exhausted body. Heat from the burning building scorched his back, the smoke clogged his throat. At the next assault, he deflected the man’s blow—barely.
Another drip of blood smeared his vision.
Bedamned, he’d not give in. Muscles screamed as he angled his blade toward the knight, swung. Honed steel wedged against bone.
The other man’s face shifted from pain to fury. Nostrils flared as he again lifted his blade.
A horn sounded across the field.
The knight glanced to the west.
Patrik followed his gaze. Stilled. Saint’s breath, another contingent rode across the field.
