“No’ for the life of me. Besides, Iliana would kill us in our sleep if we tried.”
“Verra true. Shall we get on with this?”
“I think it best. I’m hungry.”
Ian nodded to the man down the line, who lifted the Sinclair battle horn to his lips and let out a mighty blow. The sound of it sent a rush through Ian every time. The men were trained to fight at that sound. The intensity of it was like a switch in their brains.
Ian raised his sword over his head and let out a mighty bellow that Noah and the rest of the Sinclair warriors echoed.
Before them, Rhiannon’s brother, his friend and their men all looked startled by the show of intensity. They had no idea what they were getting into, which seemed unfair, but Ian had given them a way out. Pride controlled them all. None wanted to give up what they’d spent days searching for.
And none of them were honest enough with themselves to acknowledge defeat when it stood before them or rather rode, sword drawn and filled with blood lust.
Ian gave the signal, and his men rushed forward.
Adam, not surprisingly, rode his horse to the back of his army. His friend didn’t notice until it was too late and was forced to engage.
Ian made slow, methodical work of the men before him, knocking them out rather than killing them when he could. He kept his gaze on Adam the entire time. Let the wee man believe he was about to be hacked down. Inciting fear was half the effort, wasn’t it?
A fitting punishment for a boorish brother who thought he could rule his sister and force her into marriage.
But Adam didn’t seem to have the guts to stick around. And before Ian had gotten through Adam’s men, the coward turned his horse around and started to run.
“Och, nay, ye bastard,” Ian ground out.
He urged his mount into a gallop, racing through the English soldiers who half-heartedly attempted to stop him. Ian broke through the melee, the heels of his boots pressing into his horse’s flank, urging him to go faster.
Adam kept turning his head around, seeing Ian following and screeching words lost on the wind, but probably as cowardly as running away.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, he wasn’t paying attention and steered his horse right into a tree. The horse halted abruptly, causing Adam sail over the neck of his mount and hit his head with a mighty smack into the trunk. But his feet were caught in the stirrups, yanking him back down, where he slumped on the horse.
“Oh, for the love of…” Ian grumbled.
He reached Adam’s horse. Adam’s body hunched over, unconscious, with a massive gash on his forehead that bled with the force of a waterfall after a heavy rain.
Ian knew from experience that head wounds often bled like that. And that they looked worse than they were; however, the idiot had hit the tree quite hard, and it was possible he’d cracked his skull.
With a sigh, Ian yanked the man off his horse and over his lap. He wrapped his bleeding head in a torn piece of Adam’s shirt, and then headed back toward the castle, unsurprised to see that the battle had been quelled. A few English lay on the ground. The rest galloped away, having surrendered no doubt.
“Hit his head on a tree.”
“I suppose that’s one way to decide your fate,” Noah said with a shake of his head.
“The fool.” Ian glanced up at the castle battlements where Rhiannon was watching. “At least it wasna my doing. I’m no’ certain I could have faced her if I’d been the one to crush his skull.”
“Is he still alive?”
Ian glanced down. “A little.”
“Best to get him seen by our healer then.”
“Aye. What happened to his friend?”
“Ran off with his army.”
“Hopefully for good.”
“Aye.”
