With a stroke of his bare hand over the horse’s neck, Lachlan whispered into the mount’s ear, letting him know he was safe. The horse, whose muscles had rippled beneath Lachlan’s claiming, calmed, submitting to his new rider. With renewed energy, Lachlan turned his attention on more armed English.
As he charged, as every blow hit its mark, he dared to hope they might just win this thing yet. The clans were coming together, fearless, fearsome. Every Highland warrior could take on at least five English. They might be at a disadvantage without their cavalry. But what they lacked in horsepower, they gained in mettle.
The thud sounded in his ear before he registered pain. And then there was a massive stinging coming from the back of his right shoulder. Lachlan slowed his mount and glanced behind him. The shaft of an arrow protruded from the spot.
Someone had bloody shot him. How the hell…? He broke off the end of the arrow shaft, leaving the arrow in his body to be removed later. There was no time to tend the wound now, the battle had to be fought. A little injury like that wasn’t going to take him off the field. He’d suffered worse in the past.
Blood dripped down his arm, past his elbow to his fingers, making his grip on his sword damp. A tingling sensation rippled up and down his arm, worming its way into his fingers and making them go numb. Bloody foking hell… Whatever the arrow had hit was somehow affecting his grip.
Effortlessly, Lachlan switched his sword to his other hand, equally good with his left as he was with his right. One of the skills he’d honed hour after hour, day after day, year after year. An expertise he’d pushed his men to achieve as well. What good was a man who was talented with the sword, if he lost his sword arm? No good at all. A warrior had to be able to use both his hands with equal precision.
Mastery with both hands was a matter of life and death that no true warrior would be willing to give up.
There was no doubt now that his ability to dispatch the enemy was drawing attention from Longshanks’ men. Lachlan fought fiercely, ignoring the pins and needles in his shoulder and arm. There was no time for that.
Men were coming at him left and right, giving him no chance to breathe. Overwhelming the horse. None of their blades could take him down. Nay, it was a spear that came from the air that did him in.
Lachlan did not notice until it was too late, the whistle of a spear drowned out by battle as it soared through the air and sunk deep into his thigh. Searing pain made his vision fade, and the horse reared on its hind legs. Lachlan grappled, trying to hold on, but nausea and pain filled him and he started to fall. At the last second he twisted, falling onto his back, an effort that likely saved his life–for the moment. He landed with a hard thud, the wind knocked from his already heaving lungs. The horse stumbled and then galloped away as though the spear had been meant for his hide and not Lachlan’s. Swallowing down the saliva gathering in his mouth, and forcing himself to ignore the pain, he searched blindly for his sword. Just because he was down did not mean the enemy wouldn't come for him. Quite the opposite in fact. His head would bring a hefty prize.
With a sword found in one hand, Lachlan gripped the wooden shaft with the other but did not dare pull. For the moment, it appeared the spear itself was keeping him from bleeding too profusely. But once removed, this was a deadly wound. Very soon after, he was going to bleed out. Already, his vision was blurred.
Lachlan moved to his knees, holding the twelve-hand spear in place. His enemies, for the moment, did not deal him a killing blow, however. They stared, in silent metal union. But their pause only gave Lachlan’s own allies a chance to intervene.
He swallowed, feeling his body go numb. “What are ye afraid of, ye bloody bastards?” Lachlan bellowed, swinging his sword in wild arcs.
He tried to stand, and stumbled back to his knees, the fall jarring the shaft in his leg and sending white hot pain through his body. He dropped his sword, bent to reach it, the tips of his fingers missing the hilt. Scooting forward, he saw from his periphery as the English surged. But his men stopped them, and when they couldn’t, Lachlan fought from the ground, refusing to stop fighting just from a little wound, even as the mass of English metal clad soldiers blurred into one steel wall. Even though he was not long left for this earth.
“Seasaibh is brisibh iad…” His lips moved, but he did not hear the sound of his clan’s motto coming from his throat, rather an echo in his mind. Stand and break them. He couldn’t bloody well stand, but he could still break.
Little black dots danced across his vision. He swayed where he sat, his fingers losing their grip on the shaft, and he fell backwards, barely feeling the pain of the arrow shaft pushing itself deeper into his shoulder.
In over a decade, he’d never bowed out of a fight, never stopped fighting even when wounded. Just his luck that it would be this one, when they had been abandoned by those who were supposed to help, that he would suffer an injury in which he could not help anymore.
Lachlan stared up into the rainy sky, the gray clouds, wondering if it would be seconds, or if his life’s blood would take longer to soak into the earth.
Smack. Smack.
Lachlan blinked open his eyes. Had someone slapped him?
Hovering over him were Callum the Red Blade and Ewan the Black Stag. Surrounding him were some of his men, Angus, James, Malcolm, Roy, Mungo, Finlay… They’d rallied, fighting for their lives, and his, keeping him safe. Duncan and Caelan barreled down on horseback, taking out half a dozen. Padraig and Hamish coming at them mounted from the other side. Thomas seemingly dropped from the sky, cutting off a hand holding a sword about to slice into Lachlan’s neck. How lucky he was to be protected even in death.
The Wolf of Skye stared into the growing blackness and finally lost consciousness.
4
Isabel let out a frustrated sigh, and admittedly, had to stop herself from picking up a gold unicorn, the animal of Scotland, and flinging it at a wall to watch the shards burst and sprinkle the floor at her feet.
The search of her uncle’s room was less successful than her rifling of his solar, leaving Isabel still completely in the dark. Even Freckles came up empty-pawed. Schemes this hidden from view meant something far more dangerous than she had originally thought. She stood very still, her gaze sweeping the stone walls as unease coiled in her chest. There had to be a secret chamber in the castle that she didn’t know about. A place where he could hide his most important letters and ledgers without worrying she or someone else might stumble across them. A shiver went skating over her spine, her uncle must be planning something.
Isabel left his bedchamber as disappointed as she’d entered it and returned to the great hall. She hoped to distract herself with attending to the household, ordering dinner, checking the rushes on the floor, anything really to keep her mind from whirling. But the moment her foot left the last stone stair, there was a resounding bang at the front door of the castle, and the birds who’d snuck in to live in the rafters fluttered their wings and tweeted with urgency. Freckles popped her head out of safety with a sniff and a squeak.
Both wolfhounds stood from where they’d lounged by the hearth, the hair on the backs of their necks on end as they growled low in their throats.
Isabel curled her fingers up her sleeve where she kept a dagger strapped to her forearm, it was meant for a raid, but raiders didn’t tend to knock. The servants around her wrung their hands and exchanged nervous looks. A skeleton crew of soldiers had been left behind to protect the castle, but most of them were on the battlefield. Whoever was now banging on the door had gotten past their guards, either by permission or by force.
Isabel nodded for one of their servants, Miles, to see who was at the door, feeling a little like she sent a lamb to slaughter, she gestured for two soldiers to follow closely behind him.
Miles hesitated before the door. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and then lifted the thick bar that held the doors locked in place. He opened it a crack only at first, and then wider, while the rest of them held their breath.
