The remaining knaves—only five or six in his estimation—screamed and ran for cover. Someone shouted an order and a flaming arrow shot in his general direction. It landed several yards from him among the rocks. He moved further away into the darkness, then peered around a large boulder. Their archer shot more arrows toward the place he had been. He would collect those arrows to use when he could. In the meantime, he waited off to the left and could easily see two of them crouched behind a rock. He took aim and sent an arrow sailing toward the closest one. He cried out and tried to crawl away.
"Coward!" one of the enemies yelled. "Come out and show yourself!"
Neacal gave a smirking grin. In his estimation, a coward was one who set a cottage on fire in order to flush out the occupants to capture or kill them. Where was the honor in that? But there was much honor, cunning and skill in the Highland way of fighting. The whoresons were free to come and hunt him down if they were brave enough.
"Go find the bastard!" their commander yelled.
"Aye, find me if you dare," Neacal whispered. This was what he'd been training himself for during the past year, though he hadn't even known it.
Three men fanned out and raced into the rocks and bushes where he had been hiding earlier. Catching sight of one, he shot an arrow, but it ricocheted off a rock.
Damnation, his only miss.
"He's over there!" one of the searchers yelled, pointing in his direction.
He hastened up the mountain, hoping to draw them further away from Anna.
They made a substantial amount of noise as they clambered up the stony hillside, rocks tumbling, their swords clanging against them from time to time.
Neacal paused and waited for the men. Squinting in the predawn light, he could make out their movements below. His survival and Anna's depended on him taking out every last one. If they were to catch him, they didn't plan on letting him live. And if they captured Anna, Blackburn would surely beat and abuse her… and eventually kill her. Neacal refused to let that happen.
He took aim at one of the men and released an arrow. A shout echoed down the glen.
His comrades yelled out and took cover.
"We have to get the hell out of here!" one of them bellowed. "Before we're all dead."
One man against a garrison of around fifteen. Not bad.
Did they think they deserved his mercy after they'd tried to burn him and Anna alive?
"Come on, you cowards!" Neacal yelled, itching for a fight. "Come get me if you think you have the stones for it!" he taunted.
Rocks clattered below and in the dawn glimmer, he picked up the movements of the two remaining men. At first, he thought they'd accepted his challenge, but then, he saw they were retreating… running back toward the burning cottage and their waiting commander. Once in the clearing, they sped up and raced past their shouting superior. Maybe he wouldn't run. Neacal slipped down the hillside, watchful for any movements to the side. He wanted to make sure none of the enemies were lurking about.
Stopping behind a boulder, Neacal nocked an arrow and drew aim at the enemy, not fifty feet away. The man turned, his gaze landing on Neacal. The commander leapt behind a large rock, pointed a pistol and fired.
