Page 3 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWO

"Get the lass tae safety!" Henry roared, blood streaming down his arm as he fought to stay in his saddle.

Chaos erupted around Iona as MacNab warriors poured from the darkness like demons from hell. The night air filled with the clash of steel, the screams of horses, and the guttural war cries of men bent on murder.

So this is how I die.

A MacNab warrior lunged at her from the left, his sword gleaming in the starlight. Callum appeared between them, his blade meeting the attacker's with a shower of sparks. The young guard's face was set with grim determination, but Iona could see the fear in his eyes.

Dear God, he's just a boy. They're all goin' tae die because of me.

"Ride, me lady!" Callum shouted over the din. "Dinnae look back!"

But there was nowhere to ride. MacNab soldiers blocked every path, their horses forming a deadly circle around her diminishing escort. She counted at least twenty attackers—maybe more in the darkness. Her ten guards were hopelessly outnumbered. How? How had they walked straight into a trap?

Henry wheeled his horse around, his sword dripping red as he cut down a MacNab foot soldier. "Form up! Protect the lady!"

The remaining MacNeill guards tried to close ranks around her, but their formation was already crumbling. To her right, she watched in horror as young Donald—barely twenty and married just last spring—took a spear through the chest. He toppled from his horse without a sound, his blood dark against the heather.

"There she is!" A voice cut through the battle—cold and familiar. "Take her alive if ye can, but dead will dae just as well!"

Iona's blood turned to ice. She knew that voice, the voice that had whispered threats in her ear just months ago. Murray MacNab himself was there, leading the slaughter.

He came personally tae ensure I die.

A MacNab warrior broke through their weakened line, swinging his sword at her horse's legs. She yanked the reins hard left, feeling the blade whistle past her mount's knees. The horse reared in terror, and she fought to keep her seat.

"Behind ye, lass!" Henry's warning came just in time.

She ducked as another warrior's axe swept over her head, close enough that she felt the wind of its passage. Henry's sword took the man in the neck, dropping him instantly, but two more rushed to fill the gap.

They're everywhere. We cannae hold them.

The sound of steel on steel rang out like a deadly bell as her guards fought with the desperation of doomed men. She watched the blacksmith's son—a gentle giant who'd taught her to shoe horses—drive his spear through a MacNab's chest, only to take a crossbow bolt in the shoulder that dislodged him from his saddle.

"Fall back to the stones!" Henry commanded, blood now flowing freely from three separate wounds.

The ancient standing stones at the valley's entrance offered the only defensive position available. If they could reach them, maybe they could make a stand. But the MacNab forces seemed to anticipate the move, shifting to cut off their retreat.

They ken these lands as well as we dae. Maybe better.

Iona found herself pressed back-to-back with Callum as the circle tightened. The young guard was breathing hard, his sword arm trembling with exhaustion. Around them, the sounds of battle were growing quieter as more MacNeill voices fell silent forever.

"How many left?" she asked, though she was afraid to hear the answer.

"Six," Callum replied grimly. "Maybe five."

Half our men dead already.

A MacNab warrior charged directly at her, his war cry echoing off the valley walls. Callum moved to intercept, but his tired horse stumbled on the uneven ground. The enemy's sword caught him across the chest, opening a red line from shoulder to hip.

"Nay!" Iona's scream tore from her throat as Callum fell.

The MacNab forces were pulling back slightly, regrouping for one last charge that would finish them all. In the brief respite, she counted her remaining protectors. Four men, all wounded, all exhausted. Against at least fifteen enemies who looked fresh and eager for blood.

This is where it ends.

"Me lady," Henry's voice was growing weak from blood loss. "When they charge, ye ride hard fer those trees tae the north. Dinnae stop fer anythin' or anyone."