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“We’re almost home, Me Laird,” Artur said.
“Aye,” Caelan replied as his eye traced longingly over the hills in the distance. “We taking the back entrance then?”
“I kent it was best,” Artur said. “The people would bombard ye if ye dared come the village way. I kent it best to get ye here and then up to yer chambers to recover.”
“Are we home?” Donnan asked.
“Aye,” Artur said, his voice laden with relief, “we’re home.”
Caelan’s eyes ran over his second with deep gratefulness. The man truly had his best interest at heart. They began to descend to the banks where a tiny peasant bridge was built. If they went there and then crossed over, he could finally rest.
Images of his bedchamber, the large bed, soft furs, clean clothing and his tables of medicine he would take nearly eclipsed his concentration and he was not the only one. All four of them had their horses trotting toward the bridge when Rogan suddenly canted to the side of his horse, the tail of an arrow sticking out from the side of his neck.
“No!” Donnan roared.
They were under attack! Artur leaped off his horse and grabbed his sword just as Donnan dropped to his brother’s side. Gregor was off his horse too, just a horde of men came against them. Caelan did not even know where the men came from but he was too busy dodging arrows to think.
He yanked his sword out as a man came to him, a thick claymore in his hand. The fog on his face was sliced in two as his opponent’s sword sang in a high arc over his head. Flinging his sword up to parry the blow, Caelan pushed back. Their swords met in a loud, deafening clash. His attacker’s blade yanked up and swiveled around and down in an arc that Caelan met and he dove back. His foe’s sword then drew upward once more but Caelan had enough. He met the blow but used his foot to kick the man in his belly.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he pivoted and ducked in time for a sword to slice through the air over his head. He charged toward the man, raising his sword high. He met his opponent blade to blade, and prayed his waning strength would last. His foe’s blade swung low and he had to lurch back to stop it from disemboweling him.
His foe was swift and strong and though he fought with the best inside him, he knew that soon he would be losing. Blow after blow had him fighting for his life, but soon he began to struggle with holding his grip. A stroke of luck had his opponent losing his footing and Caelan struck his sword out of his hands. It flung over and sank into the river with a loud splash.
He ran his blade through the man’s gut and out his back in one hefty thrust and yanked it out to face another attacker. He saw that Artur was wounded, Rogan laid dead and Donnan and Gregor were fighting for their lives.
This is all because of me. If I was nae here, this will stop.
In a flash, he lurched forward and grabbed the nearest horse and gripping it, leaped unto the saddle and kicked the horse into a gallop. He was heading for the bridge, hoping the attackers would follow him and leave his men alone.
His heart was in his throat. The bridge was close—so close—he just had to get to it and ride home. He got to the bridge, a simple structure of boards spanning a shallow part of the loch and the horse began to run over it—only to have an arrow land in its flank. The animal neighed loudly and its stride broke, but only for a moment.
Caelan was halfway over the bridge when another arrow pierced through the horse’s eye, breast, and side. The poor animal could not cope and, suddenly, they were over the side of the bridge. Caelan hit the icy water and his heart stopped with the shock.
For an eternal moment, he sank into the deep depths with his eyes wide and his body unmoving. The sky above the water was rippling into one large distortion with the blue of the sky merging into the white of the clouds. Then his instinct kicked in, his heart pulsed and his feet kicked. Ice was encasing him but he would be damned if he let himself die this way, when he was just so close to his home. He fought to get to the surface and when he broke through sucked in a deep lungful of air then dipped back down.
The other bank was in his sights but the undercurrent flowing from up the stream was powerful. It was even harder to cut the water swimming perpendicular to the rush as the water forced him farther down the river. He had to recalibrate and forced himself to swim not only sideways but with a forward angle that had him directly against the current.
Ice did not come down the river but with how cold it was, it might well have. Caelan knew that if he did not get out of this icy stream in the next few moments, his already-weakened organs would begin to utterly fail.
He pushed up to get another lungful of air, his eyes set on the other bank. If only God would open the sky and strike his main foe, the Earl, dead. He swam as if the devil was at his heels. The desire to live overrode the shame of running from his men back at the banks but he had to get more men to fight.
His lungs burned with the need for air as he pushed his limbs forward. Close….so close…just a little more…a little more…
With a desperate lurch, he came upon the bank and yanked his head up to breath in air; he swallowed water with it too. He doubled over and coughed vehemently, water spewing from his mouth and nose. His limbs were so heavy it felt as if someone had injected liquid lead into his veins but he crawled out of the river.
The chill from bathing in the icy rivers was settling into his skin and he knew if he did not keep moving, his pulse would slow, his lungs would seize up and he might even lose consciousness. From now on he had to run. His home was just through this stretch of forest.
A little more…please God… a little more.
With his arm wrapped around his middle he staggered to the forest line with breeze from the cold of the winter-kissed Highland air on his back. The cold air was swiftly transforming his sodden clothes into an icy trap, but he knew if he shed the layers, wet as they were, he would die even faster. The only thing he could do was to run and get his heartbeat and body heat up.
Stumbling into the forest in sodden boots he stopped with one hand braced on a tree’s trunk and tried to get his bearing to where the in the background was his home. His mind was foggy but he was able to pierce through the confusion inside and remember they were west of his forest. He stoppe
d to breathe but his airways had an icy burn to them and the pain had him doubling over.
He began moving again but his feet were not steady. One foot before the other….one foot before the other…keep fighting… keep moving. I cannae give up now, not now…
A heavy blow landed on the back of his head but though he swooned and black spots peppered his vision he spun to face who had attacked him. He raised his fists but another blow to his belly had him sinking to the ground.
