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“So, tis’ ye they send–the spy and his wench,” Murdoch growled, facing off Kin, the tips of their swords touching, as each sought their moment to strike.
“Let my sister go. She is innocent in this,” Murdina said, scrambling to her feet as Iver lunged at her again.
“There are nay innocents when it comes to the Jacobite cause,” Iver said, glancing at Freya, who was still trying to free herself from her bonds.
“But there are traitors, too,” Kin said, striking out at Murdoch, who brought his sword to bear, the clash of steel echoing across the heathers.
Now, they fought, Murdina and Kin side by side, back-to-back, against Murdoch and Iver. Their swords clashed–they ducked and dived, rolled and leaped, fighting for their very lives. But this was the moment Murdina had prepared for all her life, the moment she had been waiting for–a chance to prove herself in battle. No longer was she sparring with friends, but fighting instead for everything she believed in. This was her cause, too, a cause which men had died for and would continue dying for until the rightful heir sat on the throne that was his divine destiny.
“Ye are finished,” Iver cried, raising his sword.
He brought it down with such force that Murdina fell back, rolling onto her side and colliding with Kin, who now gave a cry as Murdoch’s sword struck his side. He reeled, falling to the ground as Murdoch laughed and raised his sword for the final blow. But as he did so, Murdina struck him with the flat of her weapon, sending him reeling to one side and scrambling to her feet; she struck him again, causing him to cry out in pain. But as she did so, a blow struck her across the legs. She screamed, falling forward as Iver now stood triumphantly over her, breathless, his sword raised to strike.
“Foolish wench,” he snarled, bringing his sword down to deliver the final blow.
But Kin threw himself forward, taking the blow and knocking Iver to the ground. Murdina was dazed but struggled to her feet just as Murdoch grabbed her.
“This is what happens to people who interfere with my plans,” he said, but as he did so, Murdina pulled a dagger from its sheath at his waist and struck him in the leg so that he screamed in pain and fell backward.
At that moment, the sound of horse hooves came from the distance, and while Kin and Iver wrestled on the ground, Murdina cried out at the sight of Cillian and his men riding towards them.
“Help us, Cillian, help us!” she shouted, as Cillian now charged towards them, his sword drawn.
He and the other soldiers leaped from their saddles, and they had Murdoch and Iver surrounded in a moment. The two men were dragged to their feet, and Murdoch cursed as his hands were bound.
“Ye cannae win–ye cannae ever hope to win!” he cried, as Iver, too, was bound.
“Fools! Can ye nay see the Jacobite cause is lost,” he snarled, but Cillian only shook his head and pointed his sword at Iver, an angry expression coming over his face.
“Tis’ ye who are the fool–and a traitor, too, take them away,” he said, and now he hurried to free Freya, who fell sobbing into his arms.
“Oh, Cillian… I…” she began, trembling with fear.
“Tis’ all right, lass, ye need say nothin’–I am only glad we got to ye in time. Ye, too, Murdina,” he said, turning to Murdina, who sheathed her sword and gave a sigh of relief.
“I knew ye would come,” she said, and Cillian laughed.
“We rode up to the castle in force, but yer father explained what had happened. He apologized, too. Tis’ the first apology he has ever made to me. He said he was sorry for the way he has treated me in the past and that I was right to suspect Murdoch and Iver, just as ye were,” he said.
Murdina was about to reply, but a groan caused her to look round, and to her horror, she saw Kin struggling to his feet. He was wounded, his tussle with Iver resulting in an injury to his side, which now he clutched, the blood seeping through his waistcoat.
“Kin!” she exclaimed, rushing to his side.
He fell back to his knees, his face pale, and Murdina turned to Cillian with a fearful look on her face.
“We must get him back to the castle. We can tend to his injuries there. Come now, there is nay time to lose,” Cillian said, and he ordered several of his men to help Kin to his feet.
A stretcher was prepared, and Kin was carried between two horses. Murdina rode with Cillian, and the prisoners were bound hand and foot, led behind in humiliation. Freya was silent, her face etched with sorrow, as she rode with one of the soldiers. It was growing late now, the rain having set in and dark, gloomy clouds settling over the mull. The sight of the castle was a welcome relief, and Murdina felt suddenly exhausted, the ordeal of the previous days now overwhelming her.
“He will live. Tell me he will live,” she said, turning to Cillian as tears welled up in her eyes.
“I shall dae what I can–I am nay healer, though. He needs his wounds tending to and to rest. Nay more nights in the dungeon,” Cillian replied.
As they rode through the gates, the rain was falling heavily, a strong wind blowing in off the sea and bringing with it low mist and cloud. Murdina shivered as she climbed down from the horse, calling out for the servants to come and assist. Her father and Ella emerged from the keep, running to greet them, and offering up thanks for their safe return.
“Thank goodness, oh, Freya, ye poor thing. Come along, let us get ye inside and warm,” Ella said, hurrying with a blanket for her sister.
“Ye have done a great service, Murdina,” her father said, but Murdina shook her head and pointed back to where Kin lay on the stretcher, covered over with a blanket, his eyes closed.
