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He saw boats bobbing about on the gentle waves, but all were still moored at this side of the crossing. Blair offered up a silent prayer of thanks. They were not too late. Not yet.
Men and horses milled about on the beach. The scene was chaotic and confused, but Blair counted more than a dozen figures. He could pick out the figure of the man he assumed to be Ingram, and his eight remaining guards, as well as Roselyn who lay motionless on the sand.
Dear Lord, was she hurt? If that bastard had harmed her…
Even as he watched, the small figure of the maidservant flung herself down at Roselyn’s side and he saw his wife lift her hand as though to offer comfort to the child. So like his own Roselyn, always aware of the needs of others, putting them before her own.
Apart from Ingram and his guards there were others among the throng on the shore. They must be locals, the ferrymen, and from the looks of it they were ready to convey their unexpected cargo across the narrow strip of water. These were Scots, loyal men who would never usually aid an enemy of The McGregor but all had their price and they were not to know what was happening, what evil they were abetting. He kicked his stallion back into a full gallop, but was still more than two miles distant. Ingram would have ample time to bundle Roselyn and the rest of his tattered band into the boats and set off for the mainland, and would no doubt scuttle any craft they did not use in order to ensure their pursuers could not continue the chase.
Even now one of the men was lifting his wife and placing her in the first of the small craft. She appeared ill, unable to shift for herself. Her maid scrambled after her and the pair disappeared from sight as they huddled together on the floor of the boat. The man who had carried her there shoved the boat out onto the waters of the loch then turned to wade back to the beach. The lone oarsman beside Roselyn leaned in to his work and his beloved lady was carried away from him on the glimmering tide.
“What the…?” Robbie’s incredulous exclamation sounded from beside Blair’s right shoulder. “What the devil is going on down there?”
It was a fair enough question. The man who had launched Roselyn onto the waves had now regained the shore and stood before Ingram. For a peasant the man bore himself with a degree of authority and uncommon courage. Ingram appeared surprised, took a step in retreat, then he reached for his sword. The boatman was quicker and drew a claymore from within his voluminous cloak. Ingram had apparently seen enough. He turned and scuttled for higher ground.
The now sword-wielding ferryman did not give chase. Instead, he lifted his left hand to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. At once the rocks and vegetation surrounding the small stretch of beach erupted as men leapt from hiding places to surround the confused and bewildered English troop.
The battle was brief. The English were overwhelmed in moments and were soon herded into an ineffectual huddle beside the boats.
“Who…? I do not…” Blair slowed his mount as recognition dawned.
“Holy bones, ‘tis Aiden,” breathed Robbie. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
What the fuck, indeed?Blair had never been happier to see his old friend. There would be questions later, but for now he would just offer up thanks that somehow Aiden’s sources had once again not let him down.
The boat out on the lock was turning, heading back for the shore. Blair reined in to watch, his relief almost overwhelming him. Their headlong dash might still have been in vain but for Aiden’s unlikely intervention. As he surveyed the now calm scene on the beach, a movement to his right caught his eye. He turned in time to spot a shadow disappear between two large rocks.
It was Ingram. The coward had abandoned his men in order to save his own skin. So he thought to get away, did he?
Blair swore softly under his breath. “Not this time,” he murmured, “not this fucking time.”
“Robbie, go lend aid to Aiden, should he require it. And to Lady Roselyn. I shall be with you soon enough.” He saluted his men and turned his mount in pursuit of his adversary.
The chase now was leisurely enough. Ingram had fled on foot, and could only scramble in desperation up the slippery hillside. As the moon dipped behind a bank of cloud he lost what sliver of light he might have benefited from and stumbled face down into the bracken. Blair clucked at Bartholomew who ambled slowly on.
Blair might have allowed the sport to drag on longer had he not been eager to return to Roselyn. She was safe now, he knew that much, but still he would be easier once he was at her side. But not whilst this cur lived. Not whilst this murderous wretch drew breath and there was even the faintest chance he might threaten any of them again. He owed his wife that, and he owed it to his clansmen, both the living and the dead.
This was about revenge, and about justice, but mostly in Blair’s mind the fate awaiting Alan, Earl of Ingram was a matter of cool necessity. This had to be done, it was quite that simple.
He approached to within five paces of his adversary then slid from his mount. Blair drew his claymore from the scabbard and jammed the tip into the soft earth. He leaned on the sword as he waited for Ingram to turn and face him. The ignoble lord seemed more intent on scaling the harsh and rugged outcrop of rock which the fool must fondly assume stood between him and his escape.
There would be no escape, and no mercy. Not this time.
“Fight, Ingram, and perish doing so, or die the snivelling coward you are. Those are your choices.”
The earl ignored Blair’s invitation, seeking another tenuous foothold on the smooth rock face.
Blair shrugged. “Very well. In that case, allow me to assist you, my lord.” He stepped forward, reached up to grasp Ingram’s ankle, and gave a sharp tug. The man tumbled to the ground to land in a sprawling heap at Blair’s feet. “I shall offer you one more choice, but that is all. You may get to your feet and draw your sword, and face me like a man, or I shall send you off to your eternal rest here and now. Which shall it be?”
Spittle dripped from Ingram’s mouth as he tried to scramble backwards. “You dare not harm me; I am an earl, a member of the English aristocracy. Your king will have your hide for this, you stinking barbarian. I shall—”
“You shall die, that is all. I have merely sought to offer you some choice in the manner of it.” Blair stepped forward to position the point of his sword at his enemy’s throat. “I confess, I had expected more resistance, given the ‘courage’ you showed at Mortain. Perhaps it is just the unarmed and defenceless who bring out such fine qualities in you.”
“You… How dare you speak to me of courage? You are nothing more than a Highland savage. You defiled my sister. You took her by force and planted your whelp in her belly. I should—”
Blair had heard enough. “You speak to me of defiling women? You, who would slay defenceless ladies, and mere bairns? Get up. Now.” He stepped back to allow Ingram to do so. At last the man seemed ready to put up some semblance of a fight. Ingram clambered to his feet and reached for his weapon.
Better late than never, mused Blair. He circled the earl warily. Ingram was clearly a bully and given to ordering others to do his dirty work, but Blair had learnt as a lad of just twelve that it never paid to underestimate an enemy, especially one who was cornered, desperate, and facing certain death.
