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Page 30 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)

CHAPTER TWENTY

E wan scowled and pulled the reins to slow his horse as they approached the border station.

This close, the smell of smoke was thick in the air, almost choking, and the smell of blood was little better.

The worst part, however, was that they’d found the bodies of the border guards laid out on the road in clear challenge.

The men hadn’t died there. They’d been dragged there, laid out as a declaration of power and strength - an unspoken statement that the attackers considered Clan Ranald too weak to retaliate or avenge their fallen warriors.

It was a blatant insult, to the clan as a whole and Donall in particular. They thought him too cowed or weakened to respond to such unprovoked slaughter.

Donall had every intention of proving them wrong. But first, however…

His gaze sharpened as he studied the wooded area close to the road. They would be passing it within moments, but there was something about it that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Donall pulled his horse to a stop, waving for the ten men who’d accompanied him and Ewan to do the same, then gestured for Ewan to join him. “What dae ye think?”

“I think ‘tis an excellent place fer an ambush. An’ so soon after that declaration on the road… they’ll be expectin’ a bunch o’ furious warriors tae charge past without thinkin’, set on vengeance.”

Donall nodded. “Tis what I’d dae if I wanted tae wreak havoc, panic an’ as much bloodshed as possible.”

“Kennin’ that... how best tae proceed? Fire a warnin’ shot, or walk intae their clutches an’ turn their trap back on them?” The hand clenched on the hilt of his sword told Donall clearer than any words what his second-in-command would prefer.

For that matter, Donall was inclined to take the bait himself.

He was angry enough to relish the thought of a good fight, and a battle meant there was a chance of taking prisoners.

If he fired a warning shot, the waiting ambushers - and he was certain there were ambushers hiding in the trees - might decide that safety was the better part of valor and retreat.

I’m tired o’ playin’ all these games. I’m tired o’ bein’ attacked without explanation. One way or another, I will be gettin’ answers.

Donall waved a signal to Ewan, gesturing for his second in command to fall back and order their warriors to draw weapons. The rattle of blades and sheathes told him he’d been obeyed, and Donall nudged his horse into a canter, allowing his anger to show clearly on his face.

Whoever might lay in wait for them, he hoped they’d take the hesitation as a momentary check, and believe that he’d then decided to waive caution in favor of his outrage.

Or that the pause had been caused by a question on Ewan’s part, or a short delay to give orders for their arrival at the remains of the watch post.

Donall passed the first line of trees, reins loose in his grasp and one hand drifting toward his sword hilt in a deceptively lazy gesture. No one who hadn’t sparred him would know how fast he could go from that position to armed and fighting

Nothing happened, and for a few seconds, he thought he might have been wrong, that his instincts were leading him astray.

Then twigs cracked, something twanged softly - more than one, in fact - and he was just fast enough to avoid the arrows that zipped out of the shadows.

He batted two aside with his arm, grateful for the leather vambraces he’d donned, then wrenched his sword from his sheath as men came charging out of the trees.

Enemy soldiers crashed in among his own, the shadows and the closeness of the combat space making it difficult to tell how many there were.

Not more than a dozen, by Donall’s estimate, and all wearing Cameron colors.

That answered one question - apparently Laird Rory Cameron was finished pretending to be subtle.

Then the first blade crashed against his own, and there was no more time for thinking, or considering. There was only the heat of battle, the ringing of steel and the thud of weapons against each other, against leather, against flesh.

The first attacker to come after him attacked with a high downward chop that Donall easily parried, then tried to unhorse him before attacking with a sideways slash.

Donall kept his seat, avoided his attack, then came back with a feint with his sword before drawing his back dirk and burying it to the hilt in the man’s gut.

The attacker gave a choked cry and dropped his blade to clutch at the wound, and Donall kicked him from the saddle and slapped the horse on the rump to send it out of combat.

A sudden shout made Donall turn, just in time to see one of his own men go toppling from the saddle, clutching his arm with blood pouring through a rent in his clothing.

Donall spun his horse, then cursed as he realized there was no chance he’d be able to reach his downed companion in time, at least not on horseback.

Donall dove out of the saddle, dodged a set of flailing hooves and an aborted attack, and drove toward the fallen Ranald warrior. Halfway there, his way was momentarily blocked, before Ewan arrived to shove a path open for him with a ringing clangor of steel.

The Ranald warrior dodged an attack, his steps clumsy with blood loss and pain, then staggered backward and fell.

Donall lunged forward, stepping between the two and raising his own sword to parry, but his timing was rushed and his blow was awkward.

The blades skittered between the two of them, and then the tip of the Cameron soldier’s dagger ripped across his chest on a left to right slight diagonal.

Pain flared, hot and bright. Donall snarled, reeling from the blow briefly before he rallied, knocked aside a second attack and hurled himself forward to punch the man in the face with all his strength.

The Cameron soldier toppled like a felled log. Donall spun, ready to face his next opponent.

There were no enemies left to fight. Eight enemies were lying on the trail, all of them dead save the one he’d just punched.

All of his own men were still standing, with the exception of the warrior who was attempting to get to his feet, his eyes glassy and his face white as fresh-washed linens. “Me laird! Me laird, ye…”

“I’m fine. Are ye?”

“Broke me arm, an’ slashed tae the bone, but I’ll live. But me laird, yer chest…”

His chest was throbbing, the pain and the blood soaking his clothing making him feel slightly lightheaded and sick, but he was scarcely going to admit that.

“Tis only a minor wound. Get Ewan tae bind yer arm, an’ ye’ll ride with one o’ the others - double or tossed over a saddle like a travel pack, ye’re in nae shape tae be tryin’ tae guide a horse on yer own. ”

“Ye ought tae be taking yer own advice, me laird.” Ewan dismounted and stopped beside him. “That needs binding afore ye attempt aught else.”

He would have liked to protest, but Donall knew Ewan was correct. He began to shrug out of his clothing. “Then bind it fer me.”

His gaze flicked to the man he’d knocked unconscious. “See if that man’s still breathin. Bind his wounds, an’ his hands an’ feet. We’ll bring him back tae the keep tae question.”

“Aye, me laird.” Ewan waved one of the Ranald warriors over and relayed the orders. One of the others was already binding his companion’s arm.

Once the clothing was out of the way, Donall lifted his own arms and submitted to letting Ewan examine the wound, then dab it with salve and bandage it.

Donall waited, somewhat impatiently, until his second-in-command had tied the final knot of the bandages, then turned his gaze to the waiting warriors.

“Who here’s the swiftest rider among ye? ”

“Here, me laird.” One man stepped forward. He was younger than many of the other warriors, whipcord thin and light on his feet. “’Twas me that brought word this morn.”

“Then hurry back ahead o’ us. Tell Evelyn there’s three wounded, one critical. Then tell the guards tae see a cell is prepared fer our prisoner.”

Ewan scowled. “One critical, me laird?”

“Ye’ve seen tae me, an’ my wound will keep.

” Evelyn would certainly scold him, but that was a concern for another time.

He addressed the young man again. “An’ put out the call fer an emergency council meeting.

I want the Elders assembled, or on their way, by the time we arrive an’ have the prisoner locked away. ”

“Aye, me laird.” Donall waved the young man away, and the warrior was on his horse and racing away at a gallop before he could lower his hand. Donall watched with bemusement. “Quick lad indeed. We may want tae claim him as a messenger permanently.”

“Aye, me laird. I’ve considered it.” Ewan frowned. “This wound…”

“Will be better tended by Evelyn after we return an’ she’s seen tae Galen.

” Donall shrugged his second’s hand away and began to tug on the mess of his shirt.

He would need to change when he returned to the keep, but for now, the shirt was better than wearing nothing.

“An’ if ye’re so anxious, best get mounted, see Galen ahorse an’ the prisoner bound across one o’ the spare animals, so we can return. ”

Ewan’s scowl deepened, but he knew better than to press the matter. “Aye, me laird.”

Donall turned and went to reclaim his own mount. His chest throbbed and burned like he’d been hit with a blazing branch, and the world went gray very briefly, but he managed to keep his seat and take up the reins with what he hoped looked like confidence and ease.

In truth, he knew the wound was a serious one. It hadn’t punctured anything vital, nor scraped past his ribs, but it was deep enough that it would not have taken much to change that. On top of the barely healed gouge to his side from the battle a seven-day ago, he was not in the best condition.

It daesnae matter. We’ve avenged our dead, an’ proven we’ll nae remain quiet an’ complacent if we’re attacked. I dinnae ken if any survived by fleein’, but whether they did or nae, Laird Cameron will ken I didnae tak’ his trespass lightly.

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