Page 183

But the ladder he was on, ultimately, wasn’t strong enough to hold his weight.

It was creaking and groaning, finally cracking, and once he reached the gap, the entire ladder gave way and he found himself hanging by his fingertips against broken stone.

He nearly lost his grip but he struggled against it, grabbing at the stone and meeting with the soft mortar that had allowed it to fail.

Finally, he had enough of a grip to heave himself over to the ten-foot drop to the bailey on the other side.

Carefully, he lowered himself down, dangling by his fingertips again before letting himself fall to the ground.

Once he hit the dirt, he stumbled a bit.

He was just managing to regain his balance when someone hit him squarely in the back of the head with a plank of wood.

His helm flew off and he fell like a stone.

Dazed, Jamison ended up on his back but through his clouded vision, he could see something swinging at him again.

He rolled out of the way, kicking out his legs to knock his attacker off balance.

He heard a body hit the ground next to him and what sounded suspiciously like a female sound, a grunt.

Rolling to his knees, he grabbed his attacker by the arm.

A very small arm. It took him a moment to realize that he was looking at Amaline.

“Ammie!” he hissed. “Stop fighting, lass. Look at me! ’Tis Jamison!”

Amaline had been swinging her free arm and her feet, trying to kick him, but when she saw who it was, she immediately came to a halt. Her eyes widened.

“Jamison!” she shrieked.

He pulled her up off the ground. “Aye,” he said quickly. “I am here. I’ll help ye. Where is Havi?”

Amaline was in tears. “I do not know,” she said. She pointed to the gatehouse. “She was at her post the last I saw but… but there are Welsh there trying to open the portcullis!”

Seized with fear, Jamison looked over to the big gatehouse and could, indeed, see that it was swarming with men. He released Amaline.

“I must go help her,” he said. “Amaline, listen to me. There are too many men for ye to fight. I want ye go to the keep and stay inside. Bolt the door and dunna let anyone in ye dunna know. Is that clear?”

Amaline shook her head. “I cannot!” she said. “I must fight!”

He shook his head. “I dunna have time tae argue,” he said. “If ye stay here, the Welsh will take ye. Get inside the keep and stay there. Go. ”

He meant what he said; Amaline could see that. She looked at the wall where men were spilling over. “But… but the wall….”

He spun her around, pointing her towards the keep. “Ye canna stop it,” he said, swatting her on the buttocks. “Get tae the keep!”

With a yelp, Amaline did as she was told, rubbing her buttocks as she dashed towards the keep.

Hoping that she would, indeed, listen to him, Jamison made his break towards the gatehouse, unsheathing his broadsword as he moved.

He knew Havilland was in that mess of men, somewhere, and intended to find her.

It was all he could think of, all he could focus on.

As he came upon a mass of fighting, struggling men, he began to swing his sword at everything he recognized as Welsh.

He’d been around the Four Crosses soldiers enough to know their manner of dress, and the Welsh were quite different.

Heads began to roll as the enormous Highlander plowed his way through the fight at the gatehouse.

Men began to realize there was a devastating element in their midst and the English were evidently not the targets; the Welsh were.

But men were still fighting and struggling as the Welsh tried to battle their way up to the second floor of the gatehouse where the great levers for the portcullises were.

Already, the battering ram was doing damage on the first portcullis and, somehow, the inner portcullis had been raised about three feet, enough for men to go under it. Jamison ducked under it, too.

The first thing he saw was Tobias, backed up against the wall in a brutal fight with a Welshman.

Tobias had been wounded, a nasty wound to his left shoulder, so much so that the arm seemed useless as he struggled to fight with his right hand.

Jamison came up behind the Welshman trying to kill Tobias and gored the man in the back, straight through the torso so that his blade came out of the man’s chest. Tossing the body aside, he pulled Tobias off of the wall.

“Tobias,” he hissed, struggling to catch his breath. “Are ye badly hurt, man?”

Tobias shook his head. “I do not think so,” he said, his eyes wide with surprise. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Jamison waved him off. “A story for another time,” he said. “Where is Havilland?”

Tobias pointed to the bailey with his good arm. “In the bailey last I saw her,” he said, his tone urgent. “She was fighting a man who was considerably bigger than she was. I couldn’t get to her. Find her, Jamie… find her and make sure she is well.”

Jamison didn’t have to be told twice. He plowed his way out of the gatehouse, ducking below the half-lifted portcullis again and emerging into the bailey where there were several groups of men fighting.

He hadn’t noticed Havilland when he’d come into the gatehouse and even now, he couldn’t see her.

His panic started to rise but he fought it.

He had to keep a level head if he was going to do her any good at all.

Several long and painful seconds of looking around for her produced no results and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain his composure.

He was starting to move off to the north, towards the great hall, when he caught sight of a man on the ground, half-propped up against the wall.

Almost immediately, he recognized the gatehouse sergeant he’d had dealings with.

The man was bleeding heavily. He rushed to the man, dropping to a knee.

“Have ye seen Lady Havilland?” he asked. “I was told she was out here, somewhere.”

The sergeant pointed towards the kitchens. “That way,” he said, weakened. “He took Lady Havilland. I tried to stop him but he gored me. You must help her!”

Jamison could no longer keep his panic in check. “ Who took her?” he demanded.

The sergeant continued to point weakly towards the kitchen yard. “A Welshman,” he said. “Go! Help her! He will kill her!”

Jamison took off at a dead run. Broadsword in hand, he blew into the kitchen yard only to be faced with more fighting and an open postern gate. Men were pouring through it and he turned in the direction of the bailey, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“Breach!”

It was the battle cry and Four Crosses soldiers began to shift in the direction of the kitchens; Jamison could see them moving.

But that wasn’t his concern; his concern was finding Havilland.

Looking around the kitchen yard in desperation, he didn’t see her anywhere.

As he ran towards the postern gate to see if she had been taken outside of the walls, he heard a faint scream.

He recognized it.

Havilland!

Jamison propelled himself through the postern gate only to see that the wall in this section was crowded with men trying to enter the gate.

It was a narrow passage so only one man at a time could pass through and he shoved men back and out of the way so he could pass.

More screams down the path towards the river caught his attention and he bolted down the trail, slipping and sliding in the darkness as the trees covered most of the bright moonlight.

Beneath the canopy, it was dark and eerie.

Jamison ran as much as he could without tripping and killing himself, sliding down the hill, hearing more screams. As he neared the river, he heard sounds of fighting.

It spurred him forward. As he neared a bend in the path, he caught movement off to his left.

Two figures were battling in the darkness, one of them decidedly female.

He could hear Havilland grunting as she battled for her life, swarmed upon by a man who was trying to subdue her.

Rage filled Jamison. It was rage like he had never experienced before, something so black and horrific it was as if his soul had been taken over by the devil.

Anyone who would touch Havilland so, or worse yet, hurt her, deserved all of that rage and more.

He didn’t hesitate to bring up his sword but it was difficult to see in the darkness.

He wanted very much to gore the man assaulting her but he was gravely concerned he might strike Havilland, instead.

Therefore, he had to get closer so he could see the figures more clearly, but as he approached, there was so much struggling and blurred lines of bodies that he knew he couldn’t use his sword.

The bodies were too close together and he couldn’t chance hitting Havilland.

Therefore, he sheathed his sword and marched up on the pair in a necessary move.

He had to get that close to discern them in the darkness.

He had to see his target.

But it was still difficult to see. In desperation, he reached out and grabbed someone.

He didn’t care who it was at that point but he had to separate them.

As soon as he grabbed a head, he realized very quickly that he had the man in his grasp.

Now, he had a fight on his hands for the man was strong.

He didn’t take kindly to be grabbed. Fists began to fly in the darkness but that was what Jamison did best; fighting with his fists.

He began landing a series of powerful blows, knocking his opponent off balance in the darkness.

Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see Havilland as she began to run away. She was terrified and rightfully so, but he didn’t want her to return to the castle and back into the fray. Therefore, he had to give himself away. As she ran, he bellowed.

“ Havilland! ” he boomed.