Page 20 of The Scot’s Legacy (Highland Hunters #8)

Eli gasped. She’d never heard anything of the sort. Jake Grant had died over a decade ago, but she’d never heard that his death was anything but natural, let alone that he’d been killed by someone in their clan.

They’d all been told that he just dropped, that his death was instantaneous, and they had no idea why but it probably had something to do with his heart. How could Alaric be responsible?

Sympathy blossomed inside her.

“And I dinnae want yer pity,” Alaric growled.

“Tell me more. Please, Alaric. What happened?” She reached for him, but he held his hand up to stop her.

“Hush. I hear something.” He glanced over at a small copse not far from them.

She did too.

They waited quietly to determine if what they heard was an animal or men. It only took a moment to know for sure.

Men’s voices. Since there was little more than scattered bits of vegetation and trees dotting the rolling hills of farmland along the vast riverbank, it shouldn’t be hard for them to locate the voices.

Alaric pointed to a thick cluster of bushes off to the side. “Dismount,” he whispered.

They both swung as quietly as possible to the ground and left the path. Eli wished their tack didn’t creak and jingle so much. They waited, motionless, until they were certain of what they heard.

“I can hear men talking,” Eli said softly, “and I’m certain I heard them say Douglas’s name.”

“I agree.” Alaric pointed in the direction of the voices. “That way. Quietly. You count and I’ll listen. Stay hidden behind the trees.”

They looped their reins around a convenient branch, then made their way down the line of trees, his hand in hers, until Alaric held a finger to his lips. Eli stood directly behind him, still gripping his hand. She peeked through the trees and caught her breath.

English soldiers, and a lot of them. Too many. It looked like a full troop of men in tattered old uniforms.

One man spoke, and his bearing marked him as the leader of the force. “Douglas is looking for us. I say we take him on and wipe out his paltry group of soldiers. Then we can steal all the cattle we need to fortify our stores back at Berwick.”

“The Scots won’t be able to stand against us, Sir Edmund,” the man to his right said.

She had no idea who Sir Edmund was, but they were clearly English. Weaponry, clothing, and accents all pointed to an English force. And they were from Berwick. But beyond what any passing glance would see was something else. The entire force looked exhausted. Dirty, worn and ripped clothing, pitiable weaponry. They hardly represented the fearsome English force she’d expected to see.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go find the bastards. Mount up,” Sir Edmund said.

Alaric gave Eli a wide-eyed look.

She was busy counting. The soldiers were arranged in small groups of five or so, so she counted the groups. Thirty-five, forty… Hellfire but there was at least another score of the scurvy bastards.

Alaric pointed back the way they’d come, and they crept off, making it back to their horses. He tossed her up on hers, a finger to his lips to keep quiet. They turned together toward the crossroads where their group had split up. Once out of earshot of the English, they kicked their horses into a faster pace.

They made it to the crossroads without saying a word. Dyna was there waiting for them.

“Did ye learn something?” she asked.

“There’s an English cavalry squadron less than ten miles along the river. They’re talking of seeking out Sir James and attacking the Scots. Someone named Sir Edmund seems to be their commanding officer.” Alaric stroked his mount’s neck. The black warhorse could have easily outpaced Eli’s mount, but he’d stayed close to her.

Hearing Alaric’s report to Dyna made her heart pound harder than it had even when they’d seen the English soldiers. Hellfire, but Eli had the feeling she was about to experience her first full battle against the English.

“Keep the rest for Sir James. We must hurry. Maitland will know where we have gone.”

The group of three hadn’t traveled far when they encountered Sir James with his two score of fighting Scotsmen behind him. Far more able-bodied than the English they’d just left, the men were anxious for battle, their weapons cleaned and ready to take on anyone who dared challenge them.

“Ye have news?” Douglas asked. “I’ve been searching everywhere for the slimy bastards.” His men moved closer to overhear the conversation.

“Aye,” Dyna said, nodding to Alaric, who repeated all he’d heard.

“How many?”

“Around three score from my count,” Eli said.

One of the men behind Douglas said, “Since when can a lass count? And why do ye have two lasses with ye at all?”

Eli whipped out her bow and nocked an arrow so fast every man fell silent in shock. “Say it again, and I’ll show ye why I’m here.”

“Ye are a pretty one, I’ll give ye that, lass.” He wore a wide grin and held his arms out to his side. “Come to me.” He placed his hands in front of his bollocks and rubbed himself.

Before she could voice her own retort, Alaric said, “Touch her and I’ll kill ye with my bare hands.”

Sir James drew his sword and pointed it at his men. “Any more insults, and ye’ll have to deal with me. If ye werenae a fool, ye’d recognize the Ramsay plaid and ye’d know they train the best archers in Scotland. Shut yer mouth or dismount and walk home. I’ll no’ have any under my command who disrespects a woman or an ally.”

The man said nothing, so Eli lowered her bow and arrow.

“I’d be wary,” Dyna warned. “Her grandmother trained her by teaching her how to hit a man between his bollocks.”

Eli couldn’t hide her grin as a quarter of the men behind Douglas placed their hands in front of their privates. She drawled, “So ye’d all prefer an arrow through yer fighting hand than yer bollocks? And ye think men are the smarter ones.”

Dyna snorted.

“Enough,” Sir James said. “How long before they arrive?”

“Not long.” They described the area where they’d seen the group, giving them all the details they remembered.

“Lead me there. My men are seasoned fighters. We’ve been defending our land for over ten years. We’ll not back down now, not on my marches.” He mounted and pointed for Dyna to lead the way.

They’d not gone far when the sounds of horse hooves in the distance rang out. Sir James said to his men, “Half of you hide behind the ford.” He waited for the approach of the English forces.

She witnessed the scene unfold in front of her, this knight in full armor who waited to see if the English would attack.

“We will fight?” Dyna asked.

“Aye.” Sir James pointed to a man behind them, who raised a pole that had been strapped to his saddle, unfurling a flag of white with a blue band marked by three white stars.

“These are my marches,” Sir James said. “We will fight, even though we are outnumbered. I hope the rest of yer group will join us.”

Maitland and the others came galloping across the land near the river, joining them. Alaric repeated his scouting report. When he mentioned Sir Edmund’s name, Maitland nodded.

“’Tis the Gascon knight Sir Edmund Cailhau, Sir James.”

“The bastard,” Sir James said. He shouted orders to his men, arranging them the way he wanted, to best defend against the larger number.

Dyna shouted to Eli, Wenna, and Thea. “Follow me! Into the trees. All four of us.”

Eli grabbed her weapons and raced after Dyna. A pair of squires took the four women’s horses well behind the lines for safety. Alaric followed her to a tree and lifted her into the branches, but not before leaning over to whisper in her ear, “I love ye, lassie mine. God be with ye.” And he was gone, back on his own mount, his sword unsheathed, and the Grant war whoop echoing across the vast meadow.

Dammit to hell, but she would not cry. She made sure to track Dyna, Thea, and Wenna, marking their locations. Thea was in the same tree as she was while Dyna and Wenna were each in their own a little farther along the road.

“Ye fine, Eli? We’ll be fine here,” Thea said. “Think like Grandmama taught ye and shoot to kill.”