Page 30 of The Scot’s Reckless Claim
CHAPTER THIRTY
E wan skewered the man in front of him with a thrust to the chest, then put his boot on the fellow’s belly and pushed him backwards. The man screamed as he toppled over onto his back, freeing Ewan’s blade, which arched into the air, spraying blood over him and those fighting nearby. In fact, the very air seemed red with blood—he could smell it as he breathed in and tasted its metallic tang on his tongue.
He swung his sword in his right hand expertly, tightening his grip, and flexed his left arm within the stout leather loop on the backside of his shield. In that same hand, he gripped his dirk, its blade protruding beneath the wooden rim of the shield, ready to slash and tear the flesh of his enemies as he rammed them.
He hardly had time to breathe when his next victim came charging at him. Ewan went to meet him, greeting him with a smashing body blow with his shield, which threw the man to the ground, his sword flying from his hand. Without hesitation, Ewan put his boot on the fallen soldier’s chest and stabbed downward into the exposed part of his neck. The man let out of horrible gurgling sound, clutching helplessly at his throat as Ewan pulled his blade free and a scarlet fountain shot into the air, coating them both.
The dying man already forgotten, Ewan stood panting, finding a moment of calm amid the turbulent sea of destruction raging around him, time enough to wipe the blood from his sweating brow with his forearm and get his bearings. He was looking for Allan. And when he found him, he was determined to vanquish him, cut him to pieces, and feed his corpse to the crows.
He was standing thus when he happened to glance over the heads of the fighting men, towards the tree line of the nearby woods, and glimpsed something that made him think he must be seeing things. He shook his head and looked again. No, he was not seeing things, unless it was a ghost. A woman was frantically running along the edge of the battlefield, stopping now and then to look out over the sea of men, as though searching for someone.
Blood dripped into his eyes once more, and he dashed it away impatiently with his wrist, squinting, trying to get a better look at her. There was a glimpse of an emerald-green gown beneath a black cloak. When the sunlight glinted on the long hair flying out behind her, the golden tresses flashing brightly, he realized who it was. His heart stopped beating. He could not breathe. Isla!
What the hell is she daeing out here?! And she’s wearin’ a gown, nae her disguise. Daes she nae realize she’s in grave danger? She could be hurt or killed at any moment! I havetae get tae her, I must protect her at all costs!
Without thinking, he began running towards her, viciously pushing all in his path aside with his shield, wielding his sword in his right hand and cutting a deadly swathe before him in his desperation to reach her. She finally caught sight of him, and he could see her shouting and waving at him as he tried to get to her, but the sound of the battle was deafening.
Frustrated, terrified for her safety, he shook his head and gestured to his ears, trying to tell her he could not make out a thing. He waved her back, signaling that she should withdraw into the woods and keep away from the battle. But before he could tell if she had understood, the enemy engulfed him, Colin, and the other men fighting at their side like a tidal wave. As he clashed ferociously with yet another enemy warrior, he could but hope Isla had heard him.
Time passed in an endless nightmare of clashing metal on metal, severed limbs piling up, the crunching of bones as shields smashed into faces, the screaming of men and horses, exhausted soldiers wading in the blood of their comrades. Ewan and his men fought on valiantly, but after a couple of hours of relentless battling against the enemy, Ewan knew the tide was turning against him and his army.
And he also knew that when Galbraith came out into the field with his men, there would be a rout. Allan would have given orders for his men to hunt down every Ballentine man and kill them as they scattered. But if he was captured, a special death awaited him. Allan would want to make a show of it, so Ewan had decided at the start of all this that he would die honorably with his sword in his hand, preferably sticking it in Allan’s throat.
And now there was Isla to consider. He would likely never see her again. Stricken with sorrow, he cursed as he viciously stabbed an enemy soldier in the belly with his sword and knocked him senseless with his shield, wishing it was Allan, angry at fate for dealing him such a cruel hand in life.
Blaring trumpets suddenly pierced the bloody mist hanging over the battlefield. Ewan barely glanced over at the castle gates, though he knew they were opening, and Galbraith would be riding out at the head of his men, his standard flying high.
This is the end .
Nevertheless, he fought on, leading his brave but dwindling forces with determination, Colin at his side, as Galbraith’s troops began to appear on the field. From now on, it would be slaughter as he and his men were overrun.
’Tis over. All is lost.
He was so intent on fighting on to the end, he did not notice for some minutes that Galbraith’s soldiers were attacking Allan’s men, not his. With a jolt of shock and relief, he realized that Galbraith had changed sides, and he was leading his men in support of his army.
This is because of Isla, she must have succeeded in changin’ her braithers mind!
The tide of the battle shifted completely then. With Galbraith’s reinforcements fighting on his side, Ewan’s remaining forces began to regain their footing, pushing back against Allan’s formidable army. With victory snatched from the jaws of defeat, Ewan fought on with renewed vigor, emboldened by his new ally’s supporting presence on the field and by the knowledge that Isla was somewhere nearby.
Amid the intense clash of steel and cries of war, Ewan pushed his way through the fray, looking for Allan. Suddenly, he glimpsed him, locked in combat with one of Galbraith’s captains. Afraid the clearly skillful warrior would finish Allan before he could kill him himself, Ewan charged towards them, determined to intervene.
But Allan was an experienced fighter too, his muscular body hardened by many a battle, and just as Ewan reached them, the corrupt laird landed a slashing blow to the other man’s upper arm, rendering it almost useless. Allan laughed and raised his sword to finish the captain off, but Ewan threw himself between them, blocking the deadly arc with his own blade and ramming Allan with his shield so that he staggered backwards, giving the wounded man time to get away.
Allan, dripping with gore, quickly bounced back, and he and Ewan circled each other, blades poised to attack. Allan grinned at Ewan and roared, “I’ve been lookin’ fer ye, Ballentine. Ye’ve been hidin’ from me.”
Ewan’s lips curled in derision.
“I was busy, but I smelled yer stink on the wind and came right over tae find ye,” Ewan replied, hawking and spitting on the ground at Allan’s feet.
The man laughed, “Well, now ye’ve found me, ye’d best start sayin’ yer prayers. Neither ye nor yer men are gettin’ off this field alive.”
“Ye must be loosin’ yer wits, old man,” Ewan shouted back at him. “Have ye nae noticed yer ally’s found out what a piece of shit ye are and has turned on ye? ’Tis ye who’s facin’ defeat and death.”
“Ach! Believe that if ye like, but ye and I ken that neither Galbraith’s men nor yers are a match fer me lads.”
“I dae believe it because I’ve just seen a big pile of corpses wearin’ yer livery, and I put most of them there mesel’. Ach, ye’re a waste of me time. I’ve had enough of yer boastin, ye evil bastard. Now, I’m gonnae enjoy rippin’ yer head from yer neck,” Ewan bellowed through clenched teeth.
Allan was ready for him, and they clashed with a mighty roar, their blades ringing as they met in a deadly dance across the blood-soaked grass, thrusting with their swords, expertly parrying each other’s blows. The corrupt laird was a tough and seasoned fighter, fueled by hatred and greed, but Ewan let his love for his sister, for Isla, and for his clan flow through him, to give him the strength and determination he needed to bring his foe down once and for all.
With renewed energy, he fought ferociously on, deflecting his enemy’s sword’s blows deftly with his own, raining down blows upon the older man, making him work, tiring him out, seeking that fatal lapse in concentration he was watching for. When Allan slipped in the wash of blood under their feet, he saw his chance. He rammed into Allan with his shield and, putting all his body weight into it, toppled the man to the ground, falling on top of him so he could not get up, his weapons useless.
Ewan tore off Allan’s helmet, yanked his head up by the hair, and rammed the point of his sword into Allan’s neck, and then plunged it back down, slicing into the man’s throat. Allan convulsed, and a fountain of blood erupted from the gaping hole when Ewan pulled his blade free.
But Allan was not quite dead yet. Ewan leaned over him, to see his mouth working like a fish’s, gasping for air that did not come. But no words came out, only a horrible choking gurgle. He spat on Alan and growled, “I swore tae kill ye, ye cowardly dog, and now ye ken I’m man of me word. May yer soul burn in hell fer eternity!”
He saw the light in Allan’s eyes go out and turned away, suddenly feeling exhausted but with a sense the world was a better place without the corrupt laird in it. With Galbraith on his side, he had prevailed. Allan was dead, victory was his. And now, all he wanted was to find Isla.
But first, he found her brother. Surrounded by their triumphant troops, dripping with the blood of their vanquished enemies, Laird Ballentine and Laird Galbraith finally stood face to face. Both men sheathed their blades and pulled of their helmets, tossing them to the ground before closing the gap between them.
“I can never thank ye enough fer comin’ out in me support instead of Allan’s. I’ve never been so surprised in me life. I truly thought it was the end,” he looked him straight in the eye. “Thank ye with all me heart,” Ewan told Gregory sincerely as the pair of them clasped bloody hands and grinned at each other.
“I admit, it was a close-run thing, but ye have Isla tae thank fer it,” Gregory told him as they pumped hands vigorously. “She says she’s in love with ye. I could hardly fight alongside Allan after that.”
“Is that what she told ye?” Ewan replied, laughing delightedly. “By God, she’s a hell of a woman that sister of yers, Galbraith.”
“Aye, she is. She looks like an angel, but she has the heart of the bravest warrior,” Gregory told him, joining in his laughter.
“Well, I suppose this might be a good time tae tell ye that I’m in love with her as well,” Ewan replied. Then, thinking he might as well go the whole hog, he added boldly, “In fact, I ken this is nae the time or the place, yet… I’d like tae ask ye fer her hand in marriage. That is, if she’ll agree tae have me.”
“Och, I’ll have ye all right, Ewan Ballentine!” came a familiar voice at his side, and seconds later Isla landed in his arms, hugging him and kissing his face, heedless of the blood and brains of the enemy covering him. Speechless with joy, he held her tightly to him, over the moon to see her safe.
Gregory shook his head and laughed. “It looks like ye have yer answer there, lad. And as I’m nae arguin’ with her, ye have me permission tae wed, and me blessin’ too, a hundred times over. A marriage is the ideal basis fer a profitable partnership between our two clans as well, so the future looks bright fer all of us. Och, and call me Gregory, by the way. If we’re gonnae be brother’s-in-law, we might as well start off as we mean tae go on, eh, Ewan?”
“Aye, indeed, and thank ye again, Gregory, fer everythin’.” Ewan said. “But especially fer this!” He suddenly threw Isla up in the air, making her shriek with laughter before catching her again, while the men surrounding them, exhausted and bloody as they were, clapped and cheered to show their approval of the new state of affairs.