“You smug bastard,” James called out.
“Smug, yes. Bastard—well between the two of us, we all ken which one of us is certain aboot both his parents. Tell me, could you ken it was your—lairdbecause his body was the only unaccounted for mon? It certainly wasn’t from his good looks.”
“If only you swung your sword as well as you talk,” Martin cut in. The men behind Brodie laughed. Brodie earned his reputation fighting alongside Robert the Bruce as he battled for his throne. While he didn’t have the moniker his father did—the Black Campbell—he was certain he caused many a man’s nightmares.
“My swords—both of them—swing just fine. In fact, I’d like to hurry and swing this one, so I can return to my bonnie bride and swing the other one.” Brodie knew Laurel would have his bollocks if she heard him speak about her like that. But he also knew the preamble to most battles was a cockerel fight, and he intended to be the victor of that before the battle began in earnest. It had the power to set the tone for the entire encounter.
“They’re here,” Monty muttered, just loud enough for Brodie to hear. “Center left.”
Brodie swept his eyes over the opposing forces, who gathered more tightly as they waited. It was just what Brodie wished for as he stalled by tossing insults at the Lamonts and their lapdogs, the MacDougalls. Brodie spotted Matthew and Nelson.
“Edgar?” Brodie said under his breath, his lips not moving.
“Nay,” Monty replied.
“Clyth.” Brodie hoped the man had gone home and cut ties with the MacDougalls. If he hadn’t, the war would shift to the northern Highlands. The Gunns would be the first clan to face the full force of the strongest pact across the country. And they had nowhere to run unless they wished to fall into the North Sea or cross onto Mackay, Sutherland, or Sinclair land. He scanned the opposing forces, but he didn’t spy Liam Oliphant either.
“Where is that new bride of yours?” Martin sneered.
“Tucked away, waiting to scrub my back and minster to whatever aches.” Brodie’s wolfish grin spoke to which aches he meant. None that came from fighting. He noticed Danny eased into the formation, signaling that the sept forces were in place. It was what he waited for. With a piercing whistle, the battle commenced.
Taken off guard, James and Martin bellowed out commands, yelling over one another. The Lamonts led the opposing force, so they hadn’t discovered the horde of warriors approaching from the rear. But as screams rang out, Martin and James looked behind them. Martin swung back to look at Brodie. He’d set his first target. But Martin had no chance to act before his men surged forward, both attempting to flee the army behind them and to engage the one in front of them. Brodie whistled once more, and the formation shifted. It opened to allow the Lamonts to surge past them. Brodie and the men from Kilchurn joined the fight as the Campbell, MacFarlane, and Ross ranks squeezed the herd of attackers like they were shepherds corralling sheep. The MacDougalls and Lamonts followed one another, just like the animals did. The fighting was vicious as Brodie and his counterparts worked to keep the Lamonts and MacDougalls from breaking free. But the Lamonts and MacDougalls stood little chance, outnumbered at least two to one. Pushed toward the river, the riders in front tried to retreat, but there was no place to move. Over the cacophony of clanging metal, war whoops, and screams of pain, those not closest to the river didn’t witness the first tidal wave surge down river.
Brodie watched for Matthew and Nelson. He and Monty already agreed Nelson was Brodie’s target, leaving Matthew to Monty. Brodie waited until Nelson rode past where he fought. He ran the man through who’d engaged him before he spurred his horse after Nelson. He would end it without delay, or he would wind up in the crush and unable to extract himself before being driven into the river.
Sensing him, Nelson turned to look at Brodie, shocked to find him so close. Brodie raised his sword, and with no preface, swung. “For my wife,” Brodie called out before cleaving Nelson’s head from his shoulders. Brodie watched the skull bounce before hooves kicked it. He supposed the retribution was for either wife, even if he’d intended it for Laurel.
“For my sister!” Monty howled as he stood in his stirrups and barreled toward Matthew. The force that came with the speed from his horse made Monty’s sword spear Matthew clean threw. Monty twisted the blade before yanking it out. He spat at the dead man as he fell from his horse. With Donnan at Monty’s back and Graham at his, Brodie led them out of the fray as the Lamonts arrived at the riverbank. The momentum of their charge carried one man after another over the berm. There was little the defenders had to do but watch.
“Waste of bluidy good horseflesh,” Donnan quipped with feigned regret.
The first wave of battle was brief but intense. Brodie looked down at his side to find blood soaking through his leine. He’d barely felt the wound but realized it was more than a nick. It would have to wait until he was certain that any enemy who survived and came ashore wasn’t long for the living. He discovered more opponents than he would have liked ended up in the bay alive. But his archers picked them off, firing from the shore and the battlements. They cut down the handful who climbed the banks as they stood up. Used to daylong campaigns, Brodie found it unnerving to secure his victory in a matter of hours. He rode the battlefield as his men searched for survivors, both friend and foe. They helped the wounded to the keep and gathered the bodies for those who would mourn. When none of his men or his comrades remained, he looked at the destruction left in their wake.
Laurel hadn’t been wrong to name it a massacre. But no regret tugged at him. No doubt niggled at the back of his mind. He knew he would ride into his bailey to find his wife, sure that she and his people were safe for yet another night. He’d done his duty as best he could, and he would never regret serving his clan.
