Those on foot continued to battle the Gunns and their partners, while the mounted Macnaughtens charged the Sinclairs. All on horseback, Thor and his men drew their swords. Liam gave the signal, and they hurtled forward, their swords swiping from right to left and back again. They unseated some and cut through others. Sweat dripped from Thor’s brow, but he didn’t dare take a moment to wipe it from his eyes, instead blinking it away as it stung. He spied the man who’d been with the Gunns when they captured Dominic and him. He pointed his sword toward the man as his next opponent smirked. He squeezed Gaisgeach’s flanks and gripped the reins. His steed knew what to do. He lunged forward, barreling toward the opposing horse.
Thor was certain Gaisgeach knew the moment the Macnaughten’s horse spooked. Gaisgeach snapped his teeth toward the other animal, and Thor laughed when his opponent’s mount whinnied and tried to rear. Instead, it sashayed away, but it brought the man within Thor’s long reach.
“Why?” Thor demanded as his sword sliced through the man’s left arm.
“Why nae? It’s the right time now that Edgar is gone. It’s just a pity the MacDonnells and Gunns realized that at the same time as John MacDougall did. Ma clan paid a steep dowry for the lass’s mother to marry into the Gunns. We got naught in return. We’ve waited long enough to collect.” The man panted every few words, already winded from fighting.
“That was yer own fool fault for allying with them in the first place. It’s been more than forty years since the last time the Gunns were a respectable clan anyone would want to stand beside. That was long before Lady Greer’s mother married Edgar.” Thor spoke steadily, his voice even. He’d learned to control his breathing, so he could talk clearly enough to give orders during battle. It was a struggle to say so much now, but he managed.
“It wasna ma decision, but I’m here to defend it.” The Macnaughten swung his sword at Thor’s head, but he maneuvered away. It gave him the chance to slice the man’s left thigh.
“Daft sod. Ye’ve led yer men to death. For what? Naught. She’s already married. And even if she werenae, besides her, what do ye have to offer the MacDougalls? What are ye getting from them?”
“King Edward may nae be the great strategist his grandfather was, but he’s king now. Our future is better secured with him and his lot nae targeting us. We ken which side our bread is buttered on.”
“Ye willna be alive to butter aught. This was a fool’s errand. Ye had to ken the moment ye saw Lady Greer with me that ye wouldnae succeed. The moment Uncle Tristan rode up to ye, it confirmed it. Fighting outside ma door sealed yer fate. Did ye wake this morn planning to die? Ye couldnae have thought to do aught else if ye showed up here.”
“Ye clishmaclaver too much!” The man whose name Thor still didn’t know released his reins and wrapped both hands around his claymore’s handle. He lifted it over his shoulder, ready to swipe downward and cleave Thor in half. But in the few moments it took for him to raise his arms, Thor nudged his horse forward and thrust his sword through the man’s chest. He barely yanked his weapon back before Gaisgeach reared and struck the other horse with his powerful hooves. The Macnaughten fell sideways, but his foot caught in the saddle as his steed bolted. The beast dragged the dead man farther into the fray before figuring out how to escape.
Thor would have liked to learn more from the man, but he supposed there wasn’t much else to hear. He set his sights on his next opponent, then the next, cutting through one man after another until he and the other Sinclairs came even with the Mackays. They’d maintained the western perimeter. Thor glanced to his left as Liam approached, and they walked their horses to Tristan and his sons.
“Bluidy hell! I’ve ripped ma leine. Mairghread’s going to skelp me. She made this for ma saint’s day this year.”
Thor grinned, picturing his aunt, who was a foot shorter than her husband, taking Tristan to task. But when he noticed the hint of blood on the back of the leine, he pointed to it. “How bad is it, Uncle?”
“A little more than a wee scratch. It’ll take a few stitches.” Tristan grimaced as he shifted in his saddle. “Burns like the devil, though.”
“Hide yer leine until Elene can mend it. It’s the only way Mama will kiss ye better.” Wee Liam snickered at his father as he suggested his own wife would come to Tristan’s rescue.
“I liked ye better before ye learned to talk.” Tristan winked at his oldest son.
The battle was winding down, with only a handful of enemy Highlanders and Englishmen still standing. The Highlanders who remained on their feet struggled against the Sinclair men, who pushed them toward the portcullis. They would go directly to the dungeon. If their clans paid a ransom, they would return home. If not, they would rot.
“Where is that Sassenach maggot?” Thor stood in his stirrups as he tried to recognize the English bane amongst the few fully armored knights. They stood with their backs together as Callum and his men surrounded them. Thor wondered if he’d survived. There were plenty of arrows sticking out from the gaps in the knights’ armor. Some laid in pools of their own blood, trapped beneath their slain mounts.
“Da! Thor!” Callum bellowed. Liam and his family members trotted to where Callum stood with a man at sword point. Sinclair and Mackay warriors systematically walked among those on the ground, killing any enemies who still breathed. Injured Sinclairs and Mackays made their way to the keep, either over another man’s shoulder or propped up by a clansman.
Thor dismounted when he reached his father, his sword still in hand. He surveyed the man in the tin can standing in front of him. “Remove yer helm.”
First the visor flipped up, then the warrior lifted his helmet off. Sweat drenched Sir Richard, his face an alarming shade of red. He appeared dazed and uncertain of his surroundings. Thor snapped his fingers as Liam handed off his reins to a clansman. He crossed his arms as Thor continued to try to get the man to focus.
“Do ye wish for a few drams of whiskey before we fight?” Liam offered congenially.
“Fight?” Sir Richard shifted his bloodshot gaze to the older man.
“Aye. Ye challenged me to single combat. Since ye and I survived the battle, it’s our turn to fight. Do ye need a little liquid fortification first?”
“You wish to fight me to the death?”
“Of course, I dinna wish to fight ye to the death. But since ye’re already on its doorstep, I dinna see why nae. Ye challenged me, nae the other way around. If ye arenae up to it, and ye canna keep yer word, then ye can go to the oubliette.” Liam shrugged casually, as though he were trying to choose between two fruit tarts rather than whether he would battle to the first man’s death.
“You didn’t fight as I did,” Sir Richard argued.
“I dinna see how that’s ma concern. Ye issued the challenge. A battle got in the way, but we’re here now. I’ll give ye a third choice. Ye fight me, ye go to the oubliette, or I kill ye now and put ye out of yer misery. What say ye?”
Richard shook his head and blinked several times, as if that would clear the battle haze from his mind. His eyes swept over Liam, who’d fought in hisbreacan feileand leine. Richard had spied him more than once and silently marveled at the man’s endurance. Now he rued the arrogance that had made him certain he could defeat the more experienced bear of a man. He sighed as he accepted he would die whether it was from starvation in the pit or by losing the single combat. If he surrendered, he might die with some dignity rather than in a pile of his own pish and shite in the oubliette or mangled with a crowd cheering on his executioner. He dropped his helm, spread his arms out from his hips, and sank to his knees.
“Tell me the truth,” Thor demanded. “Why Lady Greer?”
