Astampede of horses charged toward the hemmed in soldiers, using the forest to their advantage. Owen led the tide of cavalry with his broadsword raised, sweeping the blade to the left and right as he thundered into the throng of startled enemies.
“Find the lasses!” he bellowed back to his men, though they already understood their mission well. They were there to save their future Lady, and to destroy the ranks of Englishmen who dared to set foot in their lands.
The settling dark of night made it difficult to see past the first ranks of infantrymen, but it was obvious that the line trailed back a fair distance. Yet, it also made it difficult to see where the women might be, if they were there at all. Perhaps, they had not made it this far. Perhaps, they were safe inside the forest, where they would be discovered later. Unharmed. At least, that was Owen’s hope.
“Turn back if ye value yer lives!” he raged at the sea of soldiers. “If ye’d follow a killer, then ye deserve what’s comin’ to ye!” He swooped his blade with expert skill, for he had always favored his sword to his musket. That took much too long to load, though it served its purpose from a distance.
A few of the Englishmen seemed to have their doubts, filtering furtively into the forest so they could make their escape. Owen did not care, for he was hunting larger prey, in the form of Elias Spencer. The cowards could do as they pleased.
Barreling through the English infantry, Owen and his cavalry scattered the uniform squares of men, making it easier for the next horde of cavalry and infantry to break through behind him. Indeed, he was not sure why he had considered being besieged, when the night served their surprise attack very well.
Halfway through the first dwindling block of Englishmen, Owen raised up his right hand. “Loose!” he yelled, clenching his hand into a fist.
Out of the trees, the burst of musket fire erupted alongside the whistle of arrows cutting through the air. The Englishmen did not know it, but there were musketeers and archers arranged all the way along the forest path, hidden in the darkness. Their aim would be compromised, but the English torches did a rather good job of guiding the artillery toward their targets.
As a second volley exploded and arrows rained down on the unsuspecting English, chaos broke loose. The soldiers, already doubting their allegiance to a crooked Earl, began to turntail and flee. In their desperation, they ignored the cries and resistance of the men all around them, trampling some in their bid for freedom.
All the while, Owen’s cavalry and infantry bore down on those who had chosen to stand their ground. The fools of the losing side.
Blinded by rage, and his desperation to see Heather again, Owen transformed into a beast of the battlefield, showing that he could be as skilled as a fighter as he was as a healer. Yet, none of these Englishmen would get the benefit of his healing touch. They would either have to limp back to England with their tails between their legs, or die where they lay.
“Hold!” Owen shouted, opening out his hand to prevent the musketeers and archers from firing on their own men. “Down the line!”
From the trees came a rustle of movement. It would have been the perfect moment for the English to fight back, and fight hard, but they were too confused and afraid to realize their opportunity. Already, a steady stream was sprinting back up the forest path, dragging more and more men along in their current. Not quite a retreat, but not far off.
As the soldiers peeled around a small group of riders, Owen saw the very man that deserved to taste the steel of his blade.
“Elias!” Owen roared, urging his horse through the throng of fleeing men. Those who attempted to fight back were cut downwithout hesitation, for nothing would stand in the way of Owen and his final stand.
Evidently realizing that their campaign had come to a rather embarrassing end, the English soldiers threw themselves out of the path of the rampaging horses. For Owen was not alone in his crusade. Sawyer flanked him on the right, while the head of the gray guard rode on his left, all of them brimming with the same determination. Owen had the loyalty of his people and his soldiers, while Elias had clearly lost his army, long before the battle.
They willnae die for ye, ye cretin. But ye’re goin’ to die. Ye may count on that.Owen rode on, swinging his blade in arcing semi-circles, careful to avoid hitting the sides of his horse.
Up ahead, a direct path cleared, revealing twelve horsemen. Seeing the stampede coming toward them, three of the horses bolted, most wisely. Another two were turned around and led into a retreat by their riders, which left seven against fifty. Owen rather liked those odds.
However, as Owen drew closer, Elias whipped something from the pocket of his doublet and waved it. A white handkerchief. The symbol of surrender.
“Halt!” Owen raised a fist, and the tide of cavalry came to a standstill at his back. Of course, he did not trust that sign of surrender, not from a man like Elias.
Elias held up his hands. “I have not come to fight, Laird Dunn,” he lied through his teeth. “I merely came to parlay with you, regarding the matter of my daughter. You have acted most rashly.”
“Ye’d bring a small army to a parlay?” Owen shot back: his eyes scouring the surrounding area for any sign of Heather or Edith. They did not appear to be there.
Elias smiled. “An Earl must protect himself, and I assumed you would take our approach as a gesture of threat.” He paused. “All I wish to do is talk.”
“Then ye should’ve responded to the letter I sent ye,” Owen said coolly. “Ye should’ve requested a parlay.”
Elias’ eyes narrowed. “I sent a reply through Brandon. If it did not reach you, I cannot be held accountable.”
“Ye sent nay reply, ye lyin’ serpent.” Owen snorted, and a ripple of cold laughter made its way through his army. “Ye thought ye could use that letter as evidence of wrongdoin’, though I havenae done anythin’ wrong, as ye well ken. Does any truth come out of them quiverin’ lips of yers, I wonder?”
Panic flitted across Elias’ face as he gazed out across the mass of cavalrymen, intermingled with infantry. Not forgetting the archers and musketeers in the trees. He was surrounded, his men were abandoning him, and there was no way for him to flee. If he tried, Owen would charge right after him.
“Very well, then Iwillspeak the truth. I have come to retrieve my daughter, whom you have dishonored and forced into marriage,” Elias spat, likely hoping he could regain the loyalty of some of his men. “It is a father’s duty to protect his children.”
Owen smirked. “Did ye have that in mind when ye killed William and tried to blame me for it? Or is it only yer daughter ye care about, because ye still think ye can manipulate her into doin’ whatever ye command?” Behind him, the horses snorted eagerly, while the men gathered their strength.
“Youkilled him!” Elias barked.
