Mort laughed quietly. “This is a hell of a busy place for being in the middle of nowhere.”
The two dismounted and dropped down at the edge of the clearing. They edged along on their bellies through the tall, wet grass.
“Do you see anything?” Mort came up behind Peter.
The scene was strange in the mist, the voices hung in the air around them but their source was hard to locate. “I think I see three men…no maybe four. Wait! Is that one of our Scottish friends’ horses?”
Mort turned in the direction Peter indicated. The black mount Niall had been riding the day before wandered off to their right. “I would say it is. We are not the only ones who did not get very far this day.”
He turned back to the mist. “Well, is this the prey they were stalking?” He laughed at his own joke.
“God’s Bones!” A loud voice carried, followed by a laugh. Perhaps it was the man whose back was closest to him. “You whoremongers sure don’t give up.”
The piercing sound of steel on steel had Peter up on his elbows, edging closer.
“So do we just step in?” Mort’s expression conveyed urgency as well.
The sound of grunts and fists carried better than the voices.
“I wouldn’t know which side to take,” Peter said.
A shoulder here, a body falling there, and the wide carriage that blocked his view seemed to shake every now and then with the swirling mist.
The sound intensified. Peter had to step in. He was the authority in the area, direct from the King. It seemed his first duty as such was presenting itself.
He edged back to where they’d left their horses and mounted in one motion. Mort was lagging behind but that no longer fooled Peter. It was just Mort’s persona. A better, quicker fighter Peter had never met. Dragging his sword from the scabbard along his saddle, Peter urged his horse forward. He had no doubt Mort would be there to back him up.
Peter made a run at them across the meadow. The men were surrounded by the lifting fog. They appeared as if fighting within a cloud. Aldred dropped to the ground with blood seeping from a head wound. A bald man grabbed at his shoulder. Checking his condition no doubt. The other Scots seemed to have their adversaries, one per man, held in check. For the moment, at least. They were being distracted by concern over Aldred’s condition.
Quick glances toward his friend gave Lachlann’s opponent an unfair advantage which rewarded him a blow to the side of the head. Despite the other man’s shorter stature, Lachlann fell hard. He lay unmoving on the ground. The man raised his weapon to finish the job.
Rounding his horse just short of Lachlann, Peter’s shout received the expected look of surprise. Eyes wide with fear, the little man dropped his weapon and threw his arms up. Peter didn’t hesitate to push his advantage, jamming the man against the carriage before dismounting. He aimed the point of the blade at the man’s throat.
“Desist!” Peter shifted to take in the scene and be sure his blade at the man’s throat would not be missed.
The unknown fighters responded at once, quickly backing away at the threat against their companion. Lachlann stood, apparently unharmed. The bald man moved from Aldred. It was Niall who kept it going. The bearded man he was fighting was much older, Peter could see that now. Taller and more seasoned. Niall’s anger, perhaps at the felling of one of his own, was pushing him beyond reason.
“Niall!” Peter’s voice rang through the surrounding trees. The small man before Peter shook so much the carriage rocked beside him. He peered behind to see he was finally being listened to. Niall was breathing heavy but when the other man laid down his sword, he did the same.
“Stupid shit!” The older man’s voice was low, more like a growl than coherent speech.
Niall reached for his weapon again. “Me? Who the hell do you think you are?”
They both started yelling at the same time.
Mort came alongside Peter and put his own weapon on the first man. Peter pushed his way between the two before Niall had lifted his sword all the way. His vision burned on the bearded man. His nostrils flaring. He did not spare a glance for Peter.
Peter shoved his arm away. “Enough.”
“I’m thinking this isn’t a simple act of abduction,” Mort stated the obvious and pushed the short man against the carriage with so hard a shove the vehicle rocked again. The man dropped where Mort pointed.
Glancing about, Peter shook his head. “What goes on here?”
“The bastard thinks he can take anything he wants,” the bearded man answered.
Even taller than Niall, he was an imposing creature.
“And who are you?” Peter asked.
