Ailis heard the dull roar as the battle started in earnest. The MacCordys and the MacFarlanes screamed the last of their insults, bellowed their battle cry, and charged. The MacDubhs gave their full-throated reply and moved toward their attackers. Ailis could almost feel it when the two armies slammed into each other. Even Kate grunted softly.
Try as she would, Ailis could make no sense of what she watched. Although it was at a distance, Ailis did not think that made any difference. She doubted she would have understood it even if she was a lot closer. The men were too muddled up together, too thoroughly mixed. The number of men that became unmoving bodies upon the ground began to grow. From where she stood, it was impossible to tell which of the fallen were friend or foe. She ached to draw nearer but knew that would not be allowed.
“Can ye see how we fare, Kate?” she asked the woman who shared her tense vigil on the battlements.
“Nay. I can see nothing. It but appears to be some mad melee, as if no one has any battle plan.”
“Aye, but they must have one. I thought it would help me to watch, but I believe it has made it worse. Mayhaps the best place to have spent this time was in the church or the like.”
“That has never worked for me. At least, not when ye must sit for hours ere ye ken the fate of the men in your clan. Come and take heart,” Kate advised Ailis. “At least from here ye will ken exactly when the battle has ended and which men flee the field. ‘Tis better than naught.”
“Aye, ‘tis better than naught. And we can always pray for our men from up here.”
Ailis smiled faintly when Kate began to do just that, taking her rosary from her pocket and beginning the calming chants. But Ailis had said so many prayers that she could no longer think of one. All she wanted was for Alexander and the others she cared about to survive and be victorious. If there had to be a choice, then she would accept mere survival. She simply did not want Alexander to be one of those unmoving shapes upon the battlefield.
Alexander fought his way toward Donald. He was eager to cross swords with the man. Vengeance for past wrongs was no longer the main reason he ached to fill Donald MacCordy’s heart with cold steel. Every reason Alexander could think of at the moment had to do with Ailis. Donald was her betrothed; Donald had struck Ailis; Donald had threatened the life of their son, thus forcing Ailis to risk her own life in fleeing from those threats. Each of those memories were in the forefront of Alexander’s mind as he battled his way to Donald. Once there, Alexander felt a cold, satisfying sense of victory as Donald whirled to face him. Donald was red-faced and grunting, sweat dripping from his face. Alexander felt cool, rested, and efficient.
“Now we meet as equals,” Alexander called out to him, “although it causes a bitter taste in my mouth to call ye a knight or sir.” Alexander looked the burly Donald over with contempt. “Ye bring shame to every honorable knight in Scotland.”
“Then ‘tis a good thing that I dinna face one now, isna it. Nay, I face an adulterer, a pretty-faced seducer—a carpet knight whose only spurs were earned riding maids in their boudoirs.”
“I hope ye have made your confessions, MacCordy, for ye will die here on this field.”
The first clash of their swords told Alexander that he was not fighting with a poorly skilled man. Donald’s weakness was not in his arm or in his swing. Donald’s weakness was that he could not control his emotions. He could spit out foul insults with ease, but he could not ignore them with calm. He too easily lost his temper, too quickly fell from skilled fighting into a brutal, fury-controlled slashing. It took but one or two clever, sharp insults to steal what skill Donald MacCordy had. Alexander did not stoop to such games, however, but he recognized that his reasons were far from noble. He wanted Donald to sweat, to know that even when he was fighting his best fight, he was not good enough. Alexander wanted Donald to see his own death approaching.
“Ye are willing to toss away your life and what few riches are left to ye for the sake of that brown-eyed slut?” Donald blocked Alexander’s sword and tried to stab his stomach with his dagger, but Alexander easily eluded the clumsy slash. “Are ye even sure that the bairn is yours and not the offspring of that simpleminded fool she keeps so close at hand?”
Alexander was a little dismayed to discover that he had a weakness as well. It was difficult not to react with a blind fury to such insults against Ailis. He wanted to pin Donald to the ground and cut his tongue out with a dull knife. Such emotional responses had no place in a fight. Any emotion—from merciful to murderous—could be fatal. Alexander forced himself to remain untouched by Donald’s ugly words.
“Cease sharpening your tongue on a lass and hone your blade on me instead,” he ordered Donald. “There is no gain in going to your death with insults upon your breath.”
“ ‘Tisna me who shall be doing the dying here, my pretty knight.”
A shock went through Alexander’s arm as Donald’s sword hit his. It was a powerful blow, but Alexander had faced enough opponents to know that Donald could not continue like that. Donald was one who fought a short fight well, but used up all of his strength far too quickly.
In a very short time Alexander saw that he had judged his opponent perfectly. Donald was soon awash in sweat and panting hard. The man’s sword strikes, even the occasional lunge with the dagger, became awkward. For one brief moment Alexander contemplated toying with the man, prolonging the death blow they both knew was inevitable. Then he discovered that he really did not have the stomach for it. When the moment came, he ended Donald’s life swiftly, with one clean direct sword thrust to the heart.
It was as he watched the man sprawl on the ground that Alexander realized the battle was as good as over. He turned his head to find Barra calmly watching him. His brother’s whole attitude was one of calm and victory.
“So—we have finally won,” Alexander said as he crouched by Donald’s body to clean off his sword on the dead man’s jupon.
“Aye, brother, we have finally won. Your insistence on an acre fight was clever. These fools were too arrogant to say nay.”
“True, and they thought I wouldna guess the tricks they would use to ensure a victory.” He glanced to the far end of the small battlefield to see a horseman approaching very cautiously and holding a white flag. “Malcolm.”
“He wishes to treaty with us? The battle is over. His people lost it.”
“He had no side in this. ‘Tis probably what he wishes to remind us of now. Dinna scowl so, Barra. Instinct tells me that the man is no fool. He probably wishes to keep hold of what little he now holds. That will, of course, be a gain for him, for it would now belong to him alone. He willna be his cousin’s slavey. I say let him keep what he holds. I have Leargan back. I can be generous. Dinna forget, he did much to help Ailis.”
“Aye, and I still canna stop asking myself one question—why?”
It was a question Alexander had often asked himself, but he had consistently shied away from the answer. Malcolm had risked a lot to aid Ailis, and while Alexander did not want to insult the man, he could not feel that chivalry was the sole cause of such assistance. He was all that was polite to the man, however, when Malcolm halted before him. Alexander reassured Malcolm that all that had been his before the battle would remain his. As he was leaving, Malcolm extended his kind wishes to Mistress Ailis and the child, as well as an invitation for all of them to visit him whenever they were in Edinburgh. It seemed a curious thing to say, but the man left before Alexander could question it. With a shake of his head over the vagaries of some people, Alexander headed back to Rathmor, pausing only to make sure that Jaime and Angus had come through the battle unscathed as well. Once assured of their good health, his only thought was to get back to Ailis.
Even from a distance it was easy to see that the battle was over and that the MacDubhs had won the day. Ailis exchanged a brief exuberant hug with Kate, then joined the woman in hurrying off the walls. She was eager to get down to the gates so that she could see Alexander the moment he returned and see with her own eyes that he had escaped the battle unharmed. There was a good chance that she could reveal a lot of her feelings for him in that first moment of greeting, but she did not care this time.
Alexander had barely finished dismounting when Ailis flung herself into his arms. She briefly felt guilty that she could be so happy, for it had been at the cost of her kinsman’s life. There was no doubt in her mind that her uncle was now dead, but she could muster no grief for him, and that did make her fleetingly sad.
“Your uncle is dead, lass,” Alexander said as, with his arm around her shoulders, he started through the celebratory crowd of MacDubhs and into the keep.
