“He doesnae mean to fail this time.”
“But, Hacon, Balreaves’s dogs seem as surprised to see these new men as we are.”
“Aye, that they do.”
Hacon gave a short, joyful laugh as the new men set to work attacking Balreaves’s hirelings, fighting side by side with the men of Dubheilrig. He was certain he recognized the reddish brown jupon on one of the armored men. The final proof that these new arrivals were allies came an instant later when two of Balreaves’s hirelings lunged at Hacon. He parried the first sword thrust, but could not elude the swing of the other man’s battle-ax. As he braced for the blow and hoped it would not take Dugald as well, the man in the reddish brown jupon ended the threat by beheading Hacon’s opponent with one clean swipe of his sword. His rescuer briefly lifted his helmet, and Hacon recognized the grinning face of Jennet’s kinsman Malcolm.
“We thought ye might wish some assistance, m’lord,” Malcolm yelled over the din of battle.
“Verra kind of you,” was all Hacon had a chance to say before Malcolm dropped his helmet back into place and plunged back into the fighting.
In moments the attack became a rout. Hacon called again for one of the men to be taken alive, but his command went unheeded. Enraged by the treacherous assault, his own men fought on with murderous intent. Those who fled into the forest were loudly pursued, and Hacon found his attempts to capture someone alive quickly thwarted. Each man he cornered refused to surrender and fought to the death.
When it was finally over, none of the men from Dubheilrig lay dead, although a few were seriously injured and might yet succumb to their wounds. The men who had come to their aid calmly proceeded to strip the dead of all that was of any value. Hacon was about to thank Malcolm’s companions when Jennet gave a glad cry.
“Malcolm?” she called out. “Thatisyou beneath that battered helmet, isnae it?”
“Aye, wee Jennet.” Malcolm stepped over to her as he removed the helmet. “None other.”
Hacon quickly joined the group, pausing only to praise Ranald and Thomas for their steadfast guard of Jennet and Murdoc before asking Malcolm, “Why are ye here? We are nearly a full day’s ride from your village.”
“Aye, but someone was seen following you, flanking ye, in truth. They tried to slip past the village unseen, and we can allow none to do that, m’lord.”
“As I weel learned,” murmured Hacon as he moved to help Jennet dismount. “So, ye followed them?”
“Aye. We thought just to warn you but decided that might not be for the best. By warning you, we might have warnedthemand given them a chance to elude us. Not kenning your skills, m’lord, and not wanting them to fall upon you later at will, we followed them all day. I regret that our plan may have cost you some men.”
“And,” interrupted Jennet, “I had best set about seeing that they dinnae succumb to those wounds.”
Ranald and Thomas dismounted to assist her. Hacon ordered his men to set up camp and invited Malcolm and his men to stay the night. Malcolm was quick to accept and had just finished ordering his men to rest and eat when Dugald called Hacon over to where he had found a survivor.
“This one lives,” Dugald called from several yards away, squatting beside a severely wounded foot soldier. “But not, I think, for long.”
Hacon hurried over, Malcolm at his heels. He waited a little impatiently as Jennet rushed to view the man’s wounds. She took only a moment, then shook her head and left to tend to those she could help. Hacon quickly knelt. While some of the others wore Balreaves’s colors, this man was dressed as many another poor peasant.
“Were ye sent by Balreaves?” Hacon demanded, seeing death in the man’s face and fearing it would claim him before he could speak.
“And why should I tell you anything?” The man coughed, staining his lips with blood.
“Would it not be better to face your maker with the truth upon your lips?”
“Ah, I suppose so, though ’twill do ye little good. Aye, ’twas Balreaves who hired us and sent us after you.”
“And ye were ordered to murder me?”
“If ye be Sir Hacon Gillard—aye.”
The man struggled to make the sign of the cross and barely completed the gesture before he died. Hacon slowly stood up, as did Dugald. Staring down at the dead man, Hacon felt relieved. At last what he had long suspected had been confirmed aloud.
“Weel, now ye have your proof,” said Dugald.
“Do I?” Hacon signaled his men to remove the body.
“The mon told you—’tis Balreaves.”
“The mon is dead. He cannae tell anyone else, can he?”
“But ’tis the word of a dying mon. Malcolm and I heard it, we’ve witnesses to it.”
