“Me Laird!” he gasped. “The enemy—they’re upon us! They’re comin’ with swords and pikes, marchin’ fast!”
Alexander didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his sword from the table and marched out of the tent, his mind already shifting into battle mode.
“To arms!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the camp.
Men scrambled for their weapons, grabbing shields, tightening armor, and mounting their horses with practiced efficiency. The camp transformed in an instant, no longer a place of rest but a battlefield waiting to be claimed.
Michael was at his side, already moving toward the horses. “We ride now, or we lose before we even start.”
“Aye.” Alexander swung himself up onto his mount, gripping the reins tightly as his warhorse stomped the ground in anticipation.
James rode up beside them, his expression grim. “I’ll take the eastern flank—push them toward the valley. But ye had better be ready for what’s waitin’ on the other side.”
Alexander gave him a curt nod. “We’ll take back control, nay matter what it costs.”
The battlefield was alive with the thunder of hooves and the clash of steel, the cries of men swallowed by the roar of war. Alexander gripped the reins of his stallion tightly, his gaze sweeping over the field as he led the charge.
The enemy soldiers had positioned themselves well, hidden behind the hills, but he had no choice but to meet them head-on. His men followed, loyal and fearless, their swords gleaming beneath the waning sun.
“Hold fast!” Alexander shouted, his voice carrying above the din. “Push forward, dinnae break formation!”
Michael rode beside him, his sword already stained with blood. “This is a trap,” he growled. “I can feel it in me bones.”
“Aye,” Alexander muttered, scanning the tree line ahead. The enemy was too well-positioned, too prepared. The ambush had been waiting for them. “We have nay choice now. We fight our way through.”
Before Michael could respond, the first volley of arrows sliced through the air. The whistling sound was drowned out by the screams of men as the deadly shafts found their marks. Horses reared, riders fell, and the battlefield erupted into chaos.
Alexander felt a rush of fury. He yanked his sword out of its sheath and lifted it above his head. “Ride them down!”
His warhorse surged forward, its powerful hooves trampling over the fallen as he carved his way into the enemy lines.
Blades clashed, steel met steel, and the air grew thick with the stench of blood and sweat. He slit a man’s throat, his movementsquick and precise. But there were too many of them, and they were being hemmed in.
A second volley of arrows came. Alexander ducked low, but his horse reared violently as a shaft struck its flank. With a sickening lurch, he was thrown off the saddle.
The impact rattled through his bones, the air knocked out of his lungs as he hit the dirt. He rolled swiftly, narrowly avoiding a blade that struck the ground beside him. He was up in an instant, his sword raised as an enemy soldier came at him. Their blades clashed, the force sending tremors up his arm, but Alexander drove forward, shoving the man back before burying his sword in his gut.
Michael’s voice rang through the chaos. “Alexander!”
But there was no time to look. Another warrior lunged at him, then another. He parried, his movements swift and precise, but fatigue was beginning to weigh on him. The enemy pressed in, and though his men fought valiantly, they were outnumbered.
Then, he felt pain. Sharp, burning, deep pain.
Alexander staggered as an arrow struck his ribs. His vision blurred for a moment, his breath catching as fire spread through his side. He gritted his teeth, gripping the shaft and snapping the end off before another attacker rushed at him.
He fought through the pain, slicing the man’s throat, but his movements were growing sluggish.
Michael reached him then, his face tight with alarm. “Ye’ve been hit!”
“I ken that,” Alexander gritted out, swinging his sword to block another attack.
Michael swore. “We need to get ye out of here.”
“Nay,” Alexander rasped, but even as he spoke, his knees nearly buckled.
Michael caught him by the arm. “Ye cannae fight like this. James!”
The burly soldier turned around at the call, his face streaked with dirt and blood. “Aye, Michael?”
