Els said, “We’ll go now. Godspeed with you both. Don’t forget Joya is there, as well. She was dressed in rags when I last saw her.”
They made plans to return to the clearing whenever the situation was under control. Els’s father and Uncle Finlay spoke to the guards, directing them on where to go and what to look for, and Els, Dyna, Alasdair, and Alick moved to the horses.
Once they were finished, Dyna looked around. Seeing no one, she said, “Do not forget the power we have. If we need it, we can use it.”
Els knew she referred to their spectral swords, something they’d all lost faith in before the battle at Alasdair’s keep. “Aye, but I hope we won’t need it,” he said. “There should only be three fools to take out. The English have scattered everywhere after their humiliation at Glen Trool. The Earl of Pembroke is regrouping, and he is not a fan of the sheriffs. Though I can’t wait to uncover which sheriff we’re dealing with this eve.” He flexed his fingers, wishing he had a throat he could wrap his hands around.
Dyna just gave him a strange look, almost pitying, and said, “Do not be so hasty, Els.”
They left to get in their positions, Alasdair and Grandsire holding back so it wouldn’t be obvious they were bringing assistance.
When they reached their destination, Dyna climbed into a tree while Els arranged Alick, his father, and his uncle indifferent spots so they could each have a different vantage point of the hut.
And then, once again, all he could do was wait.
A quarter of an hour later, about five men approached the hut on horseback. They took their horses behind the building and hid there. Els glanced up at Dyna, who used a bird call to communicate she’d seen the same thing he had. Three inside, five outside.
More waiting. Els wiped the sweat rolling down the sides of his face, forcing himself not to think of Joya. It was possible the bastards hadn’t touched her—that he’d run inside once they took care of the men, only to find her with a sweet smile on her face, holding a wee laddie who was saying, “I Aleshander Grant.”
He heard a yell off to the side, and Alasdair came into their line of sight, walking next to what appeared to be a decrepit old man. “Here’s my grandsire,” Alasdair called out. “Send my son out.”
Els had to smile because his grandsire was playing the part perfectly. He took three slow steps closer to the hut, wrapped inside a heavy mantle that hid his bulk, but showed his wooden walking stick at the bottom. His gray hair was wild, so askew it made him look even older, and his head was stooped down as if he were a weak, feeble man close to death. And while Grandsire had suffered a spell of weakness a few years ago, he’d been hale ever since.
He could only hope the men inside the hut would fall for the ruse.
Two men stepped outside of the hut, both empty-handed except for small swords they didn’t even know how to properly hold. Another voice called out from behind Alasdair. “You don’t get the lad until we check the old man, make sure he’s who you say he is. When we leave with him, you can retrieve your son from inside the hut. He’s asleep.”
“Show me my son,” Alasdair called out, clearly in a fury over their demands.
Their grandsire coughed, Els recognizing it as his cue to fight.
Would Alasdair listen?
“My men will check your grandsire first.”
The sheriff didn’t emerge. The two men were nearly upon Grandsire when he flung his cape off his back, bellowed the Grant war whoop, and swung the sword he’d had at the ready under the mantle. He swung up toward the closest man, nearly taking his arm off. The fool screamed and fell to the ground at the same time the guards came out from behind the hut.
Els took his cue to attack, and his father and Alick did the same. An arrow caught the man behind Alasdair square in the chest, and Grandsire swung and caught the other man who’d thought to capture him across the neck, killing him instantly. Alasdair joined the fight, taking on one of the men behind the hut while Alick went after another. Dyna’s arrow hit one running to his horse, but he pulled the arrow out and mounted, taking off away from them.
There were two men still standing, or there should have been, but three more came charging down the path on horseback, something they hadn’t anticipated. Els noticed his grandfather step away from the fray, giving them the opportunity to take over. He had a look of pride in his eyes. Grandsire was the one who had known they were special, the one who had encouraged them to practice together all these years. And now he was there to see them do it.
He prayed it would work this time.
His heart told him it would—it had to.
The three male cousins met in the middle, the English soldiers approaching them from all sides. Els didn’t see his father or Uncle Finlay, but he and Alasdair and Alick ended upwith their backs to each other, fighting off the five men still left. They should have been at a disadvantage, given three of the men were still mounted, but Els was shocked to realize he wasn’t afraid at all. Maybe he never would be again.
Dyna stood off to the side, surprising Els because she usually stayed in a tree during skirmishes. Instead, she lifted her bow in the air and a streak of lightning shot through the sky, followed by a blast loud enough to shake the ground.
And he felt it. His sword heated up, and with his next swing, he cut his enemy down effortlessly. From the way his cousins were fighting, swinging easily at the men on horseback, he expected the same was true for them. Two of the English even dropped their swords before the cousins could get to them, staring at the hilts of their weapons with unified expressions of shock.
Els swung again, easily, but then something strange happened after he completed the next thrust of his sword. His weapon suddenly became heavier, causing him to pant just to lift it. Exhaustion stole over him. Fortunately, his cousins had taken care of all the remaining Englishmen, so he wasn’t forced to swing again.
He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to finish his attack.
A minute later, they’d defeated all the guards. Els raced toward the hut, running in through the door before he had to stop to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Alasdair was behind him, calling, “John?”
Nothing.
