They almost made it. Snatching the reins from her, he spurred their horse onward and it stumbled through the cascading stones toward the far end of the ravine where the sunlight still shone. Would that light ever hit their skin or would they die in the shade?
As they grew closer to the end of the mountain pass, the attackers gained ground, hurling stones as they came in an attempt to make the horse throw them. “Damn them to the devil and back,” Callum said. “Old men, help us.”
He leapt from the horse’s back and stood in the middle of the pass, sword gripped in both hands, ready for their arrival. He counted half a dozen, none of them with bows. Typical MacDonalds to mount an ambush with no bows.
“You’re a dead man,” one of them shouted. “And your wee lassie will be the spoils of war.”
Callum said nothing response, waiting for them to get closer.
“You would spill blood in the land of the old men?” he asked when they were still a dozen yards away.
“Who believes in that nonsense?” one of them yelled back. “We’ve spilled many a man’s blood here before and yours willnae be the last.”
The stones were no longer in their favor, they had begun stumbling in their eagerness to get to him. Their lack of training prevented them working together. They were shoving each other aside, each desperate to be the one to kill the heir of the MacCleods. Kill him and they could claim Kerry for themselves. The thought was enough to clear his mind. This was what he was built for, not marriage.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment and said a silent prayer.
Then it began.
The first one to reach him tried a clumsy thrust but he batted it aside with his sword, sending the man off balance. The second made it a moment later and lifted his club, ready to bring it down on Callum’s head.
By shifting his weight and leaping left, the club hit only the rock where he’d stood a moment before, smashing it in two and enraging the attacker.
Turning again, he smiled as the club ricocheted and struck the first man, sending him sprawling down to the ground.
“Let me at him,” one of the others said, pushing his way through, his sword drawn. “He’ll not stop me with his fancy feet.” He waved the blade menacingly, marching through the others. “You’re a dead man, Callum.”
Callum still said nothing. Let them talk. He was patiently waiting for them to attack again.
The sword waver moved closer, the blade a blur as he shook it from side to side, his hand twisting on the hilt.
Callum managed a smile. The attacker was tiring himself out, panting heavily, his muscles bulging from the effort of constantly moving the sword.
Taking a step back, he made the attacker work harder, still not a blow had been struck. The man finally lunged at him but all his showmanship had weakened his attack and when it came, Callum was ready, flicking his own sword into the hilt of the aggressor’s and sending the weapon flying into the air.
It landed several feet away and as the others laughed at his misfortune, the attacker turned and swung a punch at the nearest man. “Dinnae mock me, I do not see you doing any better.”
“You couldnae do much worse.”
More laughter and as the argument descended into bickering and then brawling, Callum moved slowly backward, watching them closely. Behind them on the mountainside there was a rumbling noise. Callum heard it but the others were too busy fighting each other. With another step back he had hold of the horse’s head.
He swung himself up onto it, landing behind Kerry, surprised to find her crying. He had no time to ask her reasons. He needed to move. The rumbling had become a roar.
Turning the horse away, they broke into a gallop through the last of the ravine. As they went he heard the roar turn into an earsplitting crash as a boulder broke free from the very peak and rolled down into the ravine. He turned his head in time to see the boulder slam into the group of them. The noise of their bickering cut off in an instant and all he could see was dust.
“The old men do not care for blood spilled on their land,” he said, turning his head and concentrating on the descent from the ravine.
“That was just a rockfall,” Kerry replied. “Wasn’t it?”
“What do you think, lass?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, sniffing loudly.
“You still cry. What ails you?”
“I almost saw you get killed. We nearly died.”
“Och, half a dozen MacDonalds who couldnae ambush their own mothers in a privy with a week’s warning.”
