He held his sword in the air, letting it remain there for the count of two before calling out, "For the Highlands." Then he began to ride.
He spurred his horse on, tearing down the hillside, his men close on his heels. The stones were loose on the ground, and he prayed his horse would not stumble. He would be trampled underfoot if he fell. He need not have worried. He made it to the bottom of the hill safely in time to meet the opposing army.
They had aligned themselves around the rat who was frantically directing them, shouting to make himself heard over the roar of Lennox’s approaching troops.
Lennox prepared himself for the explosion of noise he had heard so many times before. A calm washed over him. With a tug of the reins, his horse leaped skyward, clearing the first row of knights and landing on the second.
It began.
Time slowed down. A sword swung his way. The man wielding it looked scared. He didn’t commit fully to the strike. Lennox shifted his shoulder, getting his own blow in before the knight opposite had time to respond. The man fell from his horse and was lost from view. First blood to Lennox.
The Highlanders pressed hard. They were outnumbered, but they had the higher ground and the advantage of surprise. The English were pushed back. Unmounted men fell under Highlander swords that eagerly sought out flesh under armor, finding chinks and then digging into the flesh underneath.
More English knights poured forward, and Lennox found himself pushed backward. He raised his sword and roared at the top of his voice, arm swinging left and right, crunching into helmets, slamming into armor, sending Norman knights flying back, his rage giving him strength.
Still more came on and he eventually began to tire. No matter how vigorously he fought, there were more fresh men on the opposing side and his arm would not swing forever. His horse stumbled as yet another blow came his way.
Another few minutes and someone would make contact. He knew that but he did not stop. His breath became labored, his clothes sticking to his skin, sweat stinging his eyes as the roar of battle accosted his ears.
Another blow, this one too close for comfort. He barely managed to fend it off. His whole body ached but he would never quit. More knights surged toward him, sensing his tiredness. That was their undoing.
Aodh and his men came in on the flank. At once the balance of power shifted. The English sensed the tide was turning against them. They began to move back, some of them already turning tail to flee to safety.
They ran straight into David's men. Trapped in the middle, there was nowhere left for them to go and one after another fell. Lennox paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow and then he spotted the rat on a ridge, about to fire a bow at him.
Lennox could do nothing, he was trapped in the middle of the action. He winced, knowing the arrow would hit him. It fired and he held his breath but it went high. The rat had panicked and not taken the time to aim right. He didn't get a chance for a second shot.
Lennox urged his horse through the weakening mass of fighting men until he reached Robert de Ros himself. "You could have gone home," he yelled at the English Lord. "There was no need for any of this."
"Scotland is not yours," the rat yelled back, tossing his bow aside and pulling out his sword. "It belongs to me."
The last word wasn't out of his mouth before he swung his sword. Lennox moved back out of its range, dancing around his opponent, waiting for him to tire.
"Stand still," the rat snapped at him, trying to stab his horse.
"As you wish," Lennox replied, raising his arms, encouraging a low blow. Robert de Ros took the bait, jabbing the tip of his sword up at him. Lennox shoved it aside, wincing in pain as the blade sliced his hand. His arm fell limp, and he from the back of the horse, landing in the mud.
The rat laughed, going in for the kill. As the rat’s body twisted with the momentum, Lennox leaped up, all pain vanishing from his expression. He shoved his sword forward, the point skewering the rat before he even knew what was happening.
It was over.
The rat was dead. The remains of his army were all frozen in place, staring down at his corpse.
"Go," Lennox called out to them. "I have no wish to see any more bloodshed today. Tell those who would attack the Highlands of the fate that awaits them."
The men ran, leaving their weapons behind. Lennox watched them go as a cheer went up around him. He should have been happy, but he was not. He’d been so eager to catch the rat, he’d forgotten about Rose.
Where was she? He had to get back. He had to speak to her. He had something important to tell her.
"David, see what can be done for the wounded," he said, turning his horse north, galloping away from the battlefield without looking back.
15
Rose fought to free herself. A heavy weight suddenly knocked the air out of her lungs, and she realized quickly someone was sitting on her chest. She reached up to claw at the bag, but her arms were caught and bound painfully together.
"Can you walk?" a gruff voice asked.
"Let me go," she snapped, her legs scrabbling to find a foothold. "Right now."
