They snuck closer to the castle, inch by inch, until they were right up against her walls.
Kieran’s archers, hidden in the trees of the forest surrounding the castle, lay in wait while his warriors were prepared in formation on the ground.
As midnight struck, flaming arrows flew through the air, hitting their targets – the thatch rooves of the granaries containing the Englishmen’s wheat and barley took to the flames like kindling. It took mere seconds before the buildings were engulfed in flames, sparks and fingers of fire reaching for the skies.
Screams rose up from inside the walls of the castle – as villagers began to run around, shouting in fear and dismay, the soldiers and mercenaries protected within its walls began to pour out of the barracks and surrounding buildings, weapons drawn, eyes heavy with sleep as they tried to find someone to attack.
But there was no one inside the castle walls.
Their officers began to shout orders at them – they tried to instill some form of order among their men, their own voices raised in panic and horror as the villagers and commoners continued to scream and run in all directions.
The sound of fear, the screams of panic, the crackle and pop of the fires were deafening in the quiet of the late night.
Kieran stood in the forest, surrounded by his best warriors, Vivien at his side.
She was trembling slightly against him; whether it was from fear or a chill in the air, Kieran could not be certain. He did the only thing he could think to do – he wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear.
“I willnae let a thing touch ye; I will never let another thing hurt ye; that is a promise ye can count on.”
Vivien nodded, looking up at him through her eyelashes, planted a quick kiss on his lips and drew his arms closer around her.
The officers were finally gaining some control of their men. There were very few things they could do – they posted archers on their walls, even though they had limited visibility with the smoke billowing around them, stinging their eyes and burning their throats as they took their positions. Many of them coughed into their hands, rubbing at their eyes as they tried to notch their arrows to their bows.
Following the posting of their archers, the officers directed their foot soldiers to march outside the castle walls. Their duty was to protect the castle walls and ensure that it was not breached by any means necessary.
The men began to filter out through the main gate as the draw bridge was lowered, allowing them to march across it and into Kieran’s waiting force of warriors.
As the Englishmen began to filter out into the clearing at the castle entrance, Kieran’s archers began to fire on them. It was a devastating blow to their already weakened numbers – they fell by the hordes, unable to protect themselves from the sharp points of expertly aimed arrows that pierced their flesh, pierced their armor, leaving no room for mercy.
The English archers released volley after volley of arrows into the trees, but with their limited sight and knowledge of firing into trees, many of their arrows flew astray, hitting nothing more than tree bark and rocks. Some, however, did find their mark.
Kieran closed his eyes as the death cries of his own men joined the cacophony of the Englishmen’s cries of agony and death.
Death was a part of war; he knew that better than anyone.
It did not mean he had to enjoy it.
It did not mean that it was something Kieran wanted to accept. The loss of so many lives, both Scottish and English, stung deep in his heart.
If there had been any other way to drive the Englishmen – and more specifically, Lord Stone – from their lands, Kieran would have happily taken a less violent route. But there was only one way that Stone would leave this land, and that was through brute force on the part of the Scots.
The arrows began to thin out as the archers ran out of their supplies; it was time for the foot soldiers to do what they were there for.
As the mercenaries and English soldiers attempted to escape in any way that they possibly could, Kieran’s men on the ground cut them down, their blades swinging through the air, catching the light of the oncoming storm as lightning flashed through the skies.
It was a slaughter, Kieran thought to himself grimly. He took no pleasure in the task at hand, but he had to see it through. He owed his clansmen that much.
For those soldiers who turned tail and ran back into the castle grounds, Kieran had yet another surprise waiting.
Thanks to the information on the tunnel that Helen had shared with Vivien and Tilly, a large portion of Kieran’s men had entered the castle proper and surrounding grounds. Those who were positioned in such a way that they could run down the returning soldiers where they were. They showed no mercy; their anger towards the English was just as strong as Kieran’s. They wanted nothing more than payback for the loss of their comrades’ lives.
And blood was the only way to assuage that pain.
And so the slaughter continued for the next couple of hours until the English force was a broken, battered remnant of what it had been when the attack began.
It was finally time for Kieran and Vivien to face the person they had come here to remove from his seat of power.
It was time to escort Reginald out of Scotland forever.
