Chapter Twenty-Five
The day was dim and the morning gloomy as the caravan began to roll out of McGowan castle. The men from the hills wore their padded armor and stood in ranks around the silver cart, complemented by McGowan castle’s men. At the front of the procession rode Kyle, his broad blade fastened to his horse’s saddle and his hair tied back as the gray sky swirled above them.
Kyle glanced to his right as he picked out Jacob and Matthew far in the distance, slowly plodding their course across the grass, growing smaller and smaller but still shining in their armor as the sun tried to break through the deep layers of clouds. They would do their job; Kyle was sure of it. If all went well, they would all be drinking by midday and celebrating their victory. If things went South, they would all be dead. It was a simple balance, and Kyle steeled himself against the possibility of the latter.
He would not be a pawn to these English squabbles. This Lord Hamilton had another thing coming if he thought he could use the McGowans’ as a piece on his board, and Kyle was eager to show him that fact. Then he turned back and surveyed the men under his command. They had hard faces and long spears. Some were old enough to have known the war, and others were young enough to be unmarried.
Kyle frowned to think that some of them would be dead before the day was out. Win or lose, some would fall, and the poor man in the grass came once more to his mind.Mercy. Kyle shuddered and wondered if the feeling of dread enveloping his body was what his father had felt the morning before the Bannockburn.
The wind blew over their heads, and the sound of the grass rustling joined the dull marching noises: the stomping of feet, the clanking of the helmets, the creaking of the wagon wheel, the jostle of the horse’s harnesses, the occasional sniffle or cough of the men. It was eerie, and the further they got from the gate, the louder the sounds became until they were entirely dominating Kyle’s eardrums.
He looked back over his shoulder once more and looked up at Gavin, standing atop the gatehouse. They shared a long look from a distance, and Gavin gave him a solemn nod. With that, Kyle turned his eyes back to the dirt path ahead and took in a long breath of the wind that blew into his face.
“A dreary day,” MacNear said, riding up alongside Kyle.
“Aye,” Kyle replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead. They were still too close to the castle for any attack, but it wouldn’t be long until they entered the danger area, “d’ye think we have enough men?”
“Nay,” MacNear said, his face drawing into a tight grimace. “But our plan will work.”
“It had better,” Kyle said, feeling his core tighten as he fought the oncoming anxiety.
“It will,” MacNear reassured him. “There is nay another option.”
“In that ye are correct,” Kyle agreed, feeling a lump clogging up his throat.
They carried on in silence for a time, letting the monotonous sounds of the small march rattle around in their ears as they pressed on. Kyle looked up as the clouds continued to swirl, and he frowned upon seeing them darkening. The wind grew a bit stronger and colder.
“Rain coming,” MacNear said.
“Aye,” Kyle agreed.
“It will help,” MacNear went on. “The more mud, the worse fer the English horse. It will limit their charge.”
“We can only hope,” Kyle said, his eyes darting between the gathering rain clouds and the dirt track ahead.
The longer they went along the road, the more Kyle battled the dread and anxiety. He found it cycling through stages of intense fear and strange calm, as once again, he accepted the risk of his station. It was an unsettling pendulum, swinging back and forth, and with the completion of each cycle, he felt a bit more resolve harden within him. They continued to march, the wagon creaking all the while until they spied a vague obstruction ahead on the trail. It was too far out to see clearly, but Kyle knew what it meant.
“It’s time,” Kyle said, nodding ahead to the blotch on the horizon.
“Aye,” MacNear growled. “Let them come.” He looked back to the marching men on all sides of the wagon and called out, “Make ready!”
A look of intensity came over the faces of the soldiers as they processed the order. It was time. Time to fulfill their oaths, and to meet the enemy, time to see whether their metal was true and fierce, time to kill, or to be killed. Some of them put their shoulders further back, some clenched their jaws, but all tightened their grip on their spears, and all shortened their steps, trying to prolong the distance between them and the obstacle.
As they came closer, a few men undid most of the ties that held the canvas that covered the top of the cart but ensured that it did not flutter up and away. The obstruction itself also came into view, and Kyle could see that it was a felled tree at the crux of two sloping rises on either side of the track, with small clusters of shrubs and trees rising up from the ridges. That was the place. It was perfect for an ambush, and that was exactly what Kyle was planning on.
“Hold!” Kyle shouted, turning back to the procession and holding up his hand. It was all for show, but the show had to look real. “Clear the path!”
Two soldiers slowly approached the obstruction, their eyes moving over the grasses around them, knowing what was to come, and Kyle followed suit. He scanned the top of the ridges, waiting for the move he knew was coming, while MacNear looked ahead at the men clearing the fallen log.
“Just roll it, lads!” MacNear shouted, trotting up beside them on his horse. “See there, just roll it.”
Still, Kyle waited, feeling his tumultuous gut growing stagnant and still as his hairs stood on edge. This was it, the moment, at least that’s what he had been telling himself, but as they stood there exposed, clearly in a position to be ambushed, nothing happened to save a few stronger blusters of wind and the beginning of the rain.
It started slowly, drizzling down in a few spatters, but quickly picked up the pace. MacNear turned and ushered to a couple more men to join in the efforts with the log, as the two were struggling to budge it, and struggled even more as the rain began to pelt down, their boots sliding out in the muck
Two more men came forward, their eyes and attitudes reflecting the increasing uncertainty of the situation as they set their spears down and began to heave along with the others. Still, Kyle watched and waited, tensing all of his muscles in anticipation, letting the rain pelt down upon his forehead and run along his cheeks, soaking the stiff gambeson he wore beneath his mail.
“There ye go!” MacNear exclaimed, watching the four men grunt and struggle, pushing the log a couple feet. “Almost there!”
