Duncan’s eyebrows furrowed. Poised on the horse, he didn’t move. Something was wrong. If these were the three English men who’d been wreaking havoc, they would be injured, weakened. These ones uniforms were in top conditions and so was their appearance.
“Wait,” he told Craig.
Craig’s face went cold. He knew that tone from Duncan. It was not the end, it had just begun.
Amidst the night sounds, even a button could be heard if it dropped. Duncan’s gaze swept the arena, then paused at histent where three men were stationed. Time ticked, painstakingly slowly. Every bone in his body stood on tense alertness.
An arrow whisked past Duncan’s cheek. He hurled to the side, and the sharp-pointed object found its mark on a tree branch. Horses shrieked as Craig and Duncan pulled them around. Arrows clanged against his sword as he pulled the horse forcefully behind a wide-branched tree.
In the shadows, he detected a myriad of shapes, advancing toward them. He made a sign with his left hand, assigning the shooters to do their job. Since the Highlanders were prepared, most of the hits fell on shield. Hundreds of arrows whistled upwards, arching past Duncan to their hidden attackers. Soon, they were cries of pain and arrows splinting as they encountered each other.
In the time it took the English archers to reload, Duncan descended on them, flanked on the left and right by the best of his men. Chaos ensued. Cries of war and pain mixed into a blood-curdling sound. Duncan stayed on the lookout for their leader. Judging by the vicious random attack, a sudden thought flared in Duncan’s mind.
The English commander that died in his arms. His soldiers thought he did it.This had to be revenge. He could think of no other reason. Unlike Campbell, their lands were not under dispute.
“Duncan! Behind you!” Craig’s voice pierced the crowds. Duncan wheeled the horse around, harmoniously swinging his sword.
That was close.He definitely did not plan to die tonight. Revenge or not. One of the men, with red-rimmed eyes and sweaty hair plastered to a wide scalp tugged Duncan down from the horse. He rolled once, warding off his attacker and finding his balance. The horse he’d been riding neighed once and took off into the night.
There was something familiar about this man, the wildness in his eyes. Duncan lacked the time to reminisce. In the series of battles he’d engaged in, he’d encountered several Englishmen. This was no different.
Grace awoke from a terrible nightmare. Her eyes snapped open in a dark tent. The space beside her had long grown cold. She moved to feel her temples and discovered that the binding was gone.
Odd.
Just as she made to leave the mattress, heavy cries filtered to her ears. Sounds of battle pervaded the arena. Grace leapt up, surged toward her bag, where she’d hidden both weapons. She stuck thesgian dubhdown her boot and secured it with the rope she’d been tied with.
Terror flashing through her, she knew this was the perfect moment to leave them, to leave Duncan. After his story last night and the way he’d regressed by tying her up. She knew this was her only way out. No one would be paying attention toher. Duncan had been vulnerable with her, after telling her such a heart-rending story, she had not seen that coming. It made things even worse, her guilt soared. She could not bear being in his presence. She was just like his cousin in that story, a wolf who plotted the perfect plan to harm him.
He would kill her.
She knew he would if he found out the truth. After wavering for days, it was time to move on. Most of all, she could not bear Duncan looking at her differently. If he found out that she was nothing but a liar… it would break her to pieces. She could not bear to be yet another betrayer in his life. She had to run.
Once she left the tent, Grace could not hold back her cry of distress. Everything was in disarray. Men fell, left and right. She peered at the people fighting the Highlanders and smothered a gasp.
They were English soldiers!
She leapt back into the tent, before she was seen, heart thudding. Her brain whirred, in search of a swift solution. She had not seen Duncan and something inside of her craved to see him just once, before she left forever. It was most likely that once she escaped the camp, she would never set eyes on the man again.
Taking deep breaths, Grace ventured out a second time. The hilt of her weapon dug into her palm. Darting behind one tent and another, Grace kept an eye on the fight. From this angle, she could see it, without being detected.
A wave of heat made her jerk up. One of the tents had caught fire and was quickly spreading. Three men, with fire clinging to their clothes, ran toward the lake. Fearing that she’d be seen, Grace moved to the front, and looked to the right.
Her heart dropped to her feet. Duncan was warding off constant attacks from four different soldiers. His defense was growing weaker by the second. Something furious flared in her. Was this the dignity they taught? To advance on one man, without giving him the chance to defend his honor.
She took a step. If she fled to her left, she could leave the camp and go back the way they’d traveled. She knew where Minnie was reined. If she got involved, she would lose her chance.
A fifth man, seeing that Duncan was about to be subdued, attacked him from the left. Grace’s head exploded from the injustice. Sending a quick prayer of forgiveness to her father, her weapon hurtled through the night, finding its mark on the back of the fifth man.
When he fell, Duncan seemed to regain most of his strength and finished off three pressing in on him. Duncan had his back to her, so he did not see who saved him. She just had to reach the fallen soldier, retrieve her dagger and leave.
She ran until she was slammed bodily into a man who was backing away from the fire. Startled, Grace swung around and her eyes went wide.
“Harris?!”
Shock sparked in his face as he grabbed her shoulders, “Grace!”
“Wh-what…”
