As she went, she heard Gregory’s voice behind her. “Kelvin, Domnhall, order the men tae make ready for battle immediately,” he commanded.
Isla prayed silently as she passed through the secret doorway into the passage, possibly for the last time.
Please, Lord, let him make the right decision.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ewan skewered the man in front of him with a thrust to the chest, then put his boot on the fellow’s belly and pushed him backwards. The man screamed as he toppled over onto his back, freeing Ewan’s blade, which arched into the air, spraying blood over him and those fighting nearby. In fact, the very air seemed red with blood—he could smell it as he breathed in and tasted its metallic tang on his tongue.
He swung his sword in his right hand expertly, tightening his grip, and flexed his left arm within the stout leather loop on the backside of his shield. In that same hand, he gripped his dirk, its blade protruding beneath the wooden rim of the shield, ready to slash and tear the flesh of his enemies as he rammed them.
He hardly had time to breathe when his next victim came charging at him. Ewan went to meet him, greeting him with a smashing body blow with his shield, which threw the man to the ground, his sword flying from his hand. Without hesitation, Ewan put his boot on the fallen soldier’s chest and stabbed downward into the exposed part of his neck. The man let outof horrible gurgling sound, clutching helplessly at his throat as Ewan pulled his blade free and a scarlet fountain shot into the air, coating them both.
The dying man already forgotten, Ewan stood panting, finding a moment of calm amid the turbulent sea of destruction raging around him, time enough to wipe the blood from his sweating brow with his forearm and get his bearings. He was looking for Allan. And when he found him, he was determined to vanquish him, cut him to pieces, and feed his corpse to the crows.
He was standing thus when he happened to glance over the heads of the fighting men, towards the tree line of the nearby woods, and glimpsed something that made him think he must be seeing things. He shook his head and looked again. No, he was not seeing things, unless it was a ghost. A woman was frantically running along the edge of the battlefield, stopping now and then to look out over the sea of men, as though searching for someone.
Blood dripped into his eyes once more, and he dashed it away impatiently with his wrist, squinting, trying to get a better look at her. There was a glimpse of an emerald-green gown beneath a black cloak. When the sunlight glinted on the long hair flying out behind her, the golden tresses flashing brightly, he realized who it was. His heart stopped beating. He could not breathe. Isla!
What the hell is she daeing out here?! And she’s wearin’ a gown, nae her disguise. Daes she nae realize she’s in grave danger? She could be hurt or killed at any moment! I havetae get tae her, I must protect her at all costs!
Without thinking, he began running towards her, viciously pushing all in his path aside with his shield, wielding his sword in his right hand and cutting a deadly swathe before him in his desperation to reach her. She finally caught sight of him, and he could see her shouting and waving at him as he tried to get to her, but the sound of the battle was deafening.
Frustrated, terrified for her safety, he shook his head and gestured to his ears, trying to tell her he could not make out a thing. He waved her back, signaling that she should withdraw into the woods and keep away from the battle. But before he could tell if she had understood, the enemy engulfed him, Colin, and the other men fighting at their side like a tidal wave. As he clashed ferociously with yet another enemy warrior, he could but hope Isla had heard him.
Time passed in an endless nightmare of clashing metal on metal, severed limbs piling up, the crunching of bones as shields smashed into faces, the screaming of men and horses, exhausted soldiers wading in the blood of their comrades. Ewan and his men fought on valiantly, but after a couple of hours of relentless battling against the enemy, Ewan knew the tide was turning against him and his army.
And he also knew that when Galbraith came out into the field with his men, there would be a rout. Allan would have given orders for his men to hunt down every Ballentine man and kill them as they scattered. But if he was captured, a special death awaited him. Allan would want to make a show of it, so Ewan had decided at the start of all this that he would die honorably with his sword in his hand, preferably sticking it in Allan’s throat.
And now there was Isla to consider. He would likely never see her again. Stricken with sorrow, he cursed as he viciously stabbed an enemy soldier in the belly with his sword and knocked him senseless with his shield, wishing it was Allan, angry at fate for dealing him such a cruel hand in life.
Blaring trumpets suddenly pierced the bloody mist hanging over the battlefield. Ewan barely glanced over at the castle gates, though he knew they were opening, and Galbraith would be riding out at the head of his men, his standard flying high.
This is the end.
Nevertheless, he fought on, leading his brave but dwindling forces with determination, Colin at his side, as Galbraith’s troops began to appear on the field. From now on, it would be slaughter as he and his men were overrun.
’Tis over. All is lost.
He was so intent on fighting on to the end, he did not notice for some minutes that Galbraith’s soldiers were attacking Allan’s men, not his. With a jolt of shock and relief, he realized that Galbraith had changed sides, and he was leading his men in support of his army.
This is because of Isla,she must have succeeded in changin’ her braithers mind!
The tide of the battle shifted completely then. With Galbraith’s reinforcements fighting on his side, Ewan’s remaining forces began to regain their footing, pushing back against Allan’s formidable army. With victory snatched from the jaws of defeat, Ewan fought on with renewed vigor, emboldened by his new ally’s supporting presence on the field and by the knowledge that Isla was somewhere nearby.
Amid the intense clash of steel and cries of war, Ewan pushed his way through the fray, looking for Allan. Suddenly, he glimpsed him, locked in combat with one of Galbraith’s captains. Afraid the clearly skillful warrior would finish Allan before he could kill him himself, Ewan charged towards them, determined to intervene.
But Allan was an experienced fighter too, his muscular body hardened by many a battle, and just as Ewan reached them, the corrupt laird landed a slashing blow to the other man’s upper arm, rendering it almost useless. Allan laughed and raised his sword to finish the captain off, but Ewan threw himself between them, blocking the deadly arc with his own blade and ramming Allan with his shield so that he staggered backwards, giving the wounded man time to get away.
Allan, dripping with gore, quickly bounced back, and he and Ewan circled each other, blades poised to attack. Allan grinned at Ewan and roared, “I’ve been lookin’ fer ye, Ballentine. Ye’ve been hidin’ from me.”
Ewan’s lips curled in derision.
“I was busy, but I smelled yer stink on the wind and came right over tae find ye,” Ewan replied, hawking and spitting on the ground at Allan’s feet.
The man laughed, “Well, now ye’ve found me, ye’d best start sayin’ yer prayers. Neither ye nor yer men are gettin’ off this field alive.”
“Ye must be loosin’ yer wits, old man,” Ewan shouted back at him. “Have ye nae noticed yer ally’s found out what a piece of shit ye are and has turned on ye? ’Tis ye who’s facin’ defeat and death.”
