Kenneth fought like a man possessed. His sole focus was ridding himself of these men, getting on the other side of the river, and catching his wife before she sailed away without him.
He was well on his way to joining her. There were only a half-dozen men remaining, not including Felton and young David.
Felton was furious. Kenneth could hear him screaming at his men, ordering them to keep attacking, to take him, to kill him.
Felton must have saved his best men for last. The six came at him at once—as a unit. Kenneth tried to fight them off, but they were pushing him back. He was getting closer and closer to the edge of the river. He picked up a pike from one of the men who’d fallen at his feet, using it to keep the men far enough back. They weren’t attacking, they were pressing. He waited for a hole, but they weren’t giving him one.
Damn it. He swore, knowing he had to think of something fast. It was like a wall of steel coming toward him, and he had nowhere to go. He needed to break their formation. Choosing the second man from the left, he threw the pike at his head with enough force to knock him back. He feigned in the opposite direction, giving the attackers an irresistible opening. One took it. The moment he did, Kenneth reacted. He swung his sword in a deadly arc, cutting the man off at the knee—literally. With a big enough hole to slide through, Kenneth was able to maneuver out of trouble.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of clapping behind him. In the flickering glow of the fire he could make out three familiar forms watching from the opposite side of the riverbank: MacKay, Lamont, and MacLean. The thirty-foot span might be a barrier to most men, but Kenneth knew it would be nothing to stop the Highland Guard. In fact, he’d just caught site of his means of escape a few feet away. One of the men—probably Lamont, who was good with a bow—had shot a rope tied to the end of an arrow over a tree.
“Well done,” he heard MacKay say with a laugh.
Kenneth swore, not seeing the humor. “I could use a little help!” he shouted over his shoulder while trying to fend off the four remaining soldiers.
“You seem to be doing fine on your own.”
Proving MacKay’s point, Kenneth cut down one of the remaining men, who’d been foolish enough to make a move toward him.
There were still three soldiers left, but the one man Kenneth had eyes for was hanging back. “What’s wrong, Felton? You wanted a chance to face me—here it is.”
Felton hesitated, spitting every vile name and slur at him. But his hand was fixed firmly around the Earl of Atholl’s wrist. He’d lost Mary, and Kenneth, too, but losing Atholl would make his shame unbearable. “Come, David,” he said, backing away.
But David surprised them both. “Let go of me!” he shouted, jerking his arm away and scooting back a few feet. The lad looked back and forth between Kenneth and Felton, not looking as if he trusted either of them.
Felton lunged toward him, but that only sent the youth scurrying closer to Kenneth. Cognizant of the opportunity, his Highland Guard brethren had finally decided to intervene, shooting a few arrows toward the remaining soldiers to drive them back. Kenneth glanced at the rope a few feet away. He sure as hell hoped it was strong enough for two.
He held his hand out to David. “Now, lad. It’s time to decide.”
“Nay, David. I command you to stay. You are an English subject.”
David’s eyes narrowed on Felton. “But I’m a Scottish earl.”
He ran toward Kenneth.
Felton raced after him. Kenneth would have liked nothing more than to put a decisive end to his battle with Felton, but with David’s decision he couldn’t take the chance. He had to protect the lad and get him to safety as soon as possible.
He reached for David and grabbed hold of him around the waist. Saying a prayer, he closed the distance to the rope, cut it from the arrow pinned in the ground, dropped his sword to grab the end, and held on tight as he swung David and himself over the wide span of river. As soon as he saw ground beneath his feet he let go. MacKay quickly cut the rope from the tree he’d secured it around.
Kenneth had hit the ground first and rolled to absorb most of the impact, but as soon as he extracted them from the rope, he looked at David. “Are you all right?”
“I th-think so.” But the boy was eyeing the three warriors warily. “Who are they?”
“Friends,” Kenneth answered simply, helping the young earl to his feet. The secret of the Highland Guard was not something which the earl needed to be privy to. He addressed MacKay. “Mary?”
“Safe,” his brother-in-law said. “Probably waiting for us at the boat.”
Kenneth shot him a dark glare. “I might have been faster if you’d made yourself known earlier.”
“And miss all the fun?” MacKay said. “Not a chance. We thought they almost had you there for a while. Six against one, and you backed into a corner.” He shook his head. “It was a bold move to give the one an opening like that.”
“It worked,” Kenneth challenged.
MacKay grinned. “Aye, it did. I’ll have to remember it.”
Not wasting any more time, they mounted their horses and raced toward the coast. They had a ship to catch.
Mary experienced the first pains not long after Sir Adam left. He parted from her reluctantly. Magnus MacKay (cutting her off before she could identify him) informed Sir Adam that they’d been sent by Kenneth to protect her and would see her safely to Scotland. Sir Adam had done enough, he’d said. It would do no good for his part in their escape to become known.
