“Or we’ve been betrayed,” MacGregor finished.
Aye, but by whom?
Magnus didn’t have time to think about it. His only concern was reaching the king and Helen before…
He didn’t let himself finish. But ice was shooting through his veins.
The scene that met them was one of utter pandemonium. Carts were overturned. Men were scattered, some hidden, a few locked in battle, at least a dozen littered across the grassy floor.
He scanned the darkness, not seeing either Helen or the king right away. He hoped to hell they’d both had the good sense to get back. But he knew the king. Robert the Bruce would be leading the charge.
So where is he?
Magnus helped one of his men fight off an attacker before he finally caught sight of Sutherland. “Where are they?” he shouted, not needing to specify who.
Sutherland didn’t get a chance to reply. One of the attackers came out of his blind side with a battle-axe. Sutherland barely had the chance to block it with his targe, and the blow caused him to let down his guard. The attacker lifted the axe high above his head.
Magnus didn’t hesitate. He pulled his dirk from his waist and threw it with all his strength at the man’s upraised arm. It landed with a dull thud, penetrating the mail and causing the attacker to drop his hand and howl in pain. The brigand let out an oath in Gaelic—IrishGaelic. Sutherland took full advantage and stuck his sword deep into the man’s padded but unmailed leg.
From the amount of blood that spurted out, Magnus knew even before the Irishman toppled to the ground that it was a death blow.
“How many?” Magnus asked.
“Only a handful. But they’re skilled.”
He’d noticed. Something to ponder after he helped the other men fight off the remaining attackers. But as the first group of attackers had done, with a whistle the remaining brigands retreated into the forest.
Magnus met MacGregor’s gaze and nodded. MacGregor quickly organized a handful of men to go after them, including Fraser, De la Hay, Sutherland, and Munro.
Magnus was already looking for Bruce and Helen. But the minutes passed, each second in increasing agony.
Where the hell are they?He searched frantically, like a man possessed.
Panic nipped at his heels. He tried to kick it back. They were here. Somewhere in the chaos and misty darkness, they had to be here.
He ordered the torches lit, then searched the bodies that littered the forest floor and anywhere else he could find. But it wasn’t until he saw Sir Neil Campbell staggering through the trees, blood streaming down his face, that ice penetrated his bones. The vaunted knight would never have willingly left the king’s side.
“Where are they?” Magnus asked, dreading the answer.
Sir Neil shook his head dazedly. “I don’t know. God’s bones, I don’t know.”
It all happened so fast, Helen didn’t have time to be scared. One minute she was waiting—praying—for Magnus and the others to return safely, and the next they were under attack.
“Get back!” Bruce shouted to her. “Take them and get back.”
But the king’s command wasn’t necessary. Once the initial moment of shock—when the first brigand had stepped out of the trees and with one swipe of his sword brought down two unfortunate guardsmen—had worn off, Helen had leapt into action. She gathered her two terrified tiring women and the servants who wouldn’t know what to do with a weapon if one were put in their hands, and whispered for them to follow her. She didn’t know where they were going, just that she had to get them out of the way so the warriors could do their job.
A safe refuge was too much to ask for, but the mist and darkness provided some shroud. In the desolate landscape of the Dirrie More, there were few natural hiding places. The patch of pine trees would have to do.
From behind the trees, Helen and the others watched the battle unfold. At first Helen was relieved. She counted only a handful of attackers, while the king had perhaps four times that many at his command.
The surprise of the attack had caught the king’s men unaware, but not unprepared. It took them only seconds to take the weapons that had been readied in hand and begin to repel the attack.
But to her growing horror, she saw the king’s men falling. She lost sight of her brother and Donald, but the king and Sir Neil Campbell had taken a defensive position in front of her and the others.
One of the attackers was pushing toward them, cutting down all the men in his path. Sir Neil moved forward to engage him just as another attacker came into view.
She lost Sir Neil in the hazy darkness, but could still make out the king’s mail-clad form and the steel helm laden with a golden crown as his sword clashed with the brigand’s.
