“Listen, all of you,” he said breathlessly. “The McElwees are coming, and I need you to pack up and go to the caves with the other women and children. Agnes, have you been putting provisions and clothes away?”
Agnes nodded. “As you instructed us to, Adam. I will go and get the horses.”
Adam bent down to pick up Mara, who was clinging to his legs.
“Hello Princess,” he smiled. “I am going away for a little while. Be good for Emmy and Nanny, hmmm?”
She nodded then jumped down and ran after Agnes.
The minute she was gone Adam folded his arms around Emilia and kissed her hungrily, pressing his lips against hers hard and passionately. “You must go too,” he said huskily. “I could not stand it if anything happened to you, Emmy. I would kill anyone who tried to harm you.”
She cupped her hands around his face. “Keep yourself safe,” she whispered. “And whatever happens, never forget that I love you, and that you make me very happy. I want you to come back so that we can marry and you can give me your baby.”
He shook his head and smiled at her, finding it almost impossible to speak. His throat was thick with tears.
“Go safely into the woods, my love,” he whispered at last. “And come back unharmed, for I cannot live without you.”
Emilia took off the silver crucifix that she always wore around her neck and kissed it, then passed it over his head. “My father gave me this,” she told him. “And now I am giving it to you.”
“I wish I had something to give you,” he said sadly.
“Just come back to me, you beautiful man.” She kissed him tenderly on the lips then ran into the stables, not looking back. A moment later they were riding away towards Inverinch Braes, hopefully to safety.
Riding down into Inverinch, Adam’s heart was in his mouth. The sun was at its zenith, and even though the sky was hazy, he could tell it was noon by the lack of shadows. The village seemed like a ghostly place since everyone was now in the church, in the caves, or getting ready for battle. As he looked around, Adam saw the short figure of Father Gordon intoning the Psalms as they rode past the church. He blessed them as they rode past and then Adam went to meet the leader. It was Neil McElwee. Why was he not surprised?
The two men faced each other, smiling grimly.
“This is becoming a habit, Master McElwee,” Adam said sarcastically. “Are you the new Laird?”
“I wish I was,” he growled. “Then I would flatten you once and for all, you swine. There is as yet no new Laird, so I will be leading the army. You wished to parley?”
“I merely wished to ask for more time,” Adam said blithely. “A laird and a gentleman would give it to me.”
Neil threw back his head and laughed heartily. “It is such a pity for you that I am neither of those things, then, Master Cameron,” he replied, then his face grew spiteful and cruel, his eyes shadowed under his brows. “You had all the time you needed and all the time you are going to get.” His voice was a low, menacing growl. “If you are not ready now then it is no concern of mine!” He wheeled his horse around and rode away back to his own army. Adam could see the bright flashes of daylight reflecting from burnished swords and shields. The shimmer of chainmail vests and the snorting and stamping of God knew how many great destriers.
Adam had emptied his castle of all but half a dozen guards to ride with him into battle, but that was still only twenty men. The rest of his army was made up of a ragtag bunch of farmers and tradesmen, most wielding axes, spades, and pitchforks. Adam had never been so terrified, although he would have died rather than show it, but as he looked at his hopelessly under-equipped, undertrained, and outnumbered army, he was assailed by a sudden feeling of calm. He could now do nothing but his best.
The battle cry from both sides was deafening, and Adam could not hear himself shouting because of the cacophony of noise around him. Suddenly the world had gone mad. He found himself next to another swordsman, hacking at him as he was swiping at Adam. He felt a sharp pain in his right arm and looked down to see blood oozing out between the chainmail links which had been driven into his skin. The other knight wore a hateful smile and Adam had a sudden longing to wipe it off his face. He let his sword drop a little and slashed the other man from cheek to cheek with his dagger, before pushing him off his horse, but he had no time to see what happened to him.
Another knight attacked him, but this one engaged him in a ferocious attack, going mostly for his face so that Adam had to unbalance himself by leaning back in the saddle to stay out of his way. However, his enemy was wearing plate mail, and Adam was able to thrust through one of the joints and drive his sword through his stomach and upwards into his heart. He fell immediately with a look of surprise on his face.
In spite of their best efforts, his guards were being beaten back, and his little makeshift band of farmers and tradesmen were being cut down or were fleeing. Adam could not blame them. They had not been trained for warfare, and they all had families to feed.
They had been pushed back so far that Adam was beginning to think of laying down his arms and ordering his men to surrender when all the enemy horsemen wheeled around to face in the opposite direction.
At first Adam was utterly bewildered, then he realized what had happened.
Adam felt a rush of joy and relief as he realized that suddenly they were not alone. He saw the yellow and blue Fleur-De-Lys pennants of the French soldiers as they scythed their way through the McElwee cavalry, cutting a swathe through it. The French had arrived!
The superior French numbers, fresh horses and men, as well as better weapons and leadership, rendered the McElwee army helpless in moments. Their Laird was in prison and there was no one to take his place—not even the strapping and arrogant Neil McElwee could do that. It was a rout, and after a number of his men fell in quick succession, McElwee ordered the rest to lay down their arms.
Adam’s men began to move around the battlefield chaining up the McElwee soldiers and taking them to the dungeon. The Frenchmen had hardly broken a sweat, and now they stood around swapping stories and comparing scratches.
Suddenly Father Gordon was next to Adam as if he had materialized out of nowhere. Adam’s ears were still ringing with the noise of battle and he had not heard him approaching.
The priest patted him on the back. “Well done, Adam,” he said admiringly.
“It was not my victory Father,” Adam replied, smiling but shaking his head. “My men did their best, but mostly it was these French fellows.” He smiled wearily. “I cannot thank them enough. Where is their commander?”
