Arran drove his sword into his opponent, pulling it out quickly so the warrior would fall to the ground, and he could move to the next one. They were outnumbered three to one; the warriors would have to cut the others down first in order to survive.
He didn’t even bother to wipe his sword before he was sparring with the next, his eyes scanning all the while for Ainslee. He could not wait any longer. When she had fallen in the dirt, that had been his signal, and they had attacked so McDougal would not kill her.
Now he had to find her and ensure her safety before her brother found her again.
The sound of the battle went on around him. He was pleased to see that there were a great deal more McDougal warriors lying on the ground than his own.
Striking down the next one with barely a chance to breathe, Arran found Malcolm next to him, his own sword stained with blood.
“Brother,” Malcolm replied, breathing heavily.
“Brother,” Arran acknowledged, adjusting his stance. “I need tae find mah wife.”
“I am well aware of that,” Malcolm replied wryly, a hint of a grin on his face. “But as I see it, we are a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
Arran grinned, wondering when his brother had grown into the man he saw before him. “Aye, that we are.”
Malcolm cut down the warrior that charged him, sending the man into the dirt with one swipe of his sword. “I shall keep mah eyes open.”
“Vera good,” Arran replied before moving away, hoping that his brother could keep his wits about him in battle.
Ainslee had proved to Arran time and time again that she could take care of herself, yet he knew that the boulder in his chest would not budge until he could see that she was alive and well.
Arran wielded his sword until his arm grew heavy from the exertion, sweat rolling down his back and causing his tunic to cling to his skin. The sounds started to grow fainter, and he realized that many of the warriors from both sides were either dead or chasing their opponents through the woods. His warriors were winning.
Arran lowered his sword and gazed through the warriors that remained, spying McDougal in a clash with Malcolm. It was clear that the laird had a better skill set with wielding the sword, and his brother was starting to show his inexperience as the laird advanced. Arran jumped over the bodies and pushed his way to the duo, raising his sword to block McDougal’s blow that would have likely killed his brother.
“Nay!” he shouted, pushing the other man with his sword.
“Mcaiwn,” McDougal sneered. “Shall I kill both heirs tae the clan before I assume yer seat?”
Arran swiped his arm across his forehead to rid it of the sweat that beaded there. “Ye will have tae try harder tae do so, ye Scottish bastard.”
“Aye, I will have. ’Tis seems I have more of mah enemies coming back from the dead these days.”
“’Tis only fitting that ye join us then,” Arran said evenly, holding his sword out. “Though I would prefer mah wife stay alive.”
Surprise registered on McDougal’s face before he laughed. “So ye married mah sister, did ye? Did ye know who she was? Did ye know ye married a McDougal?”
“That’s no concern of yers,” Arran growled. “Come fight me instead.”
The glancing blow came out of nowhere, and Arran felt a sting on his arm before he raised his sword to block the warrior that had given him the gash.
“Mcaiwn trash,” the warrior sneered, moving his sword from one palm to the other. “I will kill ye!”
Arran snarled as he blocked another blow meant for his head, pushing the man back with his own advances. The warrior met him blow for blow, blocking the others with ease, and Arran was forced to retreat himself a few times, desperate to find a weakness in the warrior’s movements.
Finally, he spied one, and the warrior stumbled as Arran’s sword found his thigh, roaring in pain and anger as Arran drove forward. He fell to the ground; Arran removed his sword, poising it at his chest.
“Ye bastard!” the warrior panted, his expression telling Arran that he knew his time was up. “Go tae hell.”
“Ye first,” Arran snarled as he ended the warrior’s life, feeling very little remorse about it. As warriors, they all knew what could happen the moment they wielded their sword. Death was sometimes a constant companion, and there had been a great deal of death on this day.
“Arran!”
The voice froze his blood as he whipped around, finding his wife in the arms of the one man he had tried desperately to keep her out of. Ainslee’s frantic expression nearly destroyed him, especially the sword at her throat. Her brother laughed as he saw Arran’s panicked expression, knowing that he had bested him in ways that Arran could never do.
“I see that ye was telling the truth, Mcaiwn,” he stated, tightening his hold on his sister. “Did ye marry her for spite?”
