Cursing the Scots nobles who still supported King Edward by allowing his forces to occupy their land and castles, Cameron laid his sword upon the bed and drew Aislinn into his arms.
“We’ll have tae stay off the road and skirt along the woods so we can seek cover.”
“I understand,” she murmured, her voice shaking with distress. “The ride will take us longer.”
“Aye. It’s near dawn, so we’ll pray that the marauders are done with their raid and heading home—though I wish tae God I had men enough with me tae find them and cut them all down!”
“Ah, God… Sorcha, Jeanne…”
“No, we canna think the worst.” Cameron pulled Aislinn closer and felt her shivering as if from cold. “Aislinn, I know something distressed you, but we must dress and go quickly—”
“I was praying this night might bring us a babe… and then I thought of Aengus and that he doesn’t care if a child would be yours or his! A fear came to me that he might be near, looking for me—but it’s the English.”
“Aye, and if they’ve not gone home, then mayhap the village is next. You must get dressed, Aislinn—now!”
Cameron had spoken sternly, but every moment they lingered was another drawing them closer to danger. There was only one of him—aye, he could fight off a dozen men, but if there were more?
To his relief, Aislinn went to gather up her clothing and dress, and he did the same. Another few moments and he pulled open the door, his sword drawn, while she held a knife in her hand.
A second one he’d given her, her face pale in the lamplight as they hastened down the stairs and outside into a scene of pure bedlam.
Frightened women and children with what possessions they could carry were fleeing for the nearby woods, some pulling along bleating sheep and goats, while the men had gathered in the center of the village.
Some holding swords and spears while others had grabbed pitchforks and whatever else they could use as weapons, Cameron never feeling more torn as he mounted his snorting horse and pulled Aislinn up behind him.
“Godspeed, Laird!” cried Broden above the clamor, his face pale, too, in the light from the brightening sky. “Another rider just brought word that the marauders themselves were attacked by a large force of men riding south! Most of the English were killed, but we’re ready tae fight if any remnants dare come near!”
“Good man, fight for Scotland!” Cameron veered his horse around, saying over his shoulder to Aislinn, “Hold on tight!”
She did, gripping him around the waist as they rode from the village, Cameron not wanting her in front of him this time for the hard pace they must set.
He had come so close to telling her that they must stay and fight alongside the innkeeper and the others, but Broden’s startling news had changed everything.
A large force riding to the south? If they had thrashed the English marauders, then they had to be supporters of King Robert. And that meant any women seized would have been rescued, unless they had been defiled and left for dead outside their homes—
“Ride, Cameron,ride!”
Aislinn’s voice ragged, desperate, she must have guessed his grim thoughts.
He urged his steed into a hard gallop, no need any longer to skirt the woods as clods of dirt kicked up from the road rained down behind them.
* * *
“No… oh, God, no!” Aislinn had smelled the acrid stench of smoke long before she and Cameron came upon the devastation, the MacLeans’ sod-roofed house and barn reduced to smoldering rubble.
A few trampled chickens lay scattered in the dirt, poor Speckles among them, while the others were gone from the coop, the marauders having taken them.
Aislinn didn’t wait for Cameron to bring his steed to a stop before she slipped from the saddle and stood there in the yard, gazing in horror around her.
She judged from the devastation that Leith and Jeanne’s farm must have been one of the first attacked deep in the night… the fire set hours ago by the English. Yet what had become of the family—no, she couldn’t bear to think of it!
“Aislinn… over there by the barn.”
Cameron had dismounted, too, his sword in hand as he strode toward a motionless body upon the ground while Aislinn ran to catch up with him.
He reached out as if to catch her and prevent her from drawing closer, but she rushed past him and stopped short at the terrible sight of Leith’s mangled remains.
His throat cut. His body trampled into the ground like the chickens, Aislinn feeling certain that she was going to vomit.
