“I am all right,” Aila whispered in protest. “Put me down. It will nae do the men good to see me as feeble.”
“Nay one thinks that, my love,” Lachlan assured her, but he gingerly set her down all the same.
When she swayed on her feet, Sorcha darted to her side, but Lachlan was already there, putting an arm around her to hold her steady. Aila winced, and her face paled with pain, but she made no other noise. Sorcha knew they didn’t have long if Aila was going to remain on her feet for the negotiations.
Eyes locked on the commander, they all waited for him to be done reading. Oliver crossed his arms and sighed, seemingly bored with it all. But Sorcha knew better. She knew he was putting on a show for the Englishmen, trying to prove to them how little they were affected by the battle. Taking her cues from him, Sorcha relaxed her posture and let out a breath of her own. She cantered through the crowd, silently taking inventory of who was injured and who was not. With nearly imperceptible nods of her head, she assured the state of their army, should they need to stand and fight again.
At long last, the commander shook the letters he held, barely avoiding crumpling the parchment into a ball as he thrust it back at Oliver.
“I do not understand. I am not a lawyer. What does all of this mean?”
Smoothing the letters and folding them neatly before tucking them into the pocket of his coat, Oliver looked smugly at the commander. He knew better than any of them that to have any kind of authority in the situation, he had to play his role as Lord to a tee.
“It means,” he drawled, confidence infused in his every word, “that once the Crown is given these papers, along with all the appropriate evidence we have collected, the Baron will be found guilty of treason.”
Gasps, murmurs of confusion and disbelief scattered throughout the English lines. Sorcha watched as seeds of doubtand discord began to take root in the enemy’s armies. She had seen for herself in those short, miserable hours inside the Baron’s estate that the men who fought for him were doing so for one of two reasons: fear or greed. Neither could stand the trials of treason charges. The more Oliver spoke, the more sure he was, the less so the English became.
The air from the men behind her started to shift as well. She could tell that they all understood the implications of what Oliver was claiming. Moments ago, mere moments before, when the cling of swords clashing and the mournful groans of men dying had filled the air, they had all been filled with such doubt—bordering on hopelessness, that they would all perish where they stood. She had seen it in the wild ruthlessness Lachlan fought with. The desperate perseverance of all those who had encountered the English on a battlefield before.
Everyone, the McKenzies and the McGregors, allies from near and far, knew that this wasn’t merely a fight to defend the Kincaid territory. It was a battle against good and evil, right and wrong. It was the doorway, the threshold the Baron stood at, inching his way closer to threatening all of their livelihoods. He wanted to steal their lands, to slaughter their women and children. Sorcha felt quite sure that Dudley wouldn’t be content until the Scots were done away with entirely.
It was the letters Laura had risked her life to deliver and their contents that had changed the tides. It was evidence that the Baron was wrong that was putting out the fire in the redcoat’s fight, leaving nothing but a sizzle and steam as the flame of their hatred was doused. Sorcha could see it on every face she silently walked by. And when her eyes sought the Baron’s, the coward still hiding behind hundreds of men, under the shade of a tree with his best warriors to defend him, she could see that even he knew this would not end well for him.
“I am sure,” Oliver continued, moving from addressing the commander only to speaking to the rest of the English army. “The Baron has told you all you have every right to be here. He has sent you in pursuit of a dangerous man who escaped from prison and a woman who broke a betrothal contract. In normal circumstances, I would have to tell you that the law would agree with your mission here today.”
He paused. The silence was just long enough to have everyone within earshot sitting on the edge of their seats.
“But these letters,” Oliver patted his jacket pocket, “do more than prove your master has betrayed the Crown. They discredit him entirely. You see, as soon as the Crown’s council receives these letters, which I will personally deliver and ensure they are understood, they will not only find him guilty of treason. They will also strip the Baron of all his titles, all his lands, and all his assets. If they are merciful, they will hang him. If they are not, they will throw in the tower to rot. As such, any and all claims Dudley might have against any party here are null and void.”
Hope rose in Sorcha’s chest. She was slowly coming to see the entire point Oliver had been getting at. It took him a matter of minutes to say it plainly.
“Because Dudley has proven himself to be incapable of following the law, he cannot be considered a worthy upholder of the law. So his rulings of injustice against Laird Lachlan Kincaid are empty, as are any contracts he might have had with Lady Taryn McGregor. His pursuit of them, his claims of their crimes, are built on lies. He has no right to be here, and neither do any of you.”
A handful of the men behind her let out their cheers of agreement. Their fists punched the air, letting the English know just how unwanted their presence here was.
“Now,” Oliver continued, throwing a hand of his own to quiet the Scottish forces. “I am sure you are intelligent enough toknow what this all means for you. One could argue that you are all only here out of duty and loyal obligation to your master.”
Having found his stride, Oliver put a hand on the commander’s shoulder, one that was near enough to comfort and friendship that Sorcha almost wondered if Oliver knew the man. She crept closer, keeping her guard up. The rest of their forces might be caught up in the tale Oliver was weaving, but with Lachlan focused purely on his wife, and Taryn and James on the other corner of the field, she was the only one close enough to help defend Oliver should the need arise.
Underneath all of his convincing speeches and the shifting atmosphere of both sides, there was still a thrum of distrust, of hatred that wouldn’t vanish simply because of a few well-spoken words. Even the contents of the letters weren’t enough to quell their fury entirely.
Dudley’s sneer from the shadows proved that. With a flick of his hand, he waved two men forward, their horses clopping across the red smeared battlefield and towards Oliver. Sorcha’s hand readjusted its grip on her sword as her eyes sought Taryn’s. With a pointed gaze, Sorcha directed Taryn’s attention to the coming guard, relieved when her friend notched another arrow while still holding the bow by her leg in feign casualty.
“However,” Oliver said, his eyes locked on the Baron and the approaching warriors as well. “It would just as easily be argued that you all now know the contents of these letters and the extent of the Baron’s crimes. I would have no shortage of witnesses to prove such a thing.”
He gestured to the courtyard full of eyes and ears.
“So, now that you have been made aware of such things, and as loyal subjects of the crown, I am sure that none of you will wish to continue in these baseless attacks here. Not unless you wish to be considered complicit in the Baron’s crimes and tried for treason right alongside him. I must warn you, they do notreserve the more comfortable cells in the tower for commanders and soldiers. Those only go to the former nobility.”
The guard looked from Oliver to the Baron and back to Oliver again, eyeing where Oliver had dared to put his hand on the man’s shoulder. She could nearly hear the commander think everything Oliver had said over, weighing his options. She stopped her sly patrol through the crowd, landing beside his horse. It was as close as she dared to get, not wanting to break the spell Oliver had them all under.
“How am I supposed to know that any of this will happen?” the Englishman asked. “You could be bluffing. The letters are real enough, I will grant you that. But what makes you so sure that the Crown would come after any of us. As you say, we are mere soldiers, following orders. We were commanded to fight, to come here and march on this castle. Should we pick up our swords again, I would argue that we were simply doing the work we have been hired and ordered to do. Is that not what loyal subjects do? What makes you so sure that the Crown council would even bother to look our way?”
The man’s questions sent tension rising through the air again. Metal clinked as each man shifted their weight, readying themselves to fight. Sorcha held her breath. But Oliver let out a laugh, dry and humorless but no less shocking.
“You are a smart man,” Oliver nodded, still chuckling as he spoke, “I will give you that. You ask all the same questions I might have asked should I have found myself in your shoes.”
In a split second, all mirth from Oliver’s face vanished. In its place was the same cool detachment he had worn when she had first met him. He was every inch the proud nobleman, speaking with authority few others on the field could have ever summoned. The hard planes of his face made his penetrating stare that much colder. He looked terrifying, every inch of his six plus foot frame rising as his broad shoulders widened that muchfurther. With every passing heartbeat, the commanding officer shrunk.
