Page 41 of Married to her Kilted Enemy

Suddenly, he heard Liam calling his name and stopped, looking behind him. Liam came running up to them, sword out, and stopped, his face grim.

“There’s around a hundred men, I reckon, and none of them have any clan insignia, but ’tis Rollo, I’m sure of it,” the captain panted.

Odhrán frowned, puzzled. “He must think us weak if he’s only sent a hundred. He’s nae chance of overrunnin’ the castle with that number. What’s he up tae?”

Liam shrugged. “Maybe there’s more on the way,” he suggested before briefly filling Odhrán in on the deployment of his soldiers.

Shouts and the cries of men sounded in the air. All three of them looked back up at the battlements.

“I must go,” Liam said. Looking keenly at Odhrán, he said, “Tis possible some of the enemy soldiers have penetrated the castle, either by scaling the walls or with help from inside. Ye need tae be on guard incase ye bump intae any on the way.”

“All right. Thanks for the warnin’. I’m just seein’ Maddison safely tae the infirmary tae help Alana with the wounded, and then I’ll be with ye,” Odhrán explained quickly. “Can ye send someone fer me battle gear? I’ll meet ye on the battlements and get ready there. It’ll save time.”

“Aye,” Liam said with a nod. “I’ll see ye in the fight.”

He ran off, and Odhrán gripped Maddison’s hand more tightly as he speeded up. As they were running along, two men wearing no clan insignia at all suddenly appeared in front of them, both wielding swords and the small shields known as targes. A four-inch-long metal spike protruded from the central boss, a formidable weapon it its own right. The soldiers stopped several yards away, staring at them menacingly.

Odhrán was immediately terrified for Maddison’s safety. He cursed himself for not getting a targe from the armory before setting off despite Liam’s warning. As it was, he was armed with only his claymore and dirk, and he knew he would have to work hard to avoid the vicious spikes. Showing no fear, he halted. “Get behind me,” he ordered, pushing her to his rear. She obeyed without question, running a short distance away and taking cover behind a nearby tree trunk. He turned back to face the men, unsheathing both his blades and brandishing them threateningly.

“Come on, ye bastards, I’ve nae time tae waste on the likes of ye,” he growled at them, slipping into a defensive stance and beckoning them on. The bigger, stronger looking one ran at him, his targe held protectively before him, his sword held high, the better to stab downward. The other one, who appeared much younger, held back a little, as if looking for an opening. Odhrán knew he had to deal with the bigger one first, and they clashed with a mighty roar, engaging in a deadly dance, thrusting, shoving, and parrying each other’s blows.

Odhrán expertly ducked and dodged as he fought ferociously, deflecting the enemy’s sword blows with his own, stabbing with his dirk as well as avoiding the man’s determined thrusts with the spiked targe, all the time vigilant, seeking that momentary lapse in concentration that would mean his foe’s death.

But under Odhrán’s superior capabilities, height, and power, the man soon made a fatal error, allowing Odhrán to block his sword blow and knock it aside with his left arm, while at the same time shoving the edge of the targe away with his right elbow, to thrust his dirk into his foe’s exposed belly. As the man went down, Odhrán finished him off with a savage jab to the throat, pulling his claymore free before pivoting adroitly to tackle the second man.

The young soldier tried to put up a fight, but it was useless. His weaknesses soon showed, and Odhrán took advantage of them, sweeping out a long leg to knock the man off balance, making him stumble backwards and loose his weapon. He tried to use the targe to protect himself as he went to pull his dirk from his belt, but Odhrán was too quick. He was on the man in a second, kicking the shield away. The young soldier cried out in agony as Odhrán’s claymore speared him through his chest.

Panting, with a sigh of satisfaction, the victor rested his boot against the man’s body before pulling his blade free. Blood fell like rain as he pulled it back. He felt its warm spatter against his face before he wiped it on the fallen man’s jerkin.

He turned and held out his free hand to Maddison, but instead of running to him, she looked so horrified by the brutality he had just meted out, he thought for a moment that she was going to bolt from him. He realized he must look like a monster to her eyes, drenched in the blood of men he had butchered in front of her eyes. He went to her and took her hand gently in his.

“I’m sorry ye had tae see that, Maddison,” he apologized. “But I love ye so much, the thought of anyone hurtin’ ye makes me blood boil.” She gazed at him for a few seconds, then she nodded and gripped his hand tightly. They started running again.

When they got there, the door of the cottage was standing wide open, and a small knot of soldiers was already waiting in the garden to be seen, either injured themselves or escorting more badly wounded comrades. Groans of pain filled the air.

Odhrán halted by the gate and looked down into Maddison’s eyes. They were full of fear, but there was courage and determination in her face too. He felt a surge of pride at her strength.

“Go inside and stay with Alana. Just do whatever ye can tae help her,” he instructed, inwardly terrified to leave her.

“I will,” she promised. “Odhrán, be very careful, won’t ye? I dinnae want tae think about what might⁠—”

“Wheesht, lassie,” he told her, summoning a smile of bravado. “I told ye, everythin’s gonnae be all right. Now, kiss me, will ye?”

She threw her arms about his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his fervently. Such a kiss before battle he had never experienced. There had never been a woman to worry about him. The novel sensation sent a wave of strength through his body, crystalizing his determination to defeat the attackers and clearing his mind for the onslaught of the field that waited him. If I die today, I’ll die happy remembering that kiss. But I dinnae intend tae die if I can help it.

When they broke apart, his heart clenched to see her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Off ye go,” he said, gesturing to the cottage with his eyes, hiding the murderous energy of battle beginning to flow through him. He did not wish to scare her with his brutality again.

“Promise me ye’ll be careful!” she implored him, letting go of his hand and turning towards the cottage.

“I promise,” he said, blowing her a kiss as she hurried away. She stopped just before she went inside and, regardless of the men watching, blew one back to him.

He turned and headed for the battle, feeling invincible.

When Maddison entered the infirmary, she immediately saw that, even though Alana’s assistant Kate was there helping tend to the wounded men, there was not going to be enough room the handle the steady stream of casualties that were starting to build up.

“What can I do tae help?” she asked Alana, who was busy bandaging a man’s leg. More men were arriving by the minute.

“We need more room, as ye can see,” the healer told her. “Can ye arrange for the injured tae be taken tae the great hall? We can lay them out on the tables then instead of on the floor. It’ll be easier tae treat them and more comfortable for them too. I’ve packed up some supplies and put them over there.” She pointed to several large wicker baskets. “We can come back fer more if necessary.”