“Which will somehow lead to day two of this battle?”
“Aye.” Graham nodded. “How that happens precisely is yet to be seen but ‘twill be one of two ways.”
Her brows rose. “And those are?”
“Either the Sassenach will do as history told and get caught unaware, then disheartened by today’s events and back off,” he said. “If that doesnae happen, I imagine we will have to find a way to make sure he attacks on the morrow regardless.”
“You mean I will need to make sure,” she said softly.
“Och, lass, you arenae in this alone.” He stopped and cupped the sides of her neck, making sure she paid attention as their eyes held. “You might be a fierce warrioress and able to hold your own, but you’ll never be alone.” He shook his head. “Not so long as I’m around. Or any of my kin for that matter.”
“I know,” she replied. “But I still get the feeling I’m stuck right smack dab in the middle of all this and in the end, it’s gonna come down to my actions.” She bit the corner of her lip and shook her head. “Because let’s not forget Robert’s determined to make me his wife and...” an unsettled expression flickered across her face, “and, well, when I get around him I don’t tend to think straight.”
Graham knew as much and was glad that she seemed to as well. That she wasn’t sitting here days later still swooning over the Bruce. While he could champion himself on having done a stellar job keeping her mind preoccupied, he found satisfaction in it for a much better reason. This meant that it was as he thought and dark magic was at work. That her romantic feelings toward Robert the Bruce were not genuine.
Yet like Grant had to be wondering...where did Robert’s wife fit into all this?
How did they make sure that marriage actually happened?
Bryce had gone out scouting earlier and reported back exactly what they had hoped to hear. The Sassenach, as well as the Scots, were ready for battle and in the proper location just over the Scottish border southeast of Robert’s army. Banners were flying, and a great deal of men were amassed.
“I would say the Sassenach have around two thousand horses and thirteen thousand infantry, some clearly from Ireland and Wales,” Bryce said. “Robert’s men total around six thousand I’d say. Far less on horseback.”
“Even so, the odds are better at this battle than they were at Stirling Bridge,” Conall remarked. “Though the men under Wallace and Moray fought well, now we’ve an army led by three seasoned commanders and men with eight years of successful guerrilla warfare behind them. Much of which took place in the north of England.” Pride lit his eyes. “They’re experienced and battle-hardened.”
Graham and Bryce nodded, as pleased as Conall.
“We’re drawing close,” Grant said as they came to an area looking down on where the battle would take place. “We should stay out of this if possible.”
Yet it seemed Fate had another plan.
Christina.
Though they had tried to stay out of sight, the clear day aided them in yet another unexpected way. Robert the Bruce had, against all the odds, locked eyes on Christina despite the distance. When he did, whether to get to her faster or keep the enemy from seeing her, he set history in motion.
“Bloody hell...” Grant murmured, as things went exactly as they should.
Grant had planned on Robert seeing Christina toward the end of the battle where instead he had seen her at the beginning. Either way, things were going precisely the way they were meant to as Robert the Bruce proceeded to make his infamous first move.
He sent a group of his soldiers fleeing into the woodland in such a way that they would be seen. As planned, the Sassenach vanguard, made up of heavy cavalry, charged. As they clashed with the Scots, an English knight, Sir Henry de Bohun, spotted Robert the Bruce. That, as it turned out, was exactly what Robert had hoped for.
With sights set on greatness, de Bohun knew if he killed or captured the Bruce, he would become a chivalric hero. So, spurring his warhorse to the charge, he lowered his lance and boar down on the king. Robert, an experienced warrior, showed no signs of fear, but mounted his horse, known as “Ane palfray, litil, and joly” and met the charge. Dodging the lance, he brought his battle axe down on de Bohun’s helmet, striking him dead.
Elated, the Scots forced the English cavalry to withdraw.
As foretold, two of King Edward’s experienced commanders, Sir Henry Beaumont and Sir Robert Clifford, attempted to outflank the Scots and cut off their escape route...and it nearly worked. At the last moment, however, Thomas Randolph’s schiltrom—a compact body of troops forming a battle array—dashed out of the woods and caught the English cavalry by surprise.
After that, a ferocious melee ensued.
Men died on both sides.
But without archers, the Sassenach cavalry found they were unable to get through the dense thicket of Scots spearmen. They even resorted to throwing their swords and maces at them, until the Scots pushed them back and forced them into flight.
What Graham and his kin had not foreseen was that the battle would spread out more than expected and that they would become part of it. Though they saw men heading their way, there was little time to flee, so they stayed and fought. While he and his cousins would never admit to it, some small part of them had wanted this from the beginning. Blood on their blades as they assisted Robert in such an important battle.
Graham handed Christina the same blade from yesterday. “This time we must protect both Grant and Kenna, lass.”
She nodded. “You got it.”
“Be careful,” he said softly, worried about her despite how well she fought. He imagined he always would be.
“You too,” she replied.
He had just enough time to give Kenna a dagger as well. “Stay close to us, lass.” He gave her a look of reassurance. “We will protect ye.”
“Aye.” She nodded, confident. “Dinnae worry about me.”
As their eyes held, he saw something new in her. An inner peace that had not been there before. What had Sven said to her the previous night? Or had it even been the Viking? Mayhap, like he surmised, she had simply found what she was looking for when she let Graham go. He didn't get the chance to ask her because moments later retreating Sassenach soldiers were everywhere.
Then it was utter chaos.
While many simply flew by them, others engaged and they had their own mini war right there in the woods. It was ferocious and fast and disheartening in ways he never saw coming. Unlike a man going into battle, angry and righteous, these Sassenach warriors were desperate and fleeing for their lives. Such a position made men more vicious than usual and tended to give them extraordinary strength.
Therefore, they put up more of a fight than anticipated.
That in combination with something unexpected turned things for the worst very quickly.
While Christina certainly fought with the same passion and vigour as the day before something was slightly different. More enhanced if possible. Vivacious. Eye-drawing. Something was amplifying her magic. As he crossed swords with two men, he was only able to catch snippets at first.
The golden shine of Christina’s gem.
How it grew brighter as she and Bryce moved closer and battled alongside each other.
How their moves nearly synchronized and became almost more than magical. Powerful. A true force to be reckoned with. By all accounts, it appeared they had ignited the power of the MacLomain, Broun connection.
Disarmed by how well they fought together, how intimate it seemed in some strange way, Graham nearly got run through with a sword but dodged just in time. As he battled another Sassenach, he realized that Christina and Bryce were becoming aware of it as well. That it was throwing them off as they adjusted to fighting even better than they had before.
It wasn’t just throwing them off either but ended up distracting everyone—including him—so much so that a Sassenach managed to get past all of them.
Moments later, he heard Ken
na scream.
Horrified for her, Graham ended the man he had been fighting and raced in her direction, but it was too late.
The enemy pulled her back against him, put a dagger to her neck and shook his head. “Back away rebel or she dies.”
While the blade worried him plenty, the wild look in the man’s eyes and the shakiness of his voice concerned him ever more. The man was terrified and more than unstable as he walked her backwards. Kenna, thankfully, was calmer than anticipated.
She trusted Graham to save her and he would.
In retrospect, it was unfortunate that the last of the enemy fled at that moment and far too much attention turned their way. Between him and his kin and Sven, the frightened man was facing off with far more trouble than he bargained for. Before anyone had a chance to use magic, Grant included, the panicked warrior took immediate action.
He distracted his opponents then ran.
Graham blinked several times, barely processing what had just happened as Kenna fell to her knees. The soldier hadn’t sliced her throat but ran her through with a sword, likely to lose the extra weight before he began his sprint to safety.
A sprint that ended seconds later as Graham whipped his blade into his back then raced to Kenna. He fell to his knees in front of her before she toppled forward. Conall, thinking more clearly than him, moved fast and managed to pull the sword free first so it wouldn’t harm Graham as well.
Though Kenna initially whimpered in pain, she soon quieted as shock set in.
While tempted to scoop her up, rush back to the encampment and find the healer, he knew it was already too late. She had been fatally wounded.
“Och, lass,” he whispered, torn up with grief as he held her head on his lap and stared into her eyes. “I’m so verra sorry.”
“Nay,” she whispered as blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. “Dinnae be. ‘Twas not yer fault.”
But it was.
He had led her to this precise moment.
He had somehow caused this.
This should not have happened.
“Be happy, Graham. Ye deserve it. And when ye see Fraser...” she whispered. Her voice was a weak croak now, and her eyes were beginning to glaze over. “Tell him...that I only wish him peace...that there’s light beyond the darkness...”
“Aye, lass,” he replied, willing to say anything she needed to hear. “I’ll tell him.”
“Aye, then,” she managed, her voice fading as their eyes remained locked. “May we meet again someday, my frien—”
Sadly, that’s all she got out before the life left her eyes and she was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
ALL CHRISTINA COULD do later that day was sit in Robert the Bruce’s tent and hold her head in her hands. What had she allowed to happen?
She had let everyone down.
Most especially Kenna.
A tear slid down her cheek as she recalled the pain on Kenna’s face then the pain in Graham’s eyes as he watched her slip away. Christina wasn’t sure she would ever get either image out of her mind.
It was her fault.
She could have stopped it somehow.
Robert handed her a mug of whisky when he entered, concern in his eyes as he sat beside her and took her hand. “I’m so verra sorry, lass. Sorry that ye were taken prisoner by the Sassenach then even sorrier that yer friend met her end today.” He shook his head. “’Twas not right.”
“No it wasn’t,” she whispered then sighed as her eyes drifted to the whisky though she didn’t bother drinking it. “She was a strong woman in so many ways. She kept my head on straight when we were taken.”
“Aye and for that I will forever be indebted to her,” he said, his voice still soft and respectful.
Christina nodded and managed to pull herself out of her own stupor and be decent. “I’m sorry for the men you lost today too.”
While it was on the tip of her tongue to do so, she refrained from calling him sweetie. Anything that might be considered an endearment. Because whatever spell she had been under before when it came to him no longer seemed to apply.
At least not on her part.
Robert nodded his thanks to her comment. “The bodies are being buried and my men commencing outside will say a final farewell. Kenna will be amongst those mourned.” His eyes stayed with hers as he wiped away yet another silent tear rolling down her cheek. “Would ye care to join me, lass?”
“I would,” she whispered and nodded.
Though there was a certain sense of victory in the encampment as they exited, there was also a somber feeling as friends said goodbye to the fallen. A fire had been built a ways out from the graves, and by the looks of it, all had been buried.
It wasn’t difficult locating Lindsay and the rest. They stood together talking softly.
“I need to go be with my friends for a bit,” she murmured.
“Aye, lass.” He touched her shoulder. “Come find me when yer ready.”
She nodded and headed toward Lindsay and the others only to veer off without knowing where she was going. Soon enough, she realized her instincts were bringing her to Graham. He was crouched at the foot of a mound of dirt with his head hung.
She was still a good twenty feet away when he shook his head without looking up and murmured, “Nay, lass. Dinnae come any closer. I wish to be alone.”
Pained by his rejection but understanding it she stopped but couldn’t seem to walk away. Instead, feeling his pain as if it were hers, she sank to her haunches and stayed that way. She wanted to go to him and say how sorry she was. More than that, she wanted to rewind time and make this all better.
Because she could have.
She should have.
“I’m so sorry, Graham,” she whispered. “I never meant to let you down.”
Though she imagined he likely heard her, he never raised his head and never said a word. How did she help him from here? How did she offer comfort? What could she do?
“Nothing, lass,” Grant said softly as he came alongside and held out his hand. “You’ve been out here long enough. Come join us and let Graham work through his emotions.”
“I don’t want to leave him,” she murmured even as she took Grant’s hand and went with him, glancing back at Graham until she couldn’t see him anymore. “He’s taking this real hard, and he has every right to.” She clenched her jaw and wiped away yet another stray tear. “I let him down, Grant. I let her die.”
“You did no such thing,” Grant said, his voice sharp enough to yank her eyes to his. “You protected her the best you could. You fought hard.” He shook his head and stopped. “’Twas her time, Christina. ‘Twas Kenna’s time and she knew it.”
She frowned. “Why does that almost sound like you mean it literally?”
“Because she spoke at length with Sven this morning apparently,” he said softly. “It seems she dreamt that her death was close.” His eyes were moist as he paused then continued. “She was not afraid but instead had a new sense of hope. Things were going as they should, and her renewed hope was for both Scotland and her people... and most especially her friends, old and new.”
“Why did she only tell Sven about this dream?” She kept frowning and shook her head. “We might have been able to help her somehow... save her.”
“’Tis not for us to question why she told Sven,” he murmured. “All that matters is that she felt comfortable enough to confide in him. More than that, she likely realized he would share with us, and that was precisely what she wanted. To give us a sense of peace when we lost her and mayhap a fresh sense of hope for our country as well.”
Christina released a choppy sigh, so darn sad she couldn’t see straight.
Grant cupped her cheek. “As to letting Graham down, no.” He shook his head, his eyes pained. “He’s just coming to terms with things. Blaming himself when he shouldnae. But he’s not blaming you. Graham would never blame you for anything.”
“How do you know?” she whispered. “I migh
t if I were him.”
“He cares for you too much, lass.” Grant’s eyes stayed with hers. “He loves you, Christina.”
“Love?” She widened her eyes, and shook her head, long past playing any part now. “No, we’re not nearly there. Just good friends is all.”
“Aye, I hope ‘tis true,” Bryce said as he joined them, met her eyes and finally put voice to something she had pushed to the back of her mind. “Because if I’m not mistaken, ‘tis our magic together that helped today’s battle. ‘Twas magic born of a MacLomain, Broun connection.”
“Yet it didn’t save poor Kenna.” Christina kept frowning as she looked from Bryce to Grant, remembering all too well what had happened. How they fought together. While she might not want to ask her next question she had to. “Was it then, Grant? Was what Bryce and I did together part of some greater true love connection?”
“I cannae imagine how when you’re in love with Graham, Christina,” Grant remarked.
“What?” both she and Bryce said at the same time.
“No, I’m not,” Christina denied as Bryce pointed at her gem and spoke.
“It glowed bright golden when we battled together and created unbelievable magic,” he reminded. “There must be a great connection betwixt us for that to have happened.”
“Aye,” came a familiar voice before Adlin appeared through the night with Milly. His expression was uncharacteristically grave as his eyes flickered from Christina to Grant. “And ‘tis a connection that we shouldnae ignore.”
Disgruntled surprise flashed in Grant’s eyes as if he suddenly understood something.
“Mil,” Christina exclaimed before she gave Milly a big hug. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
“Same here.” Milly’s smile seemed strained as she embraced the others. “I wasn’t sure we’d make it.” Her eyes slid to Sven then back. “Though I’d say by the looks of things, Aðísla was right not to tag along.”
“Where is my aunt?” Sven’s eyes narrowed. “Why does she avoid me and our kin?”
Promised to a Highland Laird Page 19