Tears streamed down faces already tight with strain but mostly there were nods of assent. Ragnic asked, “Where will we go?”
“Far North.” Dagmar said, “The Romans will spend much time building this south side of the lands. They will advance, yes, but by then we will have had time to birth our children, and build a place we can defend.”
Breslin said, “We cannot rebuild hail, or anything like it. They’ll come after it sooner if we do.”
“Agreed,” Dagmar said. “I think we should stay hidden in the high lands, make our homes in the quietest of places, away from the sea. That’s where they will sail in from, and land.”
There was more silence. The sea had always been in their blood and what he was suggesting was strange and frightening. Aila asked, “But what about the fish and the other things we need from the sea to survive?’
“Hunting parties,” Dagmar said. “Or rather fishing parties. We must be able to hide and fight in a land that we know, and we need shelter and food for the winter. Summer has not yet crested up that way so we would still have time to gather and hunt for winter. We can make a few large shelters for now, and stay together in them. We don’t have the time to make many shelters, we need all the time we can spare to make it through winter.”
They all agreed. There was nothing else they could do and Dagmar’s plan had real merit. As the weary people began to prepare for their journey Northward in the morning Aila turned to Dagmar. “You were right.”
“I will never get tired of hearing you say that,” he teased. “But I have to admit that I am at a loss as to what it is that I am right about.”
“All of it, though I must say I will miss the sea more than I will care to.”
“You were always the best of the fishers anyway.”
She laughed. “Do you remember the day I went fishing and got angry because I didn’t know you had already given half a boar to our people’s fire?”
“You were so angry at me,” his fingers brushed the hair away from her face so that his bright blue eyes could look into her gray ones. “And I was so angry at you too. Mostly because you seemed to ignore me when I wanted to romp with you, which was always.”
She laughed. “I have not ignored you that way for a long time. But what I meant was you were right. We can birth our children. Our child. I’m with child again.”
His eyes lit up. “Are you really?”
“Yes, and I feel sure that this time, it is a son. I don’t know why but I feel certain that a son is what this one shall be.”
His hand rested against her cheek. Ceana muttered sleepily from her perch in Aila’s lap and Dagmar asked, “What shall we name him?”
She smiled, “I was thinking Merlin.”
Overhead the sky brightened and a single magnificent hawk rode the wind. Dagmar looked up at the raptor and said, “Yes. Merlin.”
Their eyes and hands met. Their smiles grew. Aila knew that no matter what came next she would face it willingly and gladly, and with Dagmar at her side.
Highlander's Fight
Chapter 1:
The sound was loud and unfamiliar. Aila looked up from the hearth where she the larde red deer had been set to cooking for the evening meal. Her hands, sill holding a large bunch of herbs, stilled and she looked at Dragna with a questioning expression.
Dragna looked equally puzzled but she also looked afraid. Aila stood, her eyes going to Ceana, who was busy stuffing grains into a pot. At five the child was stunningly beautiful. She had her father’s red hair and her mother’s gray eyes, fringed by a thick set of black lashes that gave her a mysterious and wise look, one that seemed far too old for her tender years.
Ceana looked up and asked, “What is it?”
Aila’s throat closed and she said, “I don’t know. Ceana, you and Dragna go to the cave, the one where we put the fresh meat until it’s cured. Now.”
Dragna stood. Her age showed in her slow movements. Dagmar came runnin, his face tight. He said, “The hunters have come back. There’s an entire army marching toward us. They’re miles away, at least five. We have to get the little and old ones to safety. Now.”
Fear exploded into Aila’s being. The wind smelled of sweat and the sound grew louder. There must be a great many headed toward them then. She nodded and said, “Dragna, tell the others. Don’t go to the cave, if they’re many and they’re hungry they’ll find it quickly enough. Go into the woods, deep. Head for the highest of the hills and the hunter camps there.
“There’s a cache of food, but do not light fires. They’ll see and smell the smoke from miles away.”
Dagmar said, “We’ll have to hold them Aila.”
She nodded. She knew what he meant without having to hear him say it. The men coming toward them were bent on murder, and claiming Pictland. The Hail had little chance against so many, and their only hope was to allow some of their number to escape while they fought the invaders. The ones who got away would be the ones who carried on their legacy here in Pictland.
She, Dagmar, and the ones who stayed to fight would, undoubtedly, all die here.
So be it.
Her heart broke as she considered, for one moment, that Ceana would be an orphan and that despite their best efforts the people of the Hail might not be able to flee far enough away to escape the charge of the army headed for them.
She thrust that thought aside. Now was not the time to consider such things. Now was the time to fight.
She took a deep breath. Dagmar gathered the men and weapons. Aila gave the deer, neatly skinned, a regretful glance. It seemed a shame to waste it.
Dagmar gave the orders. Some of the best hunters were to go with the people who were to flee. They’d help to provide for them, and to protect them. The land was wide and deep, and there was plenty of places in its thick forests where they could escape the grasp of the invaders. But they had to get away from Hail first.
Several of the hunters protested. They wanted to stay and fight but Dagmar said, “No. If Hail is to survive our people must survive this day. You must go to help make sure they survive. Those are our children, and they will carry on the blood and tradition of the Hail. You must go, or we all fail.”
The hunters and the others fled, carrying little with them. One hunter took up the deer and several others took small things necessary for their survival. Everyone carried a slim roll of furs to use as shelter and cover.
They were gone in minutes, fading into the high forest soundlessly. Aila asked, “Do you think it will be enough?’
He nodded. “They know how to hide deep in the woods and how to hunt. They’ll be without fire but they can eat the meat raw if they have to, and they will be fine.”
His hand went to her shoulder and lay on it. His face was pensive and slightly ashen. “We’ll fight until the last breath Aila.”
“Damn right we will. That’s my child heading away from here, and so many others that I love as well.”
His lips turned upward at her heated declaration. He said, “They haven’t faced fury until they meet you. If they only knew…”
His jest made her laugh despite the direness of the situation. “If only that army was made up of men who were like you before I made you into a suitable king.”
The joke would have stung many years before but they’d grown accustomed to each other, and they had enough love and understanding for him to take it for what it was. He said, “I love you. I love you more than my life. I wish you’d go too.”
She shook her head. “You know I can’t.”
“I do know.” His shoulder met hers and he dropped a kiss on her mouth. “To whatever lays beyond this, and past that I will love you. And I’ll fight for you.”
She said, “And I the same. But fight for Hail, and for those who’ll carry it on.”
The bleak words brought it home again. They wouldn’t survive this. They’d survived so much but this was impossible to live past. All they could do was fight well, and hope the fight gave those who’d mana
ged to flee the chance to live.
The sound of the marching men grew louder, sending a rush of terror through Aila. She’d known that death was inevitable. Everyone knew that death was inevitable. But to see it, to feel it rumbling along the ground below her feet, made her understand just what death really meant.
Her vision became almost painfully clear. The trees, the sky, the people gathered to distribute weapons and try to consider a plan to hold the army off, they all took on a sharper clarity. A clarity that brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes.
Soon none of them would see the sky again. The beautiful trees sat at the base of the hill, the slow-moving streams with their clear waters and fat fish, the green grass and the soft purple and dark-green brush.
Gone.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
Dagmar said, “We need a plan. I need you, the best with the bows, to go to the trees. Climb higher than their arrows can fly. Rain down as many arrows as you can on them from above, quickly, before they can defend themselves.
“Those of us with swords will fight on the ground. It’s too late to dig traps so we’ll try to draw them into the forest. We’ll try to trap them into the trees where they don’t have as much room to fight back, and do what we can to stall them. Fight hard, fight for Pictland, and those of our blood who will be here after we are gone.”
There were a few nods of assent. No cheering or cries. Those with bows gathered as many arrows as they could head and scurried up high into the trees. Aila whispered, “What if they cut down the trees?”
Dagmar said, “Not if. When. They’ll fight all the way down I imagine.”
There was nothing else to say. Aila took a long breath and took up her sword. She said, “I can try to call down the wind.”
He asked, “Will it tire you?”
She said, “I don’t know but if we can confuse and scare them while the bows shoot arrows at them we might have a better chance.”
He took her into his arms and held her tightly. She could feel the furious beat of his heart against her breast. “Do what you can Aila. It’s all any of us can do.”
She took a deep breath. Some of the men were busy dipping their swords into poison, the poison they used to keep dangerous vermin at bay. She dipped her sword and a few knives as well. It might now work on their enemies but anything that might help was a good thing.
More men lit fires, hoping the smoke would screen the ones who’d left for a few hours, and give them a better chance. Aila took a handful of dried meat and herbs from a woman passing it out and chewed slowly, her eyes on the hills.
The army had come into sight a few minutes before and dread made her mouth dry and her pulse race.
So many!
They came on. The sun beat down on their shields and swords. Bright flashes of light spun back toward the sky and she bit her lips as she took her place beside Dagmar.
The day was bright and warm. The feel of the sun on her shoulders made her happy. She didn’t want to lose that, or any of those who stood with her. She wanted to stand in the sun and feel safe and warm, not cold and afraid.
Anger boiled into her. How dare they come to try to take the land that wasn’t theirs and do it with such force?
The anger grew almost out-of-control. The army marched toward them. They were less than half-a-mile from them now. Her body tensed and she forced her muscles to relax and loosen. She began to hum and beside her Dagmar did the same. Soon they were singing, their voices raised as death marched toward them in the form of the Roman soldiers.
Aila sent one of the hunters into the trees to tell the ones up there what she was about to do, and to wait to fire so their arrows weren’t lost in the wind she hoped to summon. When he came back down and nodded the soldiers had halved the distance between them and the Picts standing, waiting.
She took a deep breath.
Could she do this?
It was hard to say.
She had to try.
She let that rage, and her fear take shape. Her body quivered with it. Her hands floated at her waist, palm down and she felt the power of the earth gathering in her hands. She lifted them up and then she held them to the sky, gathering more and more of the world’s magic and her own high emotion.
She could make it rain and keep people warm. Could she use her power to keep them safe too?
Lightning crackled down and struck the ground, charring it. Trees fell in the path of the soldiers. They paused, their faces showing confusion and fear. There were no clouds and no reason for the lightning that they could see.
Aila hurled the lightning again. It sped along the sky and struck in the middle of the soldiers. She smiled grimly when several screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in agony. She and many of her people would die here, but they would die remembered, and feared.
The wind howled out of the sky, whipping the soldiers viciously and behind it came freezing cold that saw many of them dropping their swords. The power flashed and pulsed and she knew it would ebb and soon. She had to do whatever she could to cut their numbers even further. Scores of them had fallen to the lightning and the cold but some were already recovering and those who’d broken and run were being slaughtered by some of their own.
She let the anger rise up again. That could be Ceara down on the ground, bleeding and dying under their swords. She brought down torrential rain that soaked just the soldiers.
She saw terror in faces as they tried to back away from the Picts waiting for them. It hit them, the soldiers, that none of the weather was affecting the Picts and it also occurred to them who was causing it.
One, obviously the commander, shouted, “Kill her!”
They charged. Aila used the very last of her power to send ice flaring up at them. They stopped, unable to move as the ice crept over their limbs and rooted them to the ground. It encased their bodies and faces and her heart ached as she heard a few muffled cries come from the ice before it suffocated them.
It was gone. She’d tapped out all her anger and fear. She was calm, and she was also exhausted by the force she had expended. The hunters above rained down their arrows carefully. She watched as more soldiers fell, their blood staining the ground.
They still came toward them though. They were soldiers used to fighting no matter the hardships and those who hadn’t died in her weather castings were grim and determined. Aila hefted her sword and they ducked backward so the hunters could continue to harry the soldiers with arrows from above.
Some broke through the arrows and she lifted her sword higher. It met the flesh of a Roman soldier. All around her was the sound of battle. Steel met steel. Cries of pain and triumph sounded out. Screams and sobs rang in her ears. The hunters could barely distinguish friend from enemy by then but they kept on, sending carefully aimed arrows into the enemy.
Blood sprayed around her. She fought grimly and with everything she had. A large soldier with a heavily scarred face ran at her. Knowing she was no match for him she grabbed a small knife from her belt and threw it. It lodged in his throat and he fell back.
Dagmar fought three soldiers and she ran to him, her feet slipping on the blood-drenched ground. Her breath came in hard gasps as she sent her sword into the side of one of the men and felled him.
Dagmar dispatched another and they both battled the third until he was felled.
But there were more. So many more.
Aila’s strength was flagging. Above the hunters climbed from tree to tree, using the limbs to follow them as they took the soldiers more deeply into the forest. They wanted the battle to help cover the tracks of their loved ones, and while Aila knew that was smart she was worried too. She hoped they’d see nothing but the battle and not the tracks made by Ceana, Dragna and the rest but she wasn’t sure if that would fool them long enough for the others to gain a little extra ground.
These men would fight and hunt them down to the ends of Pictland. She knew it. They weren’t stopping. They wanted what they wanted,
and this ground was what they wanted.
Well they couldn’t have it.
Not without a fight.
Not without leaving plenty of their own blood in the land.
The trees closed around them. More arrows rained down. She knew those above were running low on arrows and soon they’d have to start throwing their spears, which were in even shorter supply. And far less accurate too.
If they had to resort to the spears they risked hitting their own people. It was something they had to risk. Dagmar was fighting again and she was too. Her back hit a tree, hard, and she grunted as sharp splinters sunk deep into her flesh.
Her small knife slashed across the shoulder of the man trying to kill her. The poison hit quickly. He began to scream and writhe, and he wasn’t the only one.
They were holding their own but there were so many more coming at them. She saw the bodies of many she knew and loved lying still and broken on the ground and rage filled her again. Her power had subsided but she could still fight and she did, bringing death to those who tried to take her life.
She occasionally saw Dagmar, his red hair shone like a beacon under the cool shaded canopies of the trees. They headed deeper into the forest, their aching bodies and exhaustion slowly giving out.
The Romans retreated, fleeing out of the trees and back toward hail. Aila leaned against a tree, struggling for breath. Dagmar came to her side. He was covered in blood and sweat and his eyes were filled with both rage and sorrow.
The number of Romans that had died was far higher than number of those from the Hail who’d been lost. Aila said, “We have to hurry! Get as many weapons as you can! They aren’t leaving, just regrouping, and we need to be ready when they come back.”
Dagmar nodded and the others began removing arrows and spears from bodies, all of them so weary that even doing that was a hardship.
Alia said, “We need food and rest.”
Dagmar said, “We need to run. Now, while we have a chance.”
“Running won’t help us.” Irritation flared along her veins. Her daughter, their daughter was out there somewhere in the hills, probably hungry and cold, and she longed to go to her with every fiber of her being. She said, “If we run we might run into our own and bring the death we tried to stop to them.”
Desired By The Cowboy (Love In Collin's Ranch 2) Page 39