Without the advantage they had before, the Sassenach fell quickly beneath the blades of their infuriated opponents. Caught in a trap with nowhere to run, the slaughter was quicker than Conall expected considering the Sassenach were more seasoned warriors. Yet when given a chance to finally take retribution and fulfill their bloodlust, it was amazing what a ragged bunch of Scots could do. Aye, many knew how to fight, but it was clear some had likely joined the rebel’s cause right off their farms.
As he knew they would do, his cousin’s cut down the men protecting Robert in such a way and in such a direction that Robert alone managed to scramble into the bushes and get away. They all knew it had to happen though none were pleased about it. Letting such a powerful enemy go was not easy. Not at all.
Conall fought very few before the vast majority had fallen and he was able to turn his attention to Lindsay. She remained buried under her fur with her knees pulled up to her chest. Though she was very still, he sensed it wasn’t out of fear but determination.
“Lass,” he murmured as he crouched. He pulled the fabric back enough so he could tilt his head and see her face. “All is well.” He smiled. “You did it. You saved us.”
Her wide eyes met his and the corner of her mouth tilted up. “Yeah?”
“Aye.” Despite how strange it felt to do so, he couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you, Lindsay.”
“You’re welcome, Laird Hamilton,” she whispered.
“Nay.” He shook his head, pulled the fur away altogether and cupped her cheek, so damn grateful she was still alive. “’Tis past time you call me Conall, lass.”
Their eyes held, lingered, before she nodded and whispered, “All right then, Conall.”
“I hate to interrupt the moment, lad,” came a strained whisper in his mind. “But...”
“Bloody hell.” He frowned and pulled Lindsay after him. “Grandfather’s hurt.”
By the time he made it back to Grant, he was in rough shape. He picked him up and started for the nearby village, muttering, “What ever happened to Aðísla?”
They needed their Viking ancestor and her ability to heal.
“I dinnae know,” Grant managed, weakened. “Any more than I know what happened to Adlin and Milly.”
Conall nodded and kept moving alongside his cousins as they headed for the village. It was small and far too close to the English border, but with any luck, they would find help. As if his prayers were answered, a large bearded madman with a mass of long curly hair partially covering his face came out of nowhere.
“Och, there ye are,” he boomed as he put a finger to his lips and approached. “I heard a rumor there was fighting about.” He shook his head and winked. “Are ye friend or foe?”
Conall and his cousins frowned.
“We’re friends,” Lindsay called out, a small smile on her face. “You can approach.”
Before Conall could say a word, she smirked at him. “That’s William Wallace.”
He couldn’t help a chuckle as Wallace approached. But of course it was, and well disguised at that.
“Let me have him,” Wallace said as he came alongside. “The village ahead has a good healer and is full of nothing but Scots sympathizers.”
“Many thanks.” Conall nodded and handed Grant off to William. “We will be right behind you.”
“Thank you, William,” Lindsay murmured, a pretty smile on her face as she looked up at him. “You came right in the nick of time.”
He nodded and winked. “I tend to do that.”
Conall frowned and looked between them. What was this?
He had no chance to further analyze it before Wallace spurred his horse and started through the forest. Soon after, Simon Fraser joined him, his hard eyes pleased no doubt because of their success.
“Once we have settled in the village, my cousins and I will help bury the dead,” Conall said softly. “They were brave men, all. We are sorry for your loss.”
“Aye, they were,” Simon agreed, eyeing all of them before he held out his hand to Conall. “Thank ye for yer offer, but as I suspected, yer far too important to risk being out in the woodland after dark. I’ve men that will see they’re properly buried.” His brows rose. “Mayhap just a toast later to those lost, aye?”
“Aye.” Conall clasped his arm, hand to elbow, and nodded. “’Twould be our honor.”
“Though none but I caught it...” Simon kept his grip, his eyes astute. “Ye fought to let Robert de Clifford go.” His jaw clenched. “Ye let a bloody bad man go. Why?”
“To send a message,” Conall said firmly, having expected this. “To let the Sassenach know what we are capable of if they continue forward. If they keep looking for Wallace.”
“Would carnage have not been enough?” Simon said softly, watching him closely. “And what would an arrogant leader the likes of Robert de Clifford say when he returns without his men? Would it not reflect poorly on him to tell the truth? That he was defeated by a band of rebels?”
“Actually,” Conall said. “If I were him, I would see it as the perfect opportunity to boast about how valiantly I fought.”
“They will see him as a coward,” Simon countered. “They will see him as having abandoned his men.”
“They will see him as a survivor caught in the midst of foolish council on his first-in-command’s part,” Conall said. “Because that is how he will tell it. He will use the weather, and foolery to his advantage then he will spin a decorated tale telling how much he learned about us in that short time. He will turn their doubt to awe as he recounts our every move and how such will help the English be better prepared next time.” He perked his eyebrow. “Because did he not see yer men at their verra best? Did he not see them fight with a passion that might verra well bespeak well-trained warriors?”
Simon frowned. “That will make them come at us harder.”
“Aye, mayhap,” Conall conceded. “But ‘twill also make them remain wary.” He considered him as though impressed by how Simon himself must have somehow planned all this. “Ye and yer men proved yerselves today in this forest. Rumor will travel now that ye are spirited beasties that come out of nowhere. Ye blindside warriors without them ever knowing yer coming.” He shook his head. “Ye created something fierce here today. Rumors that ye can manipulate if ye have yer men say the right things this eve in the village.” He winked. “To the barkeep, whores, stablemen, and what not.”
Simon eyed him for a long moment, and though it was clear he was not entirely convinced, he shook Conall’s hand again and finally pulled away. His eyes went to Lindsay. “Are ye well then, lass?”
“I am.” She nodded and offered a soft smile. “It was frightening at first, but I could not be more thankful for the help of you and your men.”
“Our pleasure.” His eyes stayed with hers for a moment before he nodded briskly. “I will see ye in the village.”
She had no chance to respond before he strode away.
They had just continued walking when his grandfather mentally cried out, and his magical distress nearly made Conall double over.
“We have to go, lass,” he managed as he pulled her after him.
“Why?”
“Because.” He clenched his teeth against the pain. “Something is verra, verra wrong.”
Chapter Seventeen
LINDSAY FELT CONALL’S distress down to her bones, so she never said another word. By the time they made it into the village, through the tavern and up to the rooms above, Grant was sleeping but did not appear to be in trouble.
“What happened?” Conall frowned and looked between the young woman who was evidently the healer and Grant. “Is he dying?”
“Goodness, no, he will be just fine. ‘Twas a bit of pain for him but he will heal,” she said softly. “He is verra strong.” Her large, dark eyes remained surprisingly calm even as Graham and Bryce walked in, both dwarfing the small room and covered in blood.
Though Lindsay was as worried about Grant as the rest of them, she found
it hard to look away from the woman. She seemed familiar somehow.
“Take some time with him, then allow him to rest,” the healer murmured before she took a bowl of bloodied water and sidled past them. “I will check in on him later.”
If she wasn't mistaken, the woman's eyes lingered on Bryce.
“Thank ye,” Conall murmured to the healer as he sat beside Grant, his eyes glued to his face. His cousins clasped his shoulders and offered comfort but did not stay long. They knew he needed this time. Lindsay was about to leave as well when Conall whispered, “Nay, lass. Stay. Please.”
So she did.
When Conall spoke again, she was surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “I’ve been verra angry at him since Da left.” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving Grant. “’Twas an awful waste of time, aye?”
Strange how at this moment she remembered all the conversations they had as children. How he had asked her advice often in just this fashion. Not quite directly.
“You needed someone to blame, and he understood that,” she said softly as she rested her hand on his shoulder. “I remember you talking about him when we were children. How you looked up to him but also feared him.”
“Aye,” he whispered, emotion thickening his voice. “’Tis no small thing having Grant Hamilton as yer grandfather.”
“I know.” Lindsay smiled. “You said so many times.” She squeezed his shoulder. “But you also said having him as your grandfather made you want to try harder and be better.” She shook her head. “You knew you would never be as powerful as him, but at least if you learned to use your magic to the best of your ability, and defended those you loved, you would make him proud.”
“I did say that,” he whispered as his eyes turned to hers. “How could you remember all that and not say as much the minute you met him in this century?”
“You never used his name,” she reminded and shrugged. “But then, I imagine all of what we shared back then was controlled by some greater magic. The tree maybe. And that meant everything happening in due time if it was meant to happen at all between us.”
She could have sworn, for a split second, as his eyes lingered on hers, that she saw moisture in his gaze, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“’Twas verra likely controlled by the tree’s magic,” he murmured as his eyes returned to Grant. “And mayhap ours too.”
Lindsay nodded but said nothing to that. He was reconnecting and by the looks of it, finally forgiving Grant for his role in Darach’s disappearance. Something he had no part in but Conall was only now accepting.
They stayed that way for some time, Conall holding Grant’s hand and watching him while Lindsay remained by his side. Eventually, he stood. “He needs his rest.”
She nodded and remained respectfully quiet as he tucked the blankets around his grandfather, whispered, “I love ye, Grandda, and I’m sorry...” in Grant’s ear then pulled away.
As they left, Rona entered, clearly the first to keep watch over Grant.
Things were somewhat jovial in the tavern as men celebrated a battle won yet at the same time said goodbye to those who had fallen. Though they mourned their deaths, they also toasted to their happy journey into the afterlife.
“There ye are,” Bryce said as he met them at the bottom of the stairs with a bundle of clothing, some plaids and a crude bar of soap. “Go bathe out back in the stream then join us for a wee bit of food and good company, aye?”
As usual, Bryce wore his MacLeod tartan, yet he wasn't alone in representing a clan. Graham now wore a plaid boasting the MacLomain colors. How was that possible? Not only the tartans being available but clean at that.
Conall greeted them. “Where did the healer go? I would like to thank her again.”
“I havenae seen her since she provided us with our new clothes.” Bryce shrugged, his eyes a little too curious as he looked around. “But she couldnae have gone that far.”
“If you see her, let her know I was looking for her,” Conall replied before he and Lindsay headed for the door with Graham’s chuckled words following them. “Not even yer lust will keep ye warm out there for long so hurry back!”
As it turned out, Graham wasn’t kidding. Though it was no longer snowing, wind still gusted, and it was pretty damn cold. Conall handed her the bar of soap and offered an apologetic look. “If I could use magic, I would warm the water for you, but I cannae risk it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured as she set aside the soap and began to strip down. “While it wasn’t quite like this, I had plenty of icy showers as a kid.”
He nodded, likely recalling her telling him as much. “Do you remember what I told you then?”
“Yes. You didn’t tell me to visualize someplace warm but picture something that made me angry.” She smiled through chattering teeth as she took a cloth, knelt by the edge of the stream and washed up the best she could. “And I remember how wrong I thought you were, but it turns out you were right.”
“Aye, I know. You told me.” She heard the smile in his voice as he cleaned up beside her. “Anger tends to heat a person up faster than most anything else.”
“Most?” she murmured, knowing full well she should leave it alone but he was nude. And no matter how frigid the weather, Conall was always worth admiring.
“I'm sorry I upset you with the Sassenach warrior yesterday, Lindsay,” he said softly, catching her unaware. “Betwixt Fraser's death, my da going missing and the endless harm I’ve seen done to my countrymen, my hatred of the Sassenach runs deep. And whilst I would certainly try to do otherwise for the sake of our friendship, I cannae guarantee that I wouldnae do the same again if we found ourselves in a similar situation.”
Lindsay tensed, wondering if he might have heard her thoughts about this. Why she grew so upset, to begin with. While tempted to ask, she wasn't ready to hear the answer, so instead, she focused on what he had said and took his viewpoint into consideration. An exceptionally valid one. Even if he had heard her thoughts and knew her reasoning, she respected his honesty.
“It's all right.” She met his eyes. “The truth is I didn't give much thought to your reasoning at the time or your past, and that was unfair. So I’m sorry too.”
He nodded, grateful it seemed that they understood each other, before he urged her to finish up and get dressed. She grinned, curious at their attire. Hers was a simple dress with a plaid to wrap over her shoulders and his, not pants anymore, but a plaid to go with a white tunic and tall, black boots.
“The Hamilton plaid,” she murmured as she eyed him, far more turned on by his appearance than she would admit.
“Aye.” He strapped on his weapons, gathered up their dirty clothes and pulled her after him. “’Tis an odd thing all of our clothing is so readily available. All of our colors.”
“Will people wonder about it?” she asked. “Seeing how nobody wears their plaids in this fashion here?”
He shrugged. “I’m not overly concerned.” Then he winked over his shoulder and said something incredibly un-Conall-like. “Mayhap we’ll start a trend, aye? It might take a century or two but people talk and who knows.” He shook his head as he held the door open for her and grinned. “Anything is possible.”
Everyone had their mugs raised in the air ready to toast, but Simon Fraser asked that they wait a moment as the barkeep slid two mugs Conall and Lindsay’s way.
“Here’s to a sound defeat,” he continued, proud as he looked around, his eyes meeting Wallace’s for a split second before moving on. As it stood, William was a wanted man, so for tonight, he wasn’t William Wallace at all but a traveling Scot simply passing through.
“Here’s to victory!” Simon declared, meeting many eyes as he looked around the room, his next words especially bold. “Here’s to Scotland!”
A fiddle and a pipe started playing as everyone raised their mugs higher in salute, their rumbles of pleasure audible but by no means loud before they drank. These were fighting men and patrons alike who w
ere used to living in quiet corners shrouded in secrecy. Who became submissive and ambiguous until they had their chance to strike.
Lindsay smiled and drank alongside everyone. While many of her Hollywood friends would see these people as even worse off than how they were portrayed in movies, she saw something else. Something she could relate to. Had always related to in with one way or another.
Loss and heartache.
Then strength and perseverance.
She glanced at Conall, thankful that she had met him when she was young. That he, whether he realized it or not, ultimately gave her the strength to move on. To realize all the potential in her.
To finally leave that tree.
“Dance with me, lass,” William declared as he held out his hand to her and grinned.
Though Grant had told her she needed to pursue Wallace now, she would not. Yes, it might ruin fate and destiny, but she was done acting for the sake of a greater good. It just didn’t feel right anymore. She glanced at Conall whose eyes remained firmly on anything but her now. As always, he was willing to let her go. Maybe even ready to push her away.
Or maybe not.
“Thank you, but I’ve another in mind.” She smiled graciously at William before she stood in front of Conall, met his eyes and held out her hand. “Care to dance, Conall?”
The music was lively, at odds with the turbulence in his eyes, before Graham nudged him from one side then Bryce from the other. While it wasn’t the most flattering way for a woman to finally get a man to dance with her, it worked.
At first, his expression was guarded, but as the pipes played and the crowd grew merrier, he seemed to as well. Before she knew it, they were twirling and smiling and laughing. More than that, she was reconnecting with him in a way she never thought she would.
The Conall she had known still existed.
The MacLomain Series: A New Beginning Boxed Set (Books 1-4) Page 49