The English army consisted of thousands of men who owed service to either King Harold or his vassals. It was unlikely many of them wanted to be in the war since the main body of the army was made up of the common man and by mercenaries. At the first sign of trouble they would be the ones to flee.
Hours went by and darkness fell. The inky blackness surrounded them like a comfortable cloak. A handful of men sat by the firepit. Donnell could hear the soft murmur of voices. He could also hear the blood coursing through his veins. This feeling always surged just before he entered a raid.
As the fire slowly dwindled to embers, one by one the men went to their sleeping quarters. He worried that the knights would be fully clad in their armor while they slept. But it was a baseless concern since it would be too uncomfortable for them to rest in their protective gear. Without protection, Donnell and his men would have an easier time in eliminating them.
They permitted some more time to pass before they heard loud snores coming from several areas.
Donnell could see the warrior who protected the provisions. The man leaned his shoulder on one of the carts, his head bent and his arms pressed tightly against his chest in an attempt to keep warm.
Blane jerked his head at the sentinel that was making his rounds. Donnell nodded, knowing that his friend would take care of that particular guard.
A few minutes later when the Englishman lay slumped to the ground, Blane gave the signal for everyone to advance. The small team moved with practiced stealth, progressing steadily toward their assigned targets. Everyone knew his part.
Donnell approached the second guard that leaned next to the cart. His intention was to slit his throat. But when Donnell got closer, he saw that the man wasn’t a knight after all but was someone of lower rank.
The watchman shifted on his feet as if the cold bothered him. Donnell had come up behind the man yet he still was unaware of his presence. Bending his knees slightly, Donnell placed his feet firmly on the ground, putting himself into position. Then reaching out a hand, he tapped him on the shoulder. The man swiveled his head to look behind him. At the same time, Donnell brought back his fist and slammed his knuckles into the other man’s temple. It happened so quickly that the guard made no sound and dropped to the dirt like a sack of stones. Donnell stretched his fingers, and shook out the tension. Studying the slumped figure, he recognized that the Englishman would be out cold for several hours. He found a rope in the cart, and just as a precaution, he tied the man up.
“Get tae the food,” he said in a low, urgent voice. Then expecting that the men would follow, he hastened to the barrels that were filled with water and ale, and tipped the wooden containers, allowing the liquid to gush onto the ground.
There were several dozen caskets of wine, which he knew were reserved for the garrison commanders. Donnell seized the wine and poured it over the sacks of wheat and oats, making sure that the grains were saturated with the alcohol. He almost laughed imagining the expressions of the English commanders. Only the high-ranking officers had the luxury of consuming wine, but all this would burn.
Hitting the flint over the steel, he created sparks enough to catch onto the alcohol-laden grains. Glancing over to his right, he saw that the other men in the group were occupied with igniting similar fires. Everything was going according to his plan. Now was his chance. Donnell started to break away from the cluster, his sights set straight ahead at Eadwig Gorbidshire’s tent.
***
Alisha stood behind a tree, biting her finger nails and watching in horror as chaos consumed the open space. In different pockets of the encampment fires burned. She was supposed to wait at their new camp location, but at the last moment she decided to follow them to the enemy site. Now that she was here, she was frozen with terror.
She could hear the shriek of horses, cattle and sheep as they scattered in the area. The sounds of the alarmed animals brought the knights racing out of their tents. They had little time to don their armor and carried only their broadswords. All the while the sound of metal scraping against metal rang loudly in the night. Arrows were loosened from both sides. She could see that a number of men fought while an equal number tried to put out the fires that consumed the food supplies.
The fire behind them burned brightly, illuminating the battling men. Meanwhile, the smoke curled high into the night sky, and the smell of burning wood mingled with the scent of sweet wine filled the air.
Alisha scanned the area, looking to see if she could spot her brother. She saw him raising his claymore and fighting as if he was an experienced warrior. She was at once in awe and afraid for him. He let out a loud war cry, thrusting his sword at the knight and causing him to fall. Seamus was breathing deeply as if he were trying to catch his breath. Suddenly a sound caught her brother’s attention and he turned to look at the disturbance. When he saw Blane, he shouted a warning. Then in his haste to help the mercenary, an arrow shot out of nowhere and struck Seamus. He yelped and dropped to the ground, lying there among the dead men.
“Seamus!” she cried, his name bursting from her lips before she could stop it. Her heart stopped. Was he dead? But then in the next moment he stirred. She let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. Her heart started beating again, and then it was racing as panic began to flood her body. The highland warriors were caught up in their battles and no one was assisting Seamus. The only thing she could think of was that she had to get to him. She had to help her brother.
Forgetting that she was supposed to be in hiding, and ignoring the danger all around her, she dashed out into the open, skirting the fighting men and scattered animals so she could get to her sibling. Up ahead, she saw Donnell.
“Donnell, help!” she shouted. “Seamus is hurt!”
He stopped in his tracks as her yell reached him, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. His brows lifted slightly when he saw her, but in the next moment his eyes narrowed into slits. A split second later, he swung his gaze to the front, and started to take a couple of steps toward a large structure. But then as if he changed his mind, he pivoted and sprinted toward her brother.
Somewhere in the camp, someone rang an alarm. More knights flooded the area with their swords drawn. Men were fighting everywhere but Seamus was on the ground, clutching his leg and screaming, although his cries became drowned in the sounds of struggle. The cart that was burning collapsed, releasing a streak of flames into the night sky.
“Dinnae die on me,” she yelled as she got to Seamus.
Seamus reached for the shaft that was stuck at the back of his leg, and snapped it off. But the action caused him to arch his body. He howled in pain as fresh blood gushed from the wound.
When Donnell arrived, he said in a curt tone, “Alisha.”
There was no time to reprimand her, but she knew that he was angry that she had followed them to the encampment. He glanced behind him, seeing that many of his men were engaged in battle. The English had been asleep and weren’t prepared to fight. Making a quick decision, he placed his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and let out a loud, shrill whistle. A second later, several whistles answered back from various parts of the camping ground. It was a signal to retreat.
“Can ye stand up, lad?” he demanded.
“Nay,” Seamus said, through clenched teeth. Alisha saw that her brother was trying hard not to cry. “The arrow is stuck in the back of my leg. It hurts like the blazes.”
Donnell glanced over at her. “Help me stand him up,” he commanded.
Positioning themselves on either side of him, they both got Seamus to stand. And when her brother was upright, Donnell placed his knee between her brother’s legs. Then grabbing Seamus, he lifted the youth over his broad shoulder. The jarring motion caused Seamus to let out a sudden yelp but he clamped his mouth shut.
Donnell secured her sibling over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Chapter 13
They carried the wounded to the camp, but they co
uldn’t stay there for too long since it was risky. Instead, they traveled a little farther until they stumbled upon a small cave. Exhausted, they entered the cavern and someone started a fire. The soft glow reflected off the jagged surface, cutting irregular shadows on the walls.
Seamus had gone silent, and he needed medical attention right away. Several of the men were already converged in the protected area, exhaustion and pain etched on their faces. There were a handful of warriors that were severely hurt. No one in the group had a physician’s expertise, but someone had to tend to the injured. Calvin directed some men to help him in attending the wounded, although every one of the men was harried and worn out.
“I have one more for ye,” Donnell said, making his way to the small party. He set Seamus down gently on the ground.
Calvin studied Seamus’s leg where the broken shaft jutted out. “Another arrow wound,” he said, frowning.
“Do ye think he’ll be all right?” Alisha asked. There was worry and distress in her voice.
“He’s a strong lad. I’m certain that he’ll recover,” he said.
She nodded as she considered his words. She started to say something else but she stopped when one of the crippled men on the ground caught her attention.
“Will?” she asked in alarm. She rushed to his side, and grasped his hand. At her touch, Will opened his eyes, his gaze sliding over to her. Pain reflected in his depths and he shut his eyes again. His face was pale, and he appeared weak. An arrow stuck out from his stomach while a large patch of blood soaked through his leine and great kilt.
“I’m nae going tae make it,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Tell — tell my wife Gertie that I — I love her...”
She shifted her regard from the wizened countenance of the old Highlander and then to her brother’s youthful visage. All the while a desperate helplessness entered her pretty face. But then she shook her head, her expression set in denial. She squeezed his hand tighter. “Ye will recover and tell her this yourself,” she said, her voice firm.
Calvin looked away. Even the most inexperienced warrior knew that Will had received a wound that likely pierced a vital organ. There was a danger that more damage would occur if the arrowhead was removed. But if it wasn’t taken out, he would die of blood loss. In either case, he was going to die, and the old man knew it. Seamus’s wound, on the other hand, was not as severe, but he was still at risk.
Donnell’s annoyance at seeing Alisha at the enemy camp disappeared, and he began to feel sorry for her. She really cared for her brother. Right from the beginning she made it known that she wanted to shield Seamus from harm. He didn’t have the heart to remind her that when it came to war, no one was immune to death.
“Can ye give me a hand, Donnell?” Calvin asked.
Donnell went to assist Calvin with another injured man who lay beside Seamus.
“Alisha,” her brother called, his pain-filled voice floating over to his sister. Her body grew still and her worried gaze shot over at Seamus.
“I’ll be back,” she said, placing a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder before she hurried to her brother’s side.
“Shhh, I’m here, Seamus,” she said, reaching to smooth the hair from his forehead.
“It hurts sae much, Alisha,” he said, his voice quavering. He clenched down on his teeth, trying valiantly to stop himself from crying.
Alisha appeared as if she would burst into tears as well. She got up and searched through the sacks that were strapped on tethered horses. A short while later she returned; there was a frustrated expression on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Donnell asked.
“We have nay water tae clean the wounds, and the only herb I could find was tormentil. That herb mostly helps with stomach ailments and toothaches. I have never heard of it being used tae stem bleeding.” She turned to Calvin and compressed her lips into a thin line. “Is there nae anything ye can do for Seamus?”
“I have tae patch up this man first,” he said tiredly, “after that I can see tae your brother.”
“Calvin,” Coinneach said, interrupting him.
“What now?” An irritated edge entered his voice.
“Will is gone.”
“Gone?” Alisha asked in disbelief. She glanced at where Will lay and saw that the excess part of his kilt was drawn over his head. It was then that understanding hit her, and a stricken expression crossed over her features. She raised her face to Donnell, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “But I was speaking tae him a moment ago...” she choked.
“’Tis probably for the best,” he said. “Had he lived longer, his pain would have been prolonged.”
At his words, the tears she held back began to fall.
It was the wrong thing to say, he realized. He clenched his fists, not knowing what else to tell her. Witnessing death and devastation was part of war. Since his family was slain, he had built a wall around his heart. Indeed, as a soldier of fortune he had seen his fair share of devastation, and he tried his best not to get emotionally involved. But seeing Alisha now, he was reminded that he was once vulnerable too. And for someone who wasn’t used to seeing the dark side of conflicts, he knew it would be devastating.
“Let’s move away from here.” Donnell put his arm around her waist, leading her away from the damaged men. He saw another man being covered by his kilt. Before the rosy blush of dawn appeared in the horizon, it was likely that they would lose more men. While they had successfully destroyed much of the enemy’s food rations, the Scotsmen paid a price for it.
“Might Seamus suffer the same fate as...?” she blinked rapidly, unable to say her friend’s name. Her tears had stopped but she didn’t seem in a hurry to leave his embrace.
“Your brother’s injury isnae as serious as the others,” he said. “We just have tae take out the arrowhead, and then treat the area sae infection disnae set in.”
“I shouldnae have let him go on the raid,” Alisha said, sniffing.
“Ye ken ‘twas nae your decision tae make. He joined this mission for a cause, and he told me himself that he means tae fulfill his duty tae our Queen, our people and our bonny land.”
Her face twisted at the painful truth. “Aye, but if Seamus dies...”
“Donnell,” Calvin called, gesturing for him to come over. He and a couple of other men were kneeling beside Seamus.
“Are they going tae take out the arrowhead now?” Alisha asked, her eyes focused on Seamus. She knew that Donnell wanted to spare her from witnessing the surgery, but she would never forgive herself if she wasn’t there to support her younger brother.
When Donnell didn’t answer her right away, she had already guessed the answer to her question. She broke out from his embrace.
“I want tae help,” she said.
He looked as if he was about to refuse her request when he let out a sigh and said, “Fine, but I’m warning ye, it willnae be a pretty sight.”
Alisha swallowed and braced herself for the worst. Whether or not it was a pretty sight, she needed to do all she could to help her brother.
She followed him to where Seamus lay.
“Ye can give him some of this,” Calvin said, handing her a half-filled flask of whisky. He gave her an apologetic look. “It might help dull the pain a little.”
When she gripped the container, the warrior moved away from her and headed toward the fire. Her eyes followed him as he took out his blade and thrust it into the flames, turning it slowly to ensure that the heat touched every inch of the steel.
Frowning, she brought Seamus’s head up and allowed him to sip the drink.
“How much should I give him?” she asked Donnell who was on the other side of her sibling.
“Enough tae get him drunk,” he said. “Trust me, he’ll need it.”
Alisha frowned at Donnell, but she tipped the vessel to Seamus’s lips. She knew that an intoxicated person wasn’t aware of much. Perhaps her brother would have no memory of the surgery.
When
Calvin returned, he was holding the dagger, the tip of the blade red-hot from the fire. And Alisha understood then why Donnell had told her to get her brother drunk.
Calvin let out a weary sigh and inspected the broken arrow shaft that jutted out of the back of Seamus’s thigh. There was a streak of dried blood that ran down the leg.
“Ye may want tae wait at the other side of the cavern,” he suggested.
“Nay,” she shook her head, stroking the top of Seamus’s head just like when he was ill. “I need tae stay here with him.”
“Suit yourself.” He nodded to Donnell and the other man. “Make sure he disnae thrash about,” he said.
Donnell moved to press down heavily on one side while Coinneach held down the other. With concentration etched on his face, Calvin took the sharp edge of the dagger and made an incision in the leg.
Seamus cried out but clenched his teeth as he tried to control himself. Sweat started to form on her forehead and she wiped at it. Remembering her job, she continued to tip the flask to her brother’s lips. Soon he began to sound incomprehensible.
Alisha made comforting noises while she smoothed a hand over his brow, her voice and the rhythmic motion of her hand causing him to become drowsy. But even as she tried to comfort her brother, her eyes were glued to the sight of Calvin removing the arrowhead. When he finally dug out the offending object, he lifted it in the air for Donnell to see. It was a small object yet it was able to cause so much damage.
“We dinnae have a poultice tae cover the gash, but we’ll still need something tae bind his leg,” Calvin said.
He took his blade and cut a long strip from Seamus’s kilt. Then with quick efficiency, he tied the leg. “Now we pray that he disnae get an infection.” The warrior then pushed himself to a standing position, and stumbled wearily away to check on another injured man.
Hours later the fire in the cave still burned, although it had little power to chase away the chill. Most of the men had found a spot to rest, though none of the places they sought seemed very comfortable.
Highland Rogue Page 10