Highland Rogue

by Dana D'Angelo

  Picking up the targe that he had left leaning on the tree, he gauged his position. More knights rode in, their horses stepping over the dead. All Donnell had to do was to wait for the right opportunity to make his move.

  The corpses littered the ground while confused and riderless horses impeded the movement of the oncoming knights.

  Saying a quick prayer, Donnell made a run for the narrow slope. He was almost there when an arrow sliced through his flesh, and he felt a searing pain at his shoulder. The force of the blow hit him and he lost his balance. Falling to his knees, he gasped at the pain, but he reached for the shaft and broke it off. With effort he pulled his sword from his sheath, and tightly gripped his targe, ready to block any attack with the shield.

  “Well, well,” a nasally voice said. “I suspected that ‘twas you who caused all this havoc. Now ‘twould be my pleasure to finish you off,” then as an afterthought, the man added, “like how I finished your parents.”

  Donnell’s heart jumped at hearing the familiar voice. He stood and faced his opponent.

  “Eadwig Gorbidshire,” he said, spitting on the ground.

  “I just realized that I dinnae know the name of the man who I’m about to annihilate.”

  “Ye dinnae need tae ken my name because ye will have nay use for it in hell.”

  Eadwig let out a humorless laugh. “You Highlanders do like to jest.” His face hardened. “Which is why I’ll relish killing you.”

  “And ye English have too high of an opinion of yourselves.”

  A couple of knights came off their steeds, and stepped forward as if to surround Donnell.

  “Stay back,” the commander growled. “This fool is mine.”

  “The only fool here is standing before me,” Donnell mocked.

  Eadwig bared his teeth as Donnell stepped boldly forward, ignoring the pain at his shoulder.

  Using the element of surprise, Donnell charged at the commander, slashing his sword down at his adversary. His opponent blocked the blow and swung his sword in retaliation. They became locked in the skirmish, their blades clashing together in explosive bursts. Each wallop Donnell received vibrated through his arm and rattled his teeth.

  The knight grazed Donnell on the arm but he barely felt the sting. Almost as a reflex, Donnell brought his sword across, cutting the man across the temple.

  “That’s a mark that ye can take tae your grave,” Donnell said.

  Eadwig paused and touched the wound on his head. He stared at the blood on his fingers as if it was something foreign. “You astonish me, Highlander,” he said finally. “Ye are more skilled than I thought.”

  Donnell made no reply. The commander could easily have his men surround him. But Eadwig wouldn’t call for help since this would diminish his power and authority in the eyes of his men. And he was a man who enjoyed being the object of admiration.

  Their swords continued to lock in combat. He could hear Gorbidshire’s grunts as he tried to overpower him. But Donnell was at his prime, and it was obvious that he was the stronger fighter. And he wasn’t planning to make the same mistake as before.

  Donnell could feel the dampness on his shirt as the blood oozed down his shoulder, although he felt none of the pain. His focus was set squarely on his adversary. All these years he had dreamed of this meeting, and now was the time that he would finally make the knight pay for the suffering that he caused. And likely thousands of people who died under the commander’s hands would rejoice in the afterworld.

  But Donnell’s confidence shattered when the battering continued unabated. He was unable to sustain further attacks, and even as he blocked the strikes, he felt his strength diminishing. Forced to back away, he took ragged gasps as fatigue descend upon him. He had lost too much blood, he realized.

  Like the opportunist he was, Eadwig detected his waning stamina. “Are ye getting tired?” he jeered.

  “Never,” Donnell lied. By now the sweat that had formed on his skin had chilled, and he let out an involuntary shudder.

  A malicious glint shone in Eadwig’s eyes as he stepped forward. He advanced like a man possessed, his strikes became harder, stronger. Meanwhile, his underlings jeered and gave murderous encouragement.

  Donnell tried as best as he could to defend himself, but the knight had the upper hand. Finally, Eadwig knocked the claymore out from Donnell’s hand. As he backed away from his opponent, Donnell stepped on a snow-covered rock and slipped. As he crashed to the ground, he felt an explosion the moment his head hit a jagged piece of rock.

  Eadwig hovered over him, his breath coming out harshly. Donnell lifted his shield as the commander bared his teeth. The man gripped his broadsword over his head, ready to deliver the deathblow. Donnell saw him poised above him but he felt detached, as if he observed someone else being attacked. But even as time slowed to a crawl and death was just a moment away, Donnell didn’t want the bastard’s features to be the last thing he saw before he exited from this world.

  As his surroundings began to blacken, he centered his attention over the man’s shoulder and saw the image of his beautiful Alisha. Her lips were stretched into a loving smile. He had so much to tell her but he couldn’t. Different pictures flashed through his mind as he witnessed every precious moment he had spent with her. He saw her riding at the front of his saddle, her soft body sagged against him in her sleep. He remembered her gentle touch while the sweet sound of her voice echoed in his mind.

  Closing his eyes, he allowed the pleasant memories to wash over him just as he tumbled further into the dark tunnel.

  Farewell, my lass, he cried silently, hoping that she would somehow hear his dying words. Donnell hoped that his sacrifice was enough to save her and her brother. He believed in his heart that his countrymen would fight the enemy to the bitter end. And when King Harold’s army was decimated, his people and his love would finally have the peace and freedom they deserved...

  Chapter 20

  Donnell heard indistinct conversation but it was the droning voice that was loudest and pierced his consciousness.

  As he became more awake, he felt a dull throbbing at the back of his head. He automatically reached to touch the tender spot but frowned when he felt a sharp pain at his shoulder. Suddenly he became aware of the bandages that were wrapped around his head and shoulder.

  He forced his heavy eyelids to open. The last thing he remembered was getting hit by an arrow, and then falling and knocking his head on a rock. He recollected too that Eadwig had poised over him, ready to drop the sword and finish him off. He had tried to lift the targe to shield himself from his opponent, but even that seemed impossible. In the end all he could do was shut his eyes, pray that his death would be quick, and he allow his final thoughts to be about his bonny Alisha. Then as if his wish had been granted, his world started to fade. He felt the sensation of swiftly falling backward, of feeling weightless as he tumbled into a tunnel of complete darkness.

  But the voice Donnell heard earlier continued, and he searched for the source of the noise. A moment later he discovered Father Cormac hovering a short distance away.

  “Am I receiving my last rites?” he wondered out loud.

  The droning abruptly stopped, and the priest lifted his head, stunned. “By all that’s holy, ye are awake,” he said, his voice booming across the space. Men stirred and some turned to stare at him.

  “Where am I?” Donnell asked.

  The interior was dim, but he could hear the distinct murmur of activity from other people.

  “Ye are at Bracken Ridge.” The preacher gestured to the area around him. “In the infirmary tae be exact.”

  Donnell was able to place the faint scent of herbal medicine that wafted through the air. His eyes shifted to a handful of wounded soldiers that slept on nearby pallets. A physician was attending to a man in the corner.

  “How long have I been out?” he asked. His brain still felt as if a thick wave of fog passed through it, and no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t think straig
ht.

  “Three days,” the priest said.

  Three days. He had no recollection of the time that elapsed, and his mind reeled at the revelation.

  Suddenly the surrounding space felt small, and he wanted to get out. He pushed himself from the ground and stood up. But his body wasn’t ready for the sudden change in position and he swayed.

  Father Cormac caught him before Donnell fell to the ground. “Perhaps ye should rest for a little while longer,” the priest suggested, his forehead creased with worry.

  “I’ll be fine.” Donnell straightened his body, and stood still for a moment longer until he found his balance.

  When he came out of the tent a couple minutes later, the morning light blinded him. Then after his eyes adjusted, he observed the crisp winter scene. He frowned when he noticed that things seemed a little strange. Although there was some movement in the campground, it appeared that many of the canvas shelters were gone. He spotted a couple of men from the Company. They came over to where he stood.

  “Ye are back from the dead,” Erik said, slapping him on the back.

  Donnell winced slightly when he felt a small streak of pain shoot to the wound in his shoulder.

  “Blane said that when they arrived, they found that ye had already terminated a number of the Englishmen,” Coinneach said, sounding impressed.

  “I dinnae have much choice in that,” he said.

  Calum let out a laugh. “Nay, I cannae imagine that ye did.”

  “Tell me...?” He started to ask but then he heard a sweet voice call out.

  “Donnell?” the voice said in astonishment. The woman had been stirring a small cauldron that hung over the firepit that was near the infirmary. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the beautiful vision that haunted his dreams, a vision he thought he would never see again.

  “Donnell!” Alisha shouted when she became convinced that she wasn’t seeing a ghost. She dropped the ladle and dashed over to him. Not far off her brother was gathering sticks. At the sound of his sister’s shout, Seamus dropped the bundle and rushed over.

  When Alisha threw her arms around Donnell, his own arms automatically wrapped around her waist. He pulled her tightly against him. It felt good to have her soft body melded to his, and he breathed in her familiar scent.

  She broke away slightly and tilted her chin. Her face was pale, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well for the past few days.

  “We were worried that ye might never wake up.” Alisha swallowed as if the thought of it pained her. She lifted her hand and wiped the corner of her eyes with the tip of her fingers.

  “Thank God ye are alive,” her brother said as soon as he reached them.

  “Aye, thank God.” She grabbed Donnell’s hand and held it over her heart. Then recalling that Seamus stood next to them, she turned to him. “Seamus, will ye inform Blane and Alexander that Donnell has awakened?”

  “All right,” he said and dashed across the field.

  “Father Cormac told me that I’ve been unconscious for three days,” Donnell said. “Has it really been that long?”

  “Aye, it has,” she said, nodding her head.

  He frowned at the confirmation. “Tell me what happened.”

  “We traveled along the mountain ridge and made it as far as we could, but it became too treacherous. Seamus thought we should go back tae the main road.”

  His brows creased as he tried to picture the journey. “Staying on the high pass would have been safer.” It was a dangerous move for them to descend from the mountain. If they were caught by the enemy, no one would have helped them.

  “Of course ye are right.” She gave a helpless shrug, and stared at her fingers, which were splayed over his chest. “We fully intended tae continue on that pathway, but Seamus also saw a large team of warriors coming from the opposite direction. We dinnae think that ‘twas the English that marched toward us. And when they approached, we recognized some of the tartans. I told them about the danger that ye were in.” She curled her hand and clutched at his shirt. “I had tae make certain that they would go and help ye.”

  “Sae ‘tis true that ye have awoken,” Blane said from behind. He headed over with Alexander Rosstone and Seamus on either side of him.

  “It seems that everyone thinks this is a miracle. What else happened while I was knocked into oblivion?”

  Blane grinned. “I knew that Eadwig Gorbidshire would pursue ye after your confrontation. Sae when we arrived at Bracken Ridge, I persuaded the commander tae send reinforcements, and retrieve ye. But ye were the perfect bait for drawing the English closer tae the ambush point.”

  “Aye,” Alexander agreed. “Thanks tae Blane and the MacGregons the rescue was a success.”

  “The MacGregons?” Donnell frowned and stared at his friend. “I thought ye had an ongoing dispute with Rory MacGregon.”

  “The MacGregon and I put our differences aside for the time being,” he said. “And I convinced him tae help me with your rescue. When we were nearing the village, we came across Alisha and her brother. Alisha told us what happened at the narrow pass and pleaded for us tae help ye. Sending a couple of men back tae warn the others at Bracken Ridge, we then made our way tae the mountain. Fortunately, we arrived in time tae rescue ye. We then raced back tae Bracken Ridge, making sure that the enemy followed. They were in a blind rage, and they fell headlong into our trap.” He paused. “But ye were fortunate that we came when we did. Eadwig Gorbidshire seemed hell-bent on killing ye.”

  “I tried tae wipe out as many of those bastards as possible, however ‘twas only Eadwig that I couldnae finish off.” A wave of regret hit Donnell. He had one mission, but that aim would never be realized.

  “Wasnae the enemy commander already eliminated?” Seamus asked.

  “Aye,” the commander said. “He was killed on the battlefield. We have his body tae prove it.”

  “Sae he has perished,” Donnell said slowly as the news sunk in.

  “Nae only he is dead, but we also won the war,” Blane added.

  “Either I dinnae understand ye correctly, but I just heard ye say that we won the war.”

  “Ye heard him correctly,” the commander said.

  Donnell saw a boulder nearby and sat down. So much had happened in a short span of time. And he had missed it all. He shook his head and grimaced as a streak of pain shot through the back of his head and radiated down to his shoulder.

  He lifted his hand to rub gingerly at the tender spots. He wanted to echo everything he heard, but he held himself back since he didn’t want to sound like a bairn. It was shocking enough to learn that the man who he dreamed about cutting down was already slain.

  “A lot has happened in the three days that ye were out,” Blane said.

  “Ye arenae jesting,” Donnell said, blinking. From what he could recall, the English had a large number of knights, and they needed someone to lead them to the ambush point. Unknowingly Donnell had become the ultimate decoy.

  “This was the easiest conflict that we’ve ever fought,” Alexander added. “The combatants were weak with hunger and sickness, and it was simple for us tae eliminate them. When I gave the command for the pipers tae blow, the warriors screamed their war cries, and ran at them in a downhill charge. The English never had a chance. As the first wave of Highlanders smashed into the enemy lines, they were swept away. The English ran for their lives, stumbling and panicking in the snow. And because the pass below Bracken Ridge became choked, it was easy tae cut them down.”

  The commander grimaced, and then continued. “In all actuality I should be reprimanding ye for disobeying my orders, but I’ll thank ye instead for baiting the enemy, and leading them into our clutches. Without ye, we couldnae have ended the bloodshed sae swiftly. I have already informed the Queen about your role in our victory. She’s grateful and wants tae publicly acknowledge ye for your part in the struggle. She also plans tae bestow a gift of land tae ye.”

  “Ye are a hero
and now ye are a landowner as well,” Alisha said.

  She clasped her hands, appearing happy and proud that the Queen acknowledged his heroism. In his wildest dreams he would never had thought that something like this could happen to him. But while he was elated over the recognition, his happiness wasn’t complete without Alisha. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, and he wished that everyone would leave them alone.

  “The Black Targe Company has another assignment,” Blane said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

  “What assignment are ye talking about?” Donnell asked.

  “The King of Ireland has commissioned us tae settle a land dispute between two of his factions. When ye are recovered, we’ll travel there.”

  Until this point, Alisha’s attention had been rapt, but with the talk of the new mission her expression fell.

  “Ye will be going soon,” she said, putting on a brave face although her lips quivered slightly. She started to pull away from him. “I should probably get back tae cooking.”

  “Stay,” Donnell commanded softly. She turned a questioning brow to him. He locked his eyes with hers. “I’m nae going anywhere with the Company.” Then raising his voice so he could be heard by all, he said, “I’ve decided that I’m finished with the mercenary life.”

  “Ye are welcome tae join the Queen’s men,” the commander suggested.

  “Nay, I’m done with fighting,” he said.

  Blane studied him for a long moment. Eadwig Gorbidshire was gone, and Donnell’s quest was complete. They had gotten to know each other well over the past little while, and Donnell saw understanding in his friend’s eyes.

  “Ye must do what ye will. But if ye change your mind, ye ken where tae find me.”

  “And if ye change your mind about joining the Queen’s army, ye ken where tae find me as well,” Alexander said.

  “Of course.” Donnell nodded at Blane and the commander as they started to walk away.

  “Can ye tell me more about the assignment?” Seamus asked, touching Blane’s sleeve.