by B. J. Scott
“Thank you, brother.” Bryce inhaled sharply, then quickly spun around, his sword connecting with that of an English knight approaching from the other direction. No match for his skill and determination, his attacker soon lay facedown in a pool of blood.
Bryce sheathed his blade, picked up a pike, and spoke to Alasdair. “The blackguards who dinna die in the trenches and manage to filter through the small gaps of land face an even bigger challenge with our spearmen and bowmen.”
“The enemy is in a state of chaos. This is the perfect time to press forward.” Alasdair swung his claymore over his head to rally the men. He shouted out a war cry then led them onto the plain, boldly confronting the unorganized English forces as they advanced.
In the confusion of battle, Bryce lost sight of his brother. He prayed the Lord would look after him and continued the fight. The skirmish was fierce, but brief. Despite being outnumbered, the patriots forced the English back.
Atop a black charger, Robert approached at full gallop. “We are victorious. De Valance retreated and fled the field, along with the remainder of his army.” His words were drowned out by the cheers from his men.
“How many warriors did we lose?” Bryce’s stomach clenched with worry as he surveyed the area in search of Alasdair.
“We suffered few casualties compared to the English.” Robert struggled to keep his spirited mount under control. “The men fought with valor and have reason to be proud.”
Relieved to see Alasdair walking toward him, Bryce raced to his side and threw his arms around his brother’s broad shoulders. “I’m glad you’re well and uninjured.”
“And I’m pleased to see your pretty head remains where it belongs.” Alasdair laughed and tousled Bryce’s hair as one would a wee bairn.
“As am I. War is always a terrible waste, but it's a necessary evil." Bryce glanced around at the carnage. He squatted down, then rolled over the body of a felled Scot warrior and stared into lifeless eyes.
“Our casualties were light. The English dinna fare as well.” Alasdair softened his voice.
“Tell that to Brian.” Bryce slowly rose to his feet, brought his sword to his nose, and snapped his heels together in a show of respect for his fallen comrade.
“There is nothing you can do for him. We must be away. Robert will send men to bury the dead and aid the wounded.” Alasdair motioned for Bryce to follow him.
“I come anon. Give me a few minutes.” Bryce watched his brother trot up Loudon Hill before dropping to his knees. He buried his face in his hands and wept for those who’d lost their lives in the battle. Not usually this sentimental, he found his thoughts strayed once again to Fallon. He prayed she was safe and that he’d made the right decision to leave her in Turnberry. But once again an uneasy feeling of trepidation tugged at his gut, and he feared the worst.
He’d felt a strong connection with Fallon since the day they met. But until this moment, he didn’t realize how much he cared about her. Was Alasdair right? Had he let her breach the wall he’d so carefully built round his heart? Despite his effort to keep his distance and remain focused, was he falling in love with her?
Bryce cursed. After what happened to Ashlen, he’d sworn never to love. His heart could not take the pain again and he wasn’t worth of a woman’s adoration and trust.
He slowly rose, and after a final salute to the lost souls who littered the battlefield, he raced up the hill.
“Where is your brother, Alasdair? He dinna return after the battle. Have you seen him?” Concern resonated in John Kennedy’s voice.
“I’m here. Did anyone encounter the MacDougalls?” Bryce crested the hill and strode toward the gathering of men.
“Aye. They attacked the trench near the bog. Many of their clansmen fell. The rest turned tail and ran off.” James Douglas joined the group.
“What of Dungal? Did he escape?” Bryce impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other in anticipation of the response.
“He was seen fleeing on horseback with a wounded man slung across the back end of his horse.”
Bryce slammed his balled fist against the open palm of his other hand. “Damnation, I’d hoped to meet him on the field or at least hear he was dead.”
James patted Bryce on the shoulder. “You still may have your chance to meet him in battle. They made camp five or six miles from here.”
Bryce shook his head and raised his hands in question. “What makes you think they will return to their camp? If they do, I doubt they’ll remain there for any length of time? My guess is that they would return to Galloway as quickly as possible.”
“They will go to their camp to tend their wounded. With our own to care for, they won’t be expecting us to follow right away,” James replied.
“Then we best make haste. I won’t rest until Dungal is punished for his treachery.” Bryce moved toward the horses, prepared to give chase, but stopped when he saw Robert approaching.
“I want him punished as much as you do. Mayhap, more so now than ever before.” Robert spoke with conviction.
“Something is amiss.” Alasdair stepped forward.
“Aye. One of Dungal’s wounded men was captured and taken prisoner. Before he died, he boasted about a hanging that took place a few days ago in Turnberry.” Robert bowed his head.
Feeling as though he’d been gut-kicked and momentarily forgetting respect for his king, Bryce grabbed Robert by the shoulders. “Fallon?” Dear Lord, let her be alive. He swallowed hard. “Tell me who was hanged.”
“Fergus.”
Fallon fidgeted, certain she’d go insane if word of the battle did not reach them soon. She remained tied to the tree, and the man left to guard her would not speak to her, let alone answer her questions or her request to tend to her needs. Attempts to clear her mind of worry proved futile. She feared for Bryce’s safety and prayed he had survived the confrontation unscathed.
The rumble of hooves broke the silence. Fallon craned her neck, uncertain if it was her nemesis or someone coming to save her. She was a healer, her life dedicated to aiding the ill and relieving their suffering. Until today, she had never prayed for a man to die. She made an exception in Dungal’s case.
The guard drew his sword and broadened his stance. He stood between Fallon and the direction from which the sound came. Had she not been so frightened, she might have laughed at the man’s foolish bravado against unknown odds. She had to give him credit. He would die loyal to his leader if the need arose.
The guard lowered his weapon and bolted toward the path leading into the clearing. Several MacDougall men rode past him, many carrying wounded and dismembered victims of the battle.
There was no sign of Dungal or his brother. Dare she hope he had met with his demise? If he was dead, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to her at the hands of his men? Would they let her go, or would they ravage her and later slit her throat?
She bit down on her lower lip in an effort to suppress the growing terror squeezing her chest, and inclined her head when Dungal entered the camp and slid from the saddle.
“Over here! My brother is in need of assistance.” Dungal rounded his horse and lifted Keith’s body from across the rump of his steed.
Several of his clansmen ran to his aid. Together, they carried Keith to a spot beneath a tall oak tree and positioned him on his side. “Fetch the wench, and dinna tarry,” Dungal growled.
The guard cut the ropes binding her to the tree and dragged Fallon to her feet. “Dungal wants you. Dinna give me any trouble.”
Fallon nodded and accompanied the man.
Dungal squatted and focused his attention on his brother.
“Dinna die on me. I’ll not allow it.” Dungal tore open Keith’s bloody tunic to reveal a jagged chest wound with a metal tip protruding from it. The arrow had entered through his back, but had not gone all the way through.
Fallon gasped at the sight. She’d tended many wounded men in her days with Clan Scott, but her gut told her Keith’
s injuries were grave, and if he died, she’d be blamed.
“Don’t stand there staring at him. You’re supposed to be a healer. Do something to assist.” Dungal leaned close to Keith’s ear. “Hold on, brother.”
Keith moaned, but did not wake when Fallon knelt beside him and peeled back his shirt. “If I am to assess the full extent of his injuries, I’ll need something to cut away the fabric.” She held out her hand, waiting for Dungal to respond. She wanted to ask about the outcome of the battle, about Bryce, but she didn’t dare.
Dungal took a moment to ponder her request then pulled his dirk from its sheath. “If you do anything foolish, or my brother dies, you willna live long enough to tell about it.” He gently stroked his brother’s cheek, but his eyes remained fixed on Fallon’s every move.
She turned the dagger over in her hand. It would be so easy to lunge forward and kill Dungal, but it wasn’t in her to take a life, even to save her own.
The concern Dungal showed for his brother took her by surprise. The last thing she’d expected was compassion and even a small showing of affection. She honestly believed him to have a heart of stone. His brother’s injury had obviously unnerved him, which, she concluded, made him more dangerous than before.
Fallon sliced open the fabric. “We must extract the arrow and seal the wound. Have you any whiskey?” She carefully removed what was left of Keith’s tunic and tossed it aside.
“Bring me the jug from my chest and anything else the lass requests.” Dungal issued his orders to one of his men and returned his attention to his brother when he began to thrash and cry out. He placed his hands on Keith’s shoulders, but he was no match for a mountain of a man made delirious with pain.
“You must keep him quiet.” Fallon examined the spot where the arrow entered Keith’s back then reassessed the exit wound on his chest.
“Can you help him?” Dungal’s voice cracked with emotion when he spoke.
“The steel tip pierced the skin of his chest, but the arrow head has not gone all the way through. To try and draw it out the way it entered would do more damage and kill him. Before we can remove the arrow, you will need to snap off the feathers about an inch up the shaft.”
Dungal’s face blanched. “Then what do you propose to do? I dinna see how that would make a difference. The arrow will still be lodged in his body.”
“Once the end is cleared, I’ll require two strong men to assist me. One on either side of him to thrust him back against the tree. The metal tip will be forced the rest of the way through his flesh when the shaft strikes the trunk and the arrow can then be pulled out.” Fallon swept a strand of hair from her sweat-dampened brow. “It is the only way.” She glanced up at another man. “Take two daggers and heat them in the coals. The wound will need to be sealed.”
“You heard her. Heat the blades and be quick about it,” Dungal shouted at the man as he trotted off, nearly colliding with the one sent to retrieve the whiskey. He looked at Fallon. “You’ve done this before?”
“Aye.” Fallon opened the flagon. “I’ll need the two of you to hold him steady while I clean the wounds.”
Dungal positioned his brother according to Fallon’s instructions then snatched the spirits from her hand and took a drink before handing it back to her. He placed his hands on Keith’s shoulder and ordered his friend to do the same.
Keith bucked and shouted in agony when Fallon poured the liquid over his chest. He’d been the only person to show her any kindness since her abduction and she hated to cause him additional pain, but the cleansing was necessary.
“One of you must restrain him while the other breaks off the feather end of the arrow. Do it quickly, he has already lost a lot of blood.”
Dungal pulled Keith to a sitting position, then reached behind his brother, grasped the arrow, and snapped off the end. He nodded to the man assisting him. “When I count to three, shove him against the tree with all the force you can muster.”
The man nodded and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
With one on either side, the two men pushed in unison, the shaft striking the trunk, and freeing the tip. “Easy, brother,” Dungal cautioned when Keith struck out wildly in response to the sudden pain. But in his weakened state, the blow was ineffective.
The heated daggers arrived and Fallon prepared to seal the torn flesh. “Hold him securely. This will hurt.” She wasted no time completing the task. Bile rose in her throat. The familiar odor of seared flesh and hair assaulted her senses, bringing memories of Bryce’s recent near-death encounter to the forefront of her mind.
“I’m finished. It is now up to the Almighty if he lives or dies.” Fallon wiped her hands on her skirt.
“Pray he survives.” Dungal laid his brother on a pallet of leaves and covered him with a woolen plaid. He faced Fallon. “There are others who need tending. See to them at once.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. As she rose to do his bidding, Dungal grabbed her wrist. He glanced around the group of bystanders and motioned to the man who had guarded her during the battle. “Dinna let her out of your sight. If she does anything you consider questionable, kill her.”
By the time the heat of the afternoon gave way to the cooler evening breeze, she had treated the wounds of at least thirty men. Some would survive, but the fate of others remained uncertain. The guard followed as she made her way to a tree at the edge of the clearing and slid to the ground, resting her back on the trunk. Exhausted, she blew out a ragged sigh.
“You did a fine job, lass. Would you like something to eat and drink?” The guard spoke with a tone of admiration rather than distain.
Fallon shook her head. “Nay, I am too tired to eat.” She closed her eyes, reveling in the moment of peace and silence. But her respite was short-lived when Dungal’s cousin rode into the camp shouting.
Dungal sprang to his feet. “I’m pleased to see you survived. I heard you were taken prisoner.”
His cousin leapt from his horse. “I was captured but during the post-battle confusion, I managed to escape. Not before overhearing a discussion between some of the Bruce’s men. There is reason to believe he is planning to search the area for traitors and survivors. Those found alive will be shown no quarter. Best we prepare to move out as soon as possible.”
“We made sure the camp was not too close to Loudon Hill. Does the Bruce lead the search?” Dungal glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “The wounded are too weak to travel. We have no option but to remain here, at least until the morrow.”
“Nay. I heard Bryce Fraser and his brother will lead one party of warriors and John Kennedy another,” the man replied. “Fraser in particular was very interested in your location.”
Fallon’s heart leapt at the messenger’s words. Bryce was alive and so were Alasdair and John.
Dungal cursed then marched toward Fallon, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her to her feet. “So he lives to be a thorn in my side.” Before she could respond, Dungal tore the pendant from her neck, the leather thong snapping under the pressure. He wrapped the talisman in a small scrap of MacDougall plaid and summoned a messenger. “Take this to the Bruce’s camp. Deliver it to Bryce Fraser, no one else.” Dungal wrote a note and put it with the pendant. “Make haste. I want to deter them before they leave the camp.”
Dungal glared at her. “Fraser will know who owns the item and once he reads the message, I’m certain he willna follow us. Not if he values this one’s life as I believe he does.”
Fallon brought her hand to her throat where her pendant once hung and raised her chin. “He’ll come and he will show you the same mercy you did Fergus and my uncle.”
“Mayhap I will offer your life for his.”
“You aren’t thinking of letting her go, are you?” His cousin moved to within an inch of where Fallon stood, ogling her from top to bottom. “You promised to give me a go at her after you’ve had your fill.”
“Once the fool surrenders himself, I will offer them both ov
er to Longshanks to deal with as he sees fit.”
Chapter 16
Bryce stormed toward Robert. “Is the rumor true? We are not going after de Valance and MacDougall? In light of what happened in Turnberry, I canna understand your lack of initiative in pursuing them.” After hearing about Fergus’ execution, his concern for Fallon mounted. While there had been nothing said to indicate she was in danger, he still felt it in his gut.
Robert dismissed the man he was speaking to with a curt nod then faced Bryce. “We won the battle today, but not the war. My decisions have nothing to do with complacency. Each move we make must be carefully planned, or we risk losing the ground already gained. This victory is a huge step on the way to securing Scotland. We canna ignore the entire picture in order to appease personal grudges.” Robert placed his hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “I understand the desire for revenge and your frustration. Seeing Dungal hang would give me great pleasure. But at what expense?”
“Dungal sided with de Valance against his fellow Scotsmen at Methven, Dahl Righ, and again today. He boasts about his affiliation with Longshanks, flaunts his self-appointed authority, persecuting innocent women and children. He hanged Fallon’s uncle and now Fergus. If that’s not enough, he handed your brothers over to be executed after the ambush at Loch Ryan, for god’s sake! What more reason can I give?” Bryce was quickly losing his patience, the unsavory churn of dread building in his stomach. With the hatred he harbored for Dungal threatening to consume him, he took a step back and tried to catch his breath.
“Robert is right. Rather than rushing off without a solid plan, taking the time to regroup makes more sense.” Alasdair joined them with James Douglas in tow. “The enemy suffered heavy casualties and will need to tend to their wounded. We can use a day to care for our own injured and to prepare for our next confrontation.”
“Do you always listen in on other people’s conversations?” Bryce snapped.