by Julianne Lee
“Ships! Ships from the west! Ships!”
Knights scrambled from the Great Hall and from the barracks, headed for the stable and their horses. Without thinking, Alex turned to order Lindsay to bring his weapons. “Lin—”
She stood in the doorway, eyebrows up and head tilted as if deeply curious what he would say next.
He blinked, stunned he’d forgotten for a moment she was no longer his squire. And even more stunned that she’d been the first person he’d turned to in this emergency. Then he turned again and shouted for his page. “Gregor!”
“Aye, sir!” The boy was right there at his elbow, his eyes bright with excitement, and he danced on his toes in his eagerness to serve.
“Bring my armor from below. And tell Colin to ready my horse.” More than likely Colin was already in the stable, but Gregor would make sure.
Alex called to the watch. “Who is coming?”
A shout replied, “MacLeod, by the sails!”
The farmer who’d given the alarm, one of the MacConnells, came out of the fog and hurried up the slope to where Alex stood. Alex had seen little of the island population since December, and now the farmer’s excitement was made that much more alarming for his very presence. “My Liege. ‘Tis the MacLeods, and they’ve three hundred men! They thought to come by stealth, and have brought their boats to the west shore where the beach is flat.”
“Did they see you?”
The man shook his head. “Nae. They yet believe themselves to be undiscovered. They follow the burn to the forest.”
“They’re on foot?” The fanner nodded. “What are their arms?”
“Pikes and axes. Some swords.”
“No bows?”
The farmer shook his head.
Good. “Go to the village and raise the alarm there. Have Donnchadh lead to the west as many as will fight, and meet us at the edge of the forest.”
“What have you got planned?”
A bit impatiently, Alex said, “You’ll find out when we get there. Just do what I’ve told you, and quickly.” He whapped the man on the shoulder to get him going.
The farmer nodded. “Aye, sir.” Then he ran to follow the orders.
Alex returned to the Great Hall, running numbers in his head. He had about fifty men at arms, fewer than thirty of them knights. The village men would make a complement to match the number of MacLeods given by the MacConnell farmer, but Alex couldn’t be certain that number was accurate. There was also that he needed to leave a contingent to guard the castle barbican from a rear assault.
In the keep, he found Lindsay calmly instructing Gregor, who had forgotten to bring Alex’s spurs. The boy ran off to obey, and when she turned to Alex as if waiting to receive orders, he suddenly thought of his mother. He blinked, speechless, for a moment. Lindsay wasn’t anything like Mom, but at this moment was exactly what his mother had been to his father: competent, unafraid, and ready to handle whatever needed to be done while he was away and in danger.
“Alex?” Lindsay peered at him, puzzled, and snapped her fingers to catch his attention.
He coughed and returned to himself. “Right. You get on the roof and watch to the south. You know how to mix the Greek fire.” He began to don his chain mail.
She nodded. “Oil, sulfur, pitch. We’ve oil in the kitchen, sulfur in the stores, and the pitch is in use so I’ll have to gather the buckets.”
“Hurry, then. Get a pot of it going now, and if there’s a breach of the barbican give the order to retreat to the keep. Then let them have it. Dump everything you can set on fire onto the steps below. Have Henry get someone to man the catapult.”
“Alex...Molotov cocktails.”
He blinked, and knew what she meant. “Yes. Rags.”
“Jugs from the kitchen.”
“No, archers. Set archers with fire arrows on the barbican wall.”
“Hunters from the village.”
“Right. I’ll send them to you.” Too bad there wasn’t any quicklime to set the water afire, but it was dangerous stuff and he wasn’t yet equipped to store it, let alone use it.
Gregor appeared with the spurs, and Alex strapped them on. His blood sang with anticipation of the fight. He called out, “Henry! Henry!”
Sir Henry came down the steps from the roof, also donning his armor in a hurry. “Aye, sir?”
“You, Orrin, and your squires defend the barbican. Use the hunters I will send you as sharp-shooters and set them up with fire. My wife will relay my orders to you. You’ll obey her as you would me.”
A shadow crossed Henry’s face. “Lady Marilyn?”
An edge came to Alex’s voice. “Aye. As you would me, Henry. Remember that. And keep Orrin under control. I’m counting on you to trust me on this. Don’t let me down.”
The knight glanced at Lindsay. “Aye, sir.”
Alex slipped his coif over his head, shook his head to settle the chains, then turned to Lindsay. “Whatever happens, I love you.”
Her eyes glistened as she looked into his. “You will return.”
“1 can’t guarantee that.” Just tell me you love me. The elf’s red eyes swam before his, and he shook his head to rid himself of the image. No. He’s a liar. An energy beast who will suck the life from you.
She opened her mouth, then hesitated and closed it again. Then she said, “I know you must go. Remember I love you and I’ll be waiting for you.”
Relieved and bolstered at once, he pressed a hand to the back of her neck and kissed her, hard. Then he lifted his shield and sword from the wall and left the Great Hall. As he hurried toward his horse waiting by the stable, he cleared his mind and focused on the job at hand.
The knights of Eilean Aonarach rode from the castle at a gallop, toward their rendezvous with the village men, with Alex at their head.
What was she about to say before she changed her mind and said she loved you?
Alex shook his head to rid himself of the voice. Concentrate. Focus on the real. The elf is a liar. He’s a liar...” Alex shook his head again and took a deep breath as he and his men approached the real enemy.
Gathered at the edge of the forest, the villagers presented a pitiful force and it took no more than a glance to know why. Only the MacConnells had come. The Bretons, long allied with and more often than not related to the MacLeods, had stayed away. Alex muttered a curse as his heart sank, and he immediately assigned the nearest squire to look out to the rear. The hunters he sent to the castle went at a run and carrying a warning. If the Bretons should decide to participate on behalf of the MacLeods, the day could be lost.
Alex then quickly turned his full attention to the threat before him, and as the battle plan formed he realized his runs throughout the island gave him an unanticipated benefit. Intimate knowledge of the lie of the land resided in his head, and he was no longer dependent on the natives for it. The island was now his as much as theirs. He figured he knew how the MacLeods would approach from the west beach. Believing themselves to be undiscovered, they would take the shortest route to the castle and that would mean negotiating the steep, narrow path along the burn that cut through the forest and between two low hills. Without delay he ordered his men forward through the forest, in hopes of catching the invaders before they would reach it. They rode hard in single file along the path, through dim, misty woods choked with moss.
Ahead, as they approached the narrow pass, there was a glimpse of pikes and shadows and Alex’s blood surged as he signaled a stop. The MacLeods were still climbing beside the burn, but would begin topping the summit any second. And they were hurrying so as not to be caught in the pass.
“Dismount and follow me,” Alex ordered quietly as he threw his leg over, and the command was passed along. The knights and squires dismounted, junior squires holding the horses by fours, and Alex ordered his men to fan out in the forest, with the village infantry bearing farm tools behind. The MacNeil force gained their position barely in time, and as soon as the first MacLeod came into sight on the p
ath ahead, Alex shouted the order to charge. A great shout went up, metal on metal sang among the trees as swords were drawn, and the MacNeils surged forward. MacLeods roared their reply, met them, and the combatants clashed at the top of the path. Most of the invading force were still bunched up behind the leaders. Alex had their route to the castle blocked, and his men picked off the attackers as they came, professional knights at the fore, wielding swords against disorganized pikes and axes.
But the MacLeods were tough and enthusiastic fighters. The clan was fierce, and had a history of growth by conquest. They were accustomed to winning. They fought hard and long, and bloodied the MacNeils terribly before finally breaking and retreating down the pass.
Alex’s men followed to the beach below, where the fleeing MacLeods rushed into the water to get away. Alex shouted to his men to not follow, to let the remaining enemy flee, and so they stood on the beach and watched the boats disappear into the mist offshore. Darkness was approaching by the time the MacNeils returned to the pass, where bodies lay scattered among the rocks. They began stripping the dead, finding little more of value than dirks of varying sizes and an occasional sword. No ransom caches out here where cash was scarce.
A challenging shout went up somewhere near the top of the trail, and there was a scuffle in the undergrowth. Alex drew his sword to run toward it, but the cry was cut short so he stood down. Then one of his men nearby among the rocks in the rushing burn raised his sword to whack the head from a MacLeod body. When the body jerked and thrashed as the MacNeil took a second swing, then finally lay still in the water, Alex realized the MacLeod had been still alive. Alex looked upward, toward the spot where the shout had come from, and figured that had also been a wounded MacLeod dispatched by his men. He opened his mouth to order them to stop killing wounded, but then shut it. Perhaps it was a mercy to the dying, who otherwise might linger for days or weeks. And on another level—one Alex was forced to admit to himself—he was in no mood to coddle and nurse wounded men who had tried to take his island from him, even if they might have lived. He was disinclined to even feed such prisoners. He returned to the business of collecting weapons and let the two extra deaths slip into a small, dark compartment of his mind.
Most of Alex’s force were wounded, but it appeared they all would live. Only one knight and two villagers had been lost in the battle, and Alex ordered their bodies loaded onto the horses for return to the castle. Eight MacLeod heads were taken, and slung from saddles by their hair. The headless bodies were thrown onto the beach to await the tide, and the MacNeil soldiers made their way back to the castle.
As they approached, Alex was stunned to see bodies scattered before the landside gatehouse. The portcullis was closed and secure, but it was plain there had been a skirmish just outside the gate. He rode among the dead, and when he recognized their faces he knew what had happened. “Breton.” His heart clutched for Lindsay’s safety, for the attack had been bloody.
The watch on the gate let his men through, and he rode quickly, up the winding path through the bailey, to the Great Hall. There he dismounted and hurried inside to be greeted by his wife.
Lindsay leapt upon him and held him tight in spite of the heavy mail, sweat, and blood covering him. “Thank God you’re alive.” There were no tears, but Alex thought she might never let him go.
“Tell me what happened here.”
When she finished hugging him and stood back, she said, “The Breton women came to the castle, pretending to ask for sanctuary. But when the gate opened, men ran from the forest and tried to get through with their weapons. The men-at-arms you left here fought them off well enough to close the gate.” Her voice lowered and she added with a note of surprise in her voice, “That priest—Father Patrick—he’s very good with a sword. You wouldn’t believe how he was right in the thick of things, slashing away like Errol Flynn, or somebody.”
“No kidding?”
She shook her head. “Not kidding in the least.” Then she continued with her report. “We lost three men. The remaining Bretons fled and scattered to their homes.”
“What about the barbican?”
“We spotted a single boat waiting just within sight off the quay, but it never approached and finally went away as the sun began to set. I’m guessing they were waiting for a signal that never came, and gave up.”
“That’s a good guess; you’re probably right.”
“How many did you lose?”
“One knight. Two villagers.” In the bailey the dead were being claimed by wailing kinswomen, who would clean and cover them for burial in the morning. The victorious MacConnell men had three graves to dig, but first there was something Alex needed to take care of. He turned and called for his horse again, and ordered all his remaining knights to accompany him, five with torches.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re going to get rid of those Bretons.”
“What, kill them?”
Alex looked at her and wondered why she had to ask. “Of course, I’m going to kill them. They’ve established themselves as enemy combatants. Every last Breton in that village is going to die tonight.” Those people had threatened his wife. No way could he let them live. Any of them.
Her eyes were wide with horror. “You can’t! There are children there!”
“That didn’t seem to concern their parents—their mothers—when they decided to attack this castle. I don’t think I need to he any more bothered about those children than their parents were. They are forfeit.” Not to mention that children had a tendency to grow into vengeful adults.
“Alex, that’s—”
“It’s self-defense. What do you figure would have happened if we hadn’t caught the MacLeods at the pass? What would have happened if those murdering, treacherous Bretons had managed to take the castle? They would have killed you, Lin. Without the slightest thought. They would have chopped off your head with an ax and stuck it on a pike outside the gate.” The image shook him to his core, and he fought tears that rose. “And that’s what I’m going to do to them.”
“Give them a chance. Give them a warning, that—”
“Six men dead, Lindsay. I can’t lose any more. If I give them another chance, next time they might win.”
“Then send them away. Tell them to get off the island. If they’re so close to the MacLeods, then they must have places to go. Relatives who will take them. Don’t go into that village and commit murder.”
“Lin, I can’t.”
“You must. Find a way. Make it work. Just, please, don’t do this.”
“But—”
“I couldn’t stand to be married to a murderer.”
His first thought was to inform her that she would be married to him till death and there was nothing she could do about it, but he held his tongue. There was no forcing her to love him, and he knew he had always been on shaky ground for that. He drew a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. Just as slowly, he realized that though he knew the action wouldn’t have been murder, her words nevertheless touched him in a small, dim place where he knew it would be wrong. Then he said, “All right. I’ll banish them.”
“Good. Banish them. Don’t kill them.”
With a sigh, he kissed her and wondered how he would ever get her to accept the realities of this world.
The sky was still purple in the southwest as he rode to the village with his knights, banner flapping and torches flaring in the wind. As they cantered down the path between the low peat houses, he shouted out in Gaelic to the residents there. “Attend to me, all of you! Attend!” He pulled up his horse, and his torch-carrying knights surrounded him to shed light so the villagers could see his angry face. “All you Bretons, hear me!”
A few women came from houses, cautiously. There were no men visible. Contempt rose in Alex for the chickenshit Breton men. He continued. “The attack on the castle this afternoon was a treasonous act. All the Bretons on this island are in violation of their pledge to me.” One of the women began
to plead, and he cut her off with a bellow. “Silence!” She subsided to whimpering and weeping, holding her plaid to her face, and he shouted over her. “The penalty for this offense is death. The life of every Breton man, woman, and child on this island is forfeit.”
All the women began to wail, and some fell to their knees.
“Silence!” He gazed around him, rage welling in him, and he relished their terror as compensation for the threat they’d presented and the men he’d lost that day.
The wailing subsided instantly to soft weeping.
“However, I am a merciful landlord. I don’t kill children if I can avoid it.” The women he would gladly have executed with his own hands, for they had quite willingly participated in the attack. He looked on the weeping, sniveling creatures before him and was disgusted. “You will all leave this island. By sunset tomorrow. I will return with my men tomorrow night, to put to the torch every Breton house, and to put to the sword any Breton who remains. Go to your MacLeod relatives you love so much. Let them support you. I no longer want you here.” He raised his voice even louder, for the benefit of any MacConnells listening. “And mark this! I will not tolerate insurrection from anyone! Should the MacDonalds come, I will expect the pledges of the MacConnells to hold true to me. The Bretons have shown their lack of honor; if I find such a lack in the MacConnells, I will treat them as harshly!”
With that, he wheeled his horse and spurred the mount to a gallop away from the village, his men following.
That night Alex washed MacLeod blood from himself, then slipped into his warm bed with his warm wife. She clung to him, soft and welcoming, and held him close.
“I was terribly afraid for you today,” she whispered into his ear so quietly he could hear her tongue on her teeth.
“Have faith.” He kissed her neck, then loosed himself from her grasp to move lower. “Everyone else around here has faith oozing out their ears; you should try it.”
“Everyone here has faith they’ll go to heaven. Very different from being certain of not dying. In fact—” there was a sharp breath as he took her breast into his mouth. “In fact, the one thing everyone here is certain of is that they will die, and they don’t seem to care how soon.”