Sean glanced around. Him, Rose, and the rest of the group were halfway up an incline, surrounding on all sides by several large boulders covered with moss. Shrubbery concealed the rest of the area, and the Scots each took up a position with everyone huddling up in threes as they waited for whatever was going to happen next.
“Wait for it,” Sean said. “Wait for it…”
Sean held his breath, Rose reaching over and gripping onto his forearm, squeezing gently but firmly just as the wind ceased and everyone in the area felt the moment of initiation upon them.
Six men, all of them dressed in tattered black clothing with thick wool coats, emerged from several different positions on all sides of the Scots. They sported rusted weapons, their face cracked and calloused and crisped by the sun. They charged, all of them moving with the swiftness of a pack of cheetahs.
The Scots engaged, Rose and Sean fending off two of the incoming members of the Rot. Back-to-back, they struck and parried with their weapons, the clink of the metal reverberating throughout the mountainside.
The man Sean was engaging lurched forward, attempting to bury the tip of his blade in Sean’s belly. He was so close that Sean could smell the lingering essence of alcohol on his rotted breath and stained yellow teeth. Sean fought the man for several turns, almost becoming beheaded at one point but managing to get the better of the Rot member when he struck a blow in the swordsman’s sternum that quickly dropped him to his knees.
Sean turned around, Rose in the midst of finishing off the man she was fighting when she sliced neatly across his chest before pushing him to the ground. “Rose!” he shouted. “Are ye alright?”
Rose nodded and then gestured over her shoulder. Sean followed after her as they assisted the rest of the Scots in engaging the four swordsmen of the Rot still left standing. As the collective group of Highlanders fought with a proud and vicious spirit, their horses began to scatter, frightened beyond all measure at what was occurring and fleeing down the mountainside.
Rose coordinated with her people, fighting alongside Kelly and Sean as they dispatched of the last two members of the Rot. As the dust settled, all those in the immediate vicinity panted and heaved and produced thick layers of perspiration from the exertion, all of the Scots still left standing with soot-covered expression and crimson-coated weapons.
“Is everyone alright?” Rose inquired.
“Aye,” one man shouted out. “I believe we are all still here.”
Sean stepped forward, glancing at the dead bodies of the Rot swordsman and nodding in approval. “Is anyone injured?” he asked.
“I am,” Kelly said, gesturing to a neat slice she had sustained on her left arm.
Rose approached and assisted Kelly in cleaning and tending to the wound. As she did so, Sean discovered that three other members had sustained various injuries—welts, cuts, bruises, and other minor lacerations. Everyone began to assist in aiding those who had sustained damage as Sean then looked around and closed his eyes once he realized all of their horses had fled from the area. “Damn it,” he seethed.
A redheaded Scot, his expression dismayed as he came alongside Sean and said: “Where are the horses? Where are they?”
Sean shook his head and sheathed his sword. “They are gone.”
The redheaded man’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“They fled from here. The commotion sent them into a frenzy.”
The redheaded man kicked at a rock by his feet. “Well, that is just splendid!” he spat. “What are we going to do now? How are we going to navigate these mountains without our rides?”
A female Scot, her auburn hair tied in a twisting braid, gesture in the area the horses had fled in as she said: “All of our supplies were with them. We must go after them and retrieve them.”
Sean shook his head. “We can’t. We will lose too much time. The English approach swiftly. If we go after the horses, the chances are high that we will run into them.”
“So, what?” the woman said. “We just proceed forward with out any of our supplies? Any of our food?”
“If we press forward, we should reach our destination on the other side of the mountain in less than a day.”
“Assuming we don’t run into more of those bastards that just ambushed us,” the redheaded man said. “Those men were clearly just a fraction of their overall numbers. This was a scouting party.”
“You don’t know that,” one of the other Scots called out.
“No,” Sean said, “he’s right. This was merely just a sliver of the overall numbers they possess. There are bound to be more. But take faith in knowing that we put up a substantial fight that no doubt has persuaded them not to trifle with us.”
“Ha!” the redheaded Scot huffed. “That is not a guarantee I think ye can make, Highlander!”
“This is preposterous,” the woman Scot said. “We need to figure out how we are going to go about—”
“Enough,” Rose cut in, standing up and looking at her people. “This is what we’re going to do: we are going to rest for a moment, tend to our wounds, and proceed forward. The Highlander is right—we cannot go after our horses. That is too far-gone now. We must proceed forward and continue on to our destination. That is the only option we have to work with.”
“What of the horses?” the woman said. “Food? Supplies?”
“We will simply find more. This situation has been unprecedented from day one.”
“That is more than clear. We have encountered nothing but the highest levels of resistance since we set about this journey. We’ve lost several of our own people—”
“We are finished discussing this,” Rose said, her fists clenched and jaw tight. “Everyone tend to yer wounds. Prepare yerselves for the last leg of this journey. I will not tolerate any level of insolence whatsoever. Is that understood?”
The Scots said nothing, everyone remaining stationary as Rose turned around and finished assisting Kelly in tending to the laceration on her arm. They then spread out, each member of the group helping the other, a collective tension gathering as everyone remained in silence and set about their duties.
Sean caught his breath, walking up to Rose as he gestured to Kelly’s wound. “Is the cut deep?” he asked.
Kelly shook her head. “I’ll be alright. Ye should see the other man. He won’t live to tell about his wounds.”
“We cannot stay long,” Sean said to Rose. “We should move in the next few minutes.”
“Aye,” Rose said. “As soon as I am finished helping Kelly, we will set out.”
Sean threw a glance in the direction of the Scots. He saw that several of them were huddled together, speaking in hushed tones and making it a point to distance themselves far enough away from him and Rose so that they would not hear the conversation. This is not good, he thought. Something is amiss with these people now…
The redheaded Scot, who went by the name of Donovan, spoke to the other members of the Scots quietly, shaking his head and deeply disturbed at the turn of events that had just transpired. “This is a dire situation,” he said. “There have been too many missteps that have occurred.”
“Ever since the Highlander arrived,” another person chimed in, “we have experienced nothing shy of hardship. We have lost several of our people. We almost lost more after this last encounter.”
“So, what is the solution?” Donovan said. “Where do we go from here? We set out to find a new home, to find solace far away from the English, but we are not finding it. I do not relish saying this, but…”
Donovan’s gaze drifted, shaking his head as he threw his hands up.
“What?” one of the Scots said. “Say what is on yer mind.”
Donovan drew a breath. “I fear that Rose’s leadership has waned. I think that she has become too distracted by the presence of the Highlander. She has given in to his methods and planning to the point that it has jeopardized us all.”
“Rose has led us for years,” a female member of the group said. “Sh
e brought us from the brink of destruction. She guided us out of the darkest depths and rallied us together to become something more than just a clan—a family.”
“I do not doubt that at all,” Donovan said, “but as I said: it is no longer the kind of leadership we require in order to find the peace that we so desperately seek. If we continue down this path, if we continue to follow Rose’s lead—what will happen? How many more of us will perish? What other dire circumstances will we find ourselves in?”
The group fell silent, all of them nodding their heads subtly in agreement.
“I do not relish saying any of this,” Donovan said, “but the time has come to make a choice. We either go our separate ways, attempt to carve out a new path for ourselves based on a democratic agreement…or we continue to follow Rose and the Highlander. We risk everything, including our very lives, in the hopes that this situation will rectify itself.”
Donovan stood up, all the members of the Scots looking upon him with weary and depleted expressions.
“We must vote,” he said. “We must vote to either continue following Rose…or go our separate ways.”
Donovan looked to each member of the Scots, waiting for them to offer up their decision.
“I vote to leave,” one man said. “We are better off on our own.”
Another man nodded his head. “Aye…I agree.”
“Same,” said another.
“Aye,” said another. “We should leave.”
Donovan nodded, the rest of the Scots agreeing in unison that the time had come to part ways with Rose. He then diverted his gaze toward her, Rose standing up from tending to Kelly’s wound, the look in her eye wholly indicative that she was starting to become more than suspicious of what was occurring.
“Come,” Donovan said to the others. “I will tell her myself…”
Rose, hands on her hips, walked up to the Scots and shrugged. Something is happening, she pondered. There is a look in their eyes that I do not like. “A conversation seems to be taking place,” she said. “I would very much like to know what the topic is that ye are passing around.”
Donovan huffed, motioning to the other Scots. “We have come to an agreement,” he said. “We have discussed the matter in its entirety, and we feel that a new course of action must be taken.”
Rose crossed her arms. “Is that so? And what, pray tell, is this agreement of yers?”
Donovan hung his head. “The time has come to part ways, Rose,” he said. “I do not like that this is the case, but yer recent decisions have been questionable at best. Too many of our people have fallen. Taking this mountain was a foolish endeavor. We fear that if we continue to follow ye, if we continue to go down this path…well, it could quite possibly mean the destruction of each and every one of us.”
Rose’s mouth was agape, a slackened expression on her face as Donovan’s words began to soak in. “Ye can’t be serious.”
Kelly stood, her fists clenched and cheeks turning ruby. “This is madness,” she protested. “Who do ye think ye are, Donovan?”
“Ye know as well as I do,” Donovan said, “that this whole situation has been a disaster since the King’s nephew was slain. We must go our separate ways. We must try to salvage what we can before all of us are slaughtered.”
“This is treason! This is the most immoral display I have seen ye put on yet!”
“It must be done,” Donovan said. “All of us our leaving. We are going to circumvent the mountain and find another path. Again, the time has come to go our separate ways, and we will not discuss the matter any further than that.”
Rose felt tears welling up in her eyes, though she did her best to fight them off. “We have been together for years,” she said. “And this is how ye wish to end things?”
“It is not personal,” Donovan said, holding his hands up in submission. “We are merely looking out for our best interests. We have to leave, Rose. We have to go our separate ways. That does not mean that we think of ye any less…”
Rose was dumbfounded, her heart sinking into her stomach as Donovan spoke the words. I cannot believe this, she thought. I have failed…I have failed my people…She looked away, holding her gaze level on Sean as a weary look stretched across his face. “Go then,” she said. “I wish ye all the best. I don’t think there is anything else left to say on the matter.”
Donovan and the Scots hesitated for a moment, Rose sensing that all of them wanted to say something, yet they couldn’t.
“Come,” Donovan told the others. “Let us make our leave.”
The Scots then banded together, all of them gathering in a tight circle and heading away from Rose, Sean, and Kelly. They walked in unison, their backs turned on Rose as Sean came up alongside her and rested his hand on the small of her back.
“We have to leave, Rose,” Sean said. “We cannot stay here any longer.”
Rose said nothing as she watched her clan leave, saddened more than she had ever been in her life as they descended down the mountain and completely disappeared from sight. I failed them, she thought. I have failed my people…
Chapter Twenty-One
Lord Marcus sat on top of his horse as his mind started to linger slowly back to the past, to a time before war, a time before struggle, a time before his soul was tainted by the violence, turmoil, and oppression that had plagued the lands of Scotland. Lord Marcus was no doubt a fearless man, an individual so engrossed in the ways of warfare that his more human traits had been suppressed and hidden in the depths of his being that one would have thought he was completely void of a soul—but he wasn’t. Lord Marcus still felt things, still remembered things, still held onto elements of his past so dearly and secretively that if anyone had become privy to the pain that was welling inside of him it would melt their very hearts and leave them sympathetic to his plight.
So long ago, he thought as he rode alongside his men. So long ago I had a love. I had a family. I had people I cared for, people who cared for me.
He breathed, inhaling the sweet scent of night as an owl hooted in the distance, the stars twinkling overhead and causing him to look up and become lost in their splendor. It sparked a memory, one that he had not drudged up in quite some time, perhaps one of the dearest memories he held sacred to himself.
So long ago, he pondered. So long ago…
Lord Marcus, before he had been granted the privilege of being a Lord, was nothing more than a mere servant to the crown, a knight with a face as fresh as that of recently fallen snow. He was youthful, almost boyish in so many ways. It was a period of time when he used to smile, when humor was a part of his rapport and many who had taken up with his company would have defined him as “cordial,” “approachable,” and “chivalrous.”
Lord Marcus, simply going by Marcus at the time, was walking alongside his friend Henry in the courtyard of a castle, praying witness to other Englishman as they went about training and conversing. It was a spring day, the weather pleasant and the wind chilling their skin to a degree that required no outer lays to offer them warmth. It was a day that one could dub “exquisite” as they waltzed through the courtyard and took pleasure in nothing else but lighthearted conversation.
“Look at these men,” Henry said, gesturing to a group of men who were engaging in faux sword fights with wooden weapons. “How fresh they are. They clearly have not been in battle before.”
Marcus smiled. “We have only been in one battle, my good friend. I don’t think we have earned the right yet to hold our heads so high and judge these men. Our baptism into the field of war is green.”
They stopped in the middle of the courtyard, the smell of a burning fire wafting at their nostrils, the sweet and rich aroma of a roasted pig causing their stomachs to stir and yearn.
“We are privileged men, Henry,” Marcus said. “This is a joyous time. We should relish being in the position that we are in.”
Henry nodded. “The crown is most pleased with the results of the battle the other day. Word was sent to th
e King about your bravery by Lord Brumwald.”
Marcus pouted his lip. “Really?”
“Indeed. He has insisted that you be promoted up the ranks. He feels that your skillsets are finely tuned enough that you should placed in a position of leadership.”
“Lord Brumwald is a fine man. But I only wish to serve the crown. I have no delusions of grandeur, no longing to step outside the bounds of my servitude.”
Henry laughed, his hand on his stomach as his other patted Marcus on the back. “Your penchant for displaying such a level of humility is commendable, my friend. But have no doubts about your skillsets—you are going places. I am just honored that I am able to serve alongside you and call you a brother.”
Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Page 18