Nonetheless, Helen and her crew of grey-haired warriors fought while the cannon blasted and the battering ram blow thudded, cracking timbers with each strike.
Helen fired arrows until her fingertips grew raw from the bowstring. Beyond the sea gate, the MacDonald men were chanting a cadence of heave-ho with every thundering impact from the battering ram.
Unable to find a clear shot, Helen closed her eyes and prayed. Dear God in heaven, please save us. Her eyes flew open when a bellowing roar erupted from the courtyard.
Eoin and the men poured in from the forward gate, weapons drawn.
With a horrible crash, the sea gate gave way. Spurring to action, Helen pulled back her bow. She shifted from side to side, looking for a shot. Before her eyes, mayhem erupted while MacDonalds collided with MacGregors and MacIains. If she fired now, she could kill one of her own. Holding her bow at the ready, blades flickered in the sunlight in a brutal battle.
Helen had always thought watching men spar was like a dance, but this was nowhere near the same. Ugly, brutal, vicious, the men attacked. Iron clashed with screeching scrapes of metal on metal. Blood curdling screams made chills slither over Helen’s skin.
Helpless to fight from the battlements, she and the archers watched in horror as blood spurted and the cries of men echoed between the inner bailey walls. Helen had never been witness to a battle in her own home. If the men failed, there would be little hope for survival. They might even try to ravish her…or…
She shuddered in concert with another blast from the cannon.
I will die before one of them places his filthy hands on my daughter.
Directly beneath her, Eoin fought two at once. By the saints, he was quick on his feet. His deadly sharp sword whipped through the air so fast, Helen only saw a silver blur swinging in arcs around him while he defended every blow. Just when he cut one down, another stepped up.
On and on the battle raged with terrors far worse than the stories Helen had heard—and no one ever described such raw violence—uglier and more brutal than anything she could have imagined. War truly embodies hell on earth.
“To the boats!” a loud bellow boomed over the throng.
Before Helen could make out who’d given the order, the MacDonald men ran for their galleys. Helen raced to the other side of the wall-walk. Mr. Keith’s cannonballs had sunk one of their galleys. Eoin and his men gave chase while the surviving MacDonalds climbed over the hull and took up their oars.
Mr. Keith stepped in beside her. “Should I fire the cannon at them, m’lady?”
She’d seen enough bloodshed to last her lifetime. “I think not. Besides, if that noisy thing misfired, the men down on the shore could be injured.” She had first-hand experience with that.
He grinned at her, stretching his weathered features. “My thoughts as well.”
Eoin stood on the beach and watched the galley sail pick up the wind. It didn’t look so proud with a torn pennant and the tip of its stern blown off. But Eoin looked magnificent with his sword in one hand, dirk in the other. Drawing in deep breaths, his shoulders rose and fell in a slow rhythm. He stood with his feet apart, braced as if he were ready for another attack.
A sunbeam broke through the clouds and illuminated him.
A warrior sent from heaven.
After the galley disappeared around the point of Ardnamurchan, Eoin turned and looked directly up at Helen. Her heart swelled in her chest. Time slowed for a moment while their gazes locked. Even if Helen had wanted to, she couldn’t turn away.
If only I could race down to the beach and fall into those brawny arms.
Then Helen realized Aleck hadn’t been involved in the battle at all.
Keith tapped her shoulder. “They’re leading Sir Aleck into the keep.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth and dashed to the other side. “Oh my heavens.” Aleck was walking, but his shoulders stooped, and he held his arm close to his body.
Helen rushed to the stairwell and pattered down three flights until she met Aleck and his men at the second-floor landing. “What happened m’laird?”
“Broke my arm fighting in Sunart.” From the looks of the purple bruise spreading from his forehead and around his eye, he’d nearly broken his head as well.
“We must tend it directly.” She reached for the elbow not in a sling. “Please allow me to assist you to your chamber.”