Chaos descended on them like a highland storm in spring, and everything seemed to happen at once. With a distressed snort, Duncan’s horse reared up, then bolted. More beams of red zipped through the air, and Patrick kicked his horse’s flanks, running full-out toward the right, toward the trees, his blond hair flying out behind him. There were gasps all around. The horses pranced, agitated. Even Horace, Ciaran’s unflappable warhorse, sidestepped. The cries of victory echoed in the distance like an ominous rumble.
“To the woods!” Patrick shouted.
The others followed, thundering past.
Duncan lay on the deep green grass, staring up at the darkening sky with sightless eyes and a hole through the middle of his chest. There was no blood, but there was no mistaking the utter stillness of death.
“Ciaran!” Patrick shouted again.
Snapping out of his daze, Ciaran raced after his mentor and their small band of warriors as more lights lit up the hazy dusk.
Once he hit the tree line, he didn’t stop. He drove Horace deep, following the other four men until fog settled around them, embracing them in the darkness under the canopy. Branches and leaves slapped against his face, arms, and thighs, stinging him.
The men slowed to a stop in front of him, forming a circle among the trees. Men and horses breathed hard, filling the quiet of the forest.
Ciaran started to protest but realized the red lights had stopped—they could not penetrate the thickness of the woods—though the dull sounds of enemy combatants remained, if one listened carefully.
Patrick threw his leg over his saddle and dropped to the ground. Twigs snapped under his boots as he patted his horse’s neck.
“What are ye doing?” Grant huffed out, sounding outraged. “Why are we nae continuing on tae Lochwood Castle?”
Boyd spat next to him. In the dark, his expression didn’t show, but his tone clearly announced his disgust with Grant’s suggestion. “We’re Campbells! We dinna leave our kin. We have tae go back and get Duncan.”
“Ye go get ’em, ye fuckin’ bampot.” Grant leaped from his horse and started toward Boyd.
Ram, always the peacekeeper, jumped off his horse as well, but Patrick got there first.
“Enough!” Patrick said, pushing Grant back.
Neither man seemed inclined to continue after that. As captain of the Campbell clan, Patrick was their leader in the absence of the laird. And even if he wasn’t, his reputation as a warrior would have made him so. The Campbell warriors followed him out of respect, but the power their elderly laird had trusted him with and his prowess as a swordsman caused a little fear as well.
“We will get Duncan, but not now. Now, we are going to assess the situation. We have more than ourselves to think about. Lochwood Castle is less than an hour’s ride to the east of us, and our own keep is only three hours west.” He turned toward Grant. “How many arrows do you have?”
“Twenty or so.” Grant was the only archer of their small group, now that Duncan was dead. He pulled his bow off his saddle. His quiver full of arrows was already on his back.
“That will have to do. Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, Patrick drew his sword and headed toward the southwest corner of the forest, where the attackers had been.
Twenty arrows wasn’t much. With a queasy feeling in his stomach, Ciaran swung his leg over Horace and dropped to the ground, knowing his horse was well trained and would be right there when he got back. He’d follow Patrick into battle anytime and anywhere, but God help him, he truly wondered if this would be the last time.
Ram was there to meet him. “Ye okay?”
“Aye. Ye?” Ciaran pulled his sword from his scabbard.
“Aye.” Ram nodded and took his sword to hand as well.
They all fell in line behind Patrick, walking swiftly but quietly so as not to give away their position. The closer they got to the edge of the forest, the louder their attackers’ voices got. They were still some ways away from the sounds of it. Not in the forest, thank God.
As they neared the tree line, Patrick held up a hand, bringing them to a halt. The forest wasn’t large, but it was dense. They should still be out of view. They certainly couldn’t see their enemy.
Patrick crept forward slowly, then motioned for all of them to follow.
One by one they did so, positioning themselves behind trees.
The voices grew louder now. They spoke English, but Ciaran could only make