My Highland Laird - J.L. Langley Page 0,57

MacKays still on horseback charged the men with fraggers, and another MacKay was shot from his horse. He quickly gained his feet and forged back into the fight. Thank galaxy.

Another MacKay speared a man with his sword, and his horse trampled another.

A shot flew past Bannon’s head, and in his panic, he applied his knees to Flùr. He had to do something….

Flùr bolted into action. Oh dust! He didn’t have a sword or a fragger…. Leaning down low over her back, Bannon charged forward with the MacKays. It was like wading through a teatime crowd on Platt Street.

Flùr trampled a man with a saber who slashed at Bannon, using her hooves like weapons and pawing at him.

Another MacKay fell in front of Bannon, his kilt flying up and exposing his bare arse.

Bannon gawked and froze, even though Flùr kept going. He had nothing on under his kilt.

Another fragger bolt came close, snapping him out of his shock. Galaxy help him, he had no idea what to do. He was going to die. Shouts and screams of pain rang in his ears, and smoke and dust made it hard to breathe. The sheer terror almost had him turning around, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw something moving… fast.

Ciaran.

Horace barreled forward in a dead-run.

Bannon turned back, looking for where Ciaran was headed, and found his target on a flat boulder away from the rest of the group. He had a rifle. No way Ciaran could make it in time.

The man with the rifle took aim, but Ciaran didn’t stop.

Gulping in a breath, Bannon urged Flùr forward, aiming her at the rifleman. “Arrrrh!” You can’t shoot us both.

The rifleman turned to look at Bannon, and Bannon’s chest began to ache so badly he felt as though it were going to explode, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The mercenary dismissed him and turned back at Ciaran, taking aim again.

Ten feet. Almost there.

Ciaran didn’t let up either.

Six feet. Just a little more.

Someone screamed.

Bannon thought he heard his name, but he didn’t stop. Louie, that was Louie, but he couldn’t look for her. Three feet. I’ve got this. Bannon heeled Flùr harder and stretched lower over her neck. Come on, Flùr, let’s stomp this bastard like the other one.

Light flashed from the muzzle, and Ciaran jerked in the saddle.

Bannon rose up a little, sucking in air. It was as though someone grabbed ahold of his lungs and squeezed. He could only stare. Helplessness and failure flooded him at once as he watched Ciaran’s sword slash.

The man’s head fell from his shoulders, in slow motion the rifle fell from his hands, and his body collapsed into a heap. Blood spurted from his open neck.

It should have made Bannon cast up his accounts, but it didn’t. He couldn’t feel anything but the burning need to get to the rifle. Not even waiting for Flùr to stop, he slid from the saddle and dove for the weapon. He landed on it and scrambled to get it into position.

Ciaran stopped too, but he didn’t climb down from Horace. He stared at Bannon, gave a quick nod, and his eyes went expressionless. The sword fell from his hand, and he slumped forward on Horace.

“No!” Somehow Bannon managed to get the rifle to his shoulder. He wasn’t even sure how he did it, but he started taking aim and firing. He shot two men, and then someone screamed his name.

“Bannon, to your left!” It was Louie.

He spun to his left in time to see a merc with a pistol take aim at him. He fired, shooting the man dead in the center of his chest.

There was a loud roar of shouts, then the mercs were running. One tried to grab a fragger on his way, but Bannon shot at him. He missed, but the man left the fragger. Bannon followed the retreating men to their ship with his gaze, staring down the sight of the rifle. He watched them disappear over the foothills. The whirl of a ship’s engine sounded, and the small shuttle took off. Then he watched the ship vanish into the atmosphere, following it with the rifle the entire way.

He slowly became aware of the voices around him. Lowering his gun, he looked out at the battlefield. There were several bodies, at least twenty. Some mercenary, some MacKays.

A sick feeling filled Bannon’s stomach and tears welled up in his eyes. He clutched the weapon close to his chest as he watched the remaining MacKays go

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