The Scot's Pursuit - Keira Montclair Page 0,75

into the copse of trees near Dyna. She was safe in the trees, and so was his sister. Indeed, it seemed she was more of a danger to others than she was in danger from others. He was less sure about his mother. He’d seen her at the beginning, way at the back, but he didn’t see her now.

Fear threaded through his veins as he searched the group for his mother again, but she was nowhere to be seen, and their numbers weren’t as strong as before. Even with the addition of Els, who’d joined as soon as he heard the plans, and Chrissa, the numbers were still two-to-one, and three of the Grant fighters were archers. On the ground, it was five and ten to four, not the best odds. Some of them wore Thane plaids, and they proved to be the stronger warriors. He’d either counted wrong at the outset, or more people had joined the fight.

He bellowed at his cousin, “Dyna! Try the spectral swords.”

He saw her lift her bow from the tree, but nothing happened, and she leaped down moments later, charging toward the clearing. Except Derric jumped off his horse and went after her, pushing her behind him. “You daft lass, you’re making yourself an open target.”

Dyna shoved at him, doing her best to get past him, but he blocked her from passing him. “Shoot your arrows. ’Tis the best way you can help.”

She shoved him back and said, “Nay, I can help in other ways. You’ll see, you stubborn lummox. But you must let me through.”

Alick continued to fight off the enemy guards while the two argued.

“Get back. You cannot leave yourself unguarded.” Derric was relentless in his protection of Dyna, something Alick hadn’t expected but wasn’t displeased to see. Of course, it wasn’t ideal in their current situation.

“I can handle myself.” Dyna tried to push past him, but she couldn’t, which only made her increasingly frustrated with the man. “I don’t need your protection, fool.”

“Watch out!” Alick called out as two guards headed straight for them.

Dyna did something he’d have never guessed. She climbed onto Derric’s back and fired an arrow, striking the first between the eyes. She fired another and hit the second in the chest.

“God’s teeth, could you not just nock your arrows and stay hidden?” Derric shouted across the terrain. “Anyone who shoots like that should have the bow tied to her arm.”

“I like your back better,” she said, firing another arrow that just missed a guard. “I’m climbing on your shoulders.”

“Nay, you’ll be wide open then.” He yanked on her leg, trying to keep her in her current position, legs wrapped around his waist, but she kicked and squirmed, doing her best to right herself. “Let me be. I need to do something. This is out of control. We’re losing.”

Derric did all he could to keep his grip on both his weapon and Dyna without hurting her.

Alick glanced at the others, and he had to agree with her assessment. They were losing. Cailean was winded, Derric couldn’t fight because of Dyna, and Els looked as if he’d taken a hit, though he didn’t see any blood. Chrissa? He tried not to think about the possibility that she might come to harm. At least she was perched in a tree, away from the thick of battle, and the enemy had no archers. But the worst part was that some of the men who’d gone down were back on their feet.

Swords clashed, and the echo of metal, the grunts of battle, the screams of pain filled the air.

“Dyna,” Alick yelled.

Finally, she said to Derric, “One minute. Give me one minute on your shoulders. Just one.”

Derric grumbled, “Fine, then you’ll get down before you get yourself killed. You’re a termagant unlike any I’ve ever met.”

“Fine, but you’re the termagant. Must you always have your way?” she muttered, climbing up his long back and placing her knees on his shoulders.

Derric held still, and Dyna climbed onto his shoulders, straightening her torso and holding her bow straight up at the sky.

The rumbling started and Alick smiled, loving the expression on Derric’s face at the abrupt and inexplicable change in the weather. The next moment, three bolts of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a fourth that struck the sword of one of their enemies, sending the guard flying into the air. He landed in a heap.

Dead.

Alick let out another Grant war whoop as the hilt of his sword warmed up. It became lighter