Chapter 44 #2
Releasing one of the reins, she ran her hand over her face, drenched from rain but also sweat born by anguish.
Her gaze strayed toward Aonghus – huh, he seemed to sense her stare upon him.
He turned; they locked eyes for only a blink before he faced the enemy ranks.
Anything. Anything to keep him safe. After a deep breath she relayed, “The one tall as my Sir Aonghus and broad as a fjord – that is Ogmund; he would be the leader for the cluster upon the hillock.” She pointed.
“Ogmund Crow-Dance, the one holding the red shield at the forefront. Ogmund held tight to King H?konsson’s side, a fierce warrior trusted above all others. ”
The Lord Constable leaned down, giving a nod toward a messenger who charged off, most likely to relay the information unto Stewart.
“Any others you see of interest, my lady?” the Lord Chamberlain pressed.
It seems the one with fingers on the royal purse thinks me worthy once more. He always favored the newly-minted traitor over her Aonghus in the discussions back at Stirling. “Other than Sir James beside King H?konsson?” she retorted, giving what she hoped was a glaring look.
The Lord Chamberlain squirmed in his saddle.
Good. She directed her attention back toward Alexander.
“My lord king, I cannot speak of King H?konsson’s fate this day, but one who will fall is there beside him – Haco of Stein.
” Her voice was solemn. “King H?konsson’s closest guardsman.
My final offering, from a night-glance since past that I now understand to be this moment, is the storm to the west.” The entire delegation looked at the midnight clouds looming over the ocean versus the hilltops behind them.
“Here it will come to pass, and thus King H?konsson will be denied any chance of summoning more footmen onto the shores for his aid; forgive the phrase but this will turn the tide to your favor.”
Her eyes snapped back toward Sir Brayden, who called off the first advance from archers gathering behind the knights: “Nock!” One breath. “Loose!”
A yell came from Ogmund to form a “Shield wall!” The Northmen’s shields rose high, becoming almost a turtle shape for the arrows plunging along with the rain, which began gaining pace.
A cumulative Gaelic battle cry shook the heavens from the knights.
Where was her Scotsman? Where?! There he is.
Vengeance was raised toward the gusts; his raven hair would have blown wildly if not for the iron helm upon his scalp.
The defeating clanks echoed from the armor and hooves on the rocky shoreline as the knights charged the hillock and Ogmund.
At spying the knights, Ogmund stood to frantically say something at the warrior beside him, who nodded. The wail from an archer in Ogmund’s ranks bellowed their commands: “Nock!” Half breath. “Loose!”
NO! The takers of life climbed toward the clouds, headed for the Stewart forces and directly toward the knight who held her heart!
Aonghus released Laoch’s reins while raising the shield above his head when the steel rained upon them.
One, two, three, four arrows onto his shield!
One more to land…five. A whimper, half fright and half anger, sounded when the knight next to Aonghus took the sixth arrow straight through the eye, then vanished from the saddle, landing beneath the hooves as the beasts charged.
“Nock!” Sir Brayden countered; it would be the last line toward Ogmund’s warriors as her Scottish knight was shadowing closer toward the enemy. “Loose!”
The rain stung her gaze, but her eyes still saw the lashes on Ogmund’s widen when he got a solid look at the sheer number of knights emerging under Scotland’s banner from behind the dunes. The Northman leader motioned something and those around him began to move – backward.
Once as a wee lassie she had seen a herd of Highland cows in a storm.
They had begun to paw nervously, then lightning struck, and with it came a full onslaught stampede.
Lord help any who stood in their way. What began as a mere few warriors scattering for the ships soon turned into a terrified dash across the sands when panic set in. Stampede!
The Lord Constable leaned forward to say with awe, “Look upon that.”
The Northmen cluster from the hillock raced to join the other forces, numbering four times those on the hillock, still holding the ground on the beaches.
“Shite,” Callum murmured, stunned, next to her at the mayhem unfolding before them.
Rain turned from droplets into buckets, and one of the final things seen was King H?konsson being pulled back by Sir James toward the safety of a ship.
Haco of Stein held the ground to safeguard the king’s escape until the last moment before Haco took a death blow from Stewart’s longsword across the throat.
She rubbed her eyes. Where? Aonghus? Where?
! Wretched rain! She could see nothing of her Scotsman; he was lost in the waves from downpours.
All she heard was the soul-twisting sounds of wails and cries and commands lost in the weight of water pouring over them.
Her knees tightened onto the mare’s sides.
Callum, as if guessing her thought to bolt for Aonghus, snatched one of the mare’s reins, holding steady.
“Nae, my lady,” he warned somberly. “Let my brother finish this.” It was the first time the elder MacCade did not use the term ‘wee’ before ‘brother’.
She leaned closer toward Callum. “Let us move closer, please, we cannot see.”
He gave a low chuckle.
“Callum MacCade,” she roared, enraged, “how could you find jest in this moment?”
“You are now the same as me, my lady – nae shadow-glance with this blinding rain. You must learn to trust your other senses, and one of those is logic,” he advised.
“You charge into battle – what of Aonghus then? Your presence will only serve to distract him. Leave him to finish this. Do not question my resolve; if anything were to happen to you on my watch, Aonghus would suffer as I have all these years, and this I shall not have befall him.”
He was right, but her pride still gave a snort. What if her knight needed her?
Looking back toward the shore – at least that should be the shore – all which appeared was rain thick as a waterfall. If only she could halt the portraits painting her mind from the sounds of steel clashing or injured wails or horses screaming from fear or pain. This was raging hell in a downpour!
“CHARGE!” A lone shout tore above it all – Stewart.
The same moment the clouds slowed their gush, the sight which greeted her was Northmen scattering.
Where was her knight? There? No, too wee.
There? No, the horse was gray, not Laoch.
There? No, the knight dead on the ground has a full beard.
She swallowed hard. A Scotsman dead. The numbers may have been in their favor, but battles fought still carried a cost of measure onto both sides. WHERE WAS HE?!
A flash of raven hair shocked the breeze by a knight charging toward those Northmen bolting for the boats. Aonghus. Tormented yells carried the air as those very same ships, having carried the Northmen ashore, now became their doom and sank, drowning the enemy. This. This was a defining moment.
Someone else knew it too.
“Lady Keirah,” the king’s summons sounded. “They are driven from the shores.”
Her eyes never left Aonghus. He was safe. A bruise to the temple – perhaps this was how the helm was forced off his skull…
The Lord Constable’s voice boomed as though it were a thunderclap: “Victory to the King of Scots!”