Chapter 25 #2
Evan stared in uncomprehending shock. Then it hit him.
These men were Campbell villagers, hastily cobbled together from both Niall’s and Evan’s lands.
Understanding flashed through him. Somehow, somehow Niall and the others had gotten wind of what was happening today.
But they’d not had time to coordinate with Bryce’s forces, so Niall had done what he could—he’d brought a band of volunteers here instead. For him.
Once again, he was horrified at what they were willing to do for him.
For the moment, the mist was working in the villagers’ favor and, from the noise all around, Evan guessed Niall had split his forces, sent smaller bands to attack at various locations and make MacInnes’ men think there were more attackers than there were.
But their advantage would not last long.
Drawing a dagger, Evan threw himself into the chaos alongside them, cutting down one MacInnes guard and ducking another.
Hamish stayed by his side, laying about him with his fists, downing anyone who came too close.
“Evan!”
He spun at the familiar voice shouting his name. He scanned the mist. Then he saw her. Even obscured by swirling bands of fog, he knew it was her.
Ruby.
She materialized out of the murk holding a short blade, Charlie and several villagers to either side.
With a cry, he ran. Veering around trees and jumping over campfires, he sprinted with all he had, skidding to a halt in front of her.
Dear God, she should not be here. None of them should be here. There was no way this could end well.
“I willnae even ask how in God’s name ye are here,” he said. “Do ye remember the fighting techniques I showed ye?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. Ye are going to need them.” He glanced at Charlie and the villagers. “Stay close, all of ye.”
He had to get them away. Once MacInnes’ men organized themselves, this would become a slaughter.
He led them roughly north, aiming towards where he thought the horses might be. If they could somehow steal those horses, they stood a chance. If not...
A man materialized out of the mist, raising a flintlock pistol.
With a roar, Evan slammed into him and the shot cracked into a tree.
He drove his knife into the man’s throat and kept moving, checking that Ruby and the others were following.
All around them echoed the sounds of fighting.
Up ahead, he heard the whinny of a horse and a sliver of relief went through him. Almost there—
Then Fergus Key stepped out of the mist.
“Where are ye going, Campbell?”
He swung a dagger at Evan who brought his knife up in a block.
Their blades clashed. Key was strong, well trained.
He slashed and ducked, driving Evan backwards, and it was all Evan could do to keep the man’s blade at bay.
Then a rock crashed into the side of Key’s head and he staggered.
Evan stabbed his knife between the man’s ribs.
Key’s eyes widened and he made a low gurgling noise as he collapsed to the damp ground.
Evan looked around, saw Ruby hefting another rock ready to throw if needed, saw Charlie and the villagers back-to-back in a rough circle, weapons ready, saw Niall and Hamish fighting side by side in the distance, saw knots of villagers fighting with scythes and pitchforks.
But the mist was starting to clear. The sun had risen high enough to begin burning it off and small knots of Niall’s fighters were becoming obvious, losing the advantage of surprise.
He heard bellowed orders—MacInnes’ voice—and suddenly men were converging on them from all sides, flintlock pistols loaded and aimed.
Despair roiled through him. They could not win. These people were all going to die. And it was his fault.
A horn split the morning. Looking up, he spotted a line of mounted warriors through the shifting mists, and Evan recognized the man in the lead.
Bryce.
His elder brother raised his arm high. “Campbell!” he roared. His warriors came riding down the slope, through the trees, and crashed into the camp like a storm.
Evan barely had time to breathe before chaos erupted around him. The air was suddenly full of the sound of charging hooves, the retort of pistol shots, the stink of gunpowder.
“Get down!” he bellowed at those around him, grabbing Ruby and pulling her flat to the ground.
Her face was pale but her expression fierce, her hair escaping its braid, her breath quick against his neck. He put his arms over her, shielding her with his body as his eyes swept the battlefield.
And that was when he saw him. Seoras MacInnes.
The warlord was retreating across the camp, surrounded by a cluster of his most loyal guards.
They were moving quickly toward the far edge of the clearing where several horses waited.
Anger flared. If MacInnes escaped, everything he’d risked would mean nothing.
The man would vanish into the hills, rebuild his network, and return stronger than before.
He could not let them happen.
“Stay here,” he ordered Ruby. “Keep low. Stay hidden.”
“But where are you—”
“I have to stop him.”
Before she could reply, he climbed to his feet and began zigzagging through the trees.
He barely registered the men who tried to stop him—only the movement of their weapons and the instinctive responses his body had learned years ago.
A sword thrust came at his ribs but he knocked it aside and drove his knife into the man’s shoulder.
A man rushed him from the side so Evan slammed his elbow into his throat and kept moving.
MacInnes was almost at the horses now.
Gunshots and smoke filled the air around him but Evan didn’t slow. The fury inside him had burned away everything else—fear, caution, even pain. All that remained was the raw need to reach the man who had nearly destroyed everything.
A blade suddenly sliced across his arm, cutting through cloth and skin. He turned and kicked the man holding it in the knee, hearing bone and cartilage crunch. Another man lunged and Evan drove his shoulder into him and sent him crashing into the mud.
But more of MacInnes’ men came running. There were five of them now. Then six. They formed a tight ring around him, raising loaded pistols.
Evan staggered to a halt.
MacInnes watched from across the clearing, his single eye gleaming with amusement. “Still reckless, eh Campbell?” he called. “That’s one of the things I always liked about ye. Ye were never scared of the odds.”
Evan spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye—one of the guards’ fingers moving on the trigger of his pistol.
He threw himself to the ground and rolled, just as the shot cracked through the air and caught another man in the shoulder, spinning him around in a spray of blood.
The guards closed in, stowing their pistols and drawing swords instead.
Steel flashed toward Evan from three sides.
He parried one strike, ducked another—but a third slammed into his shoulder and sent him staggering.
He grabbed up a fallen sword, but there were too many men. He couldn’t fight them all, despite his desperation, despite the fury roaring in his veins.
“Evan!”
A sword crashed into one of MacInnes’ guards, knocking him aside, and Niall burst into the circle. Another guard fell with a cry as Bryce slammed into him from the other side.
The pressure around Evan broke and he was able to pause to take a breath. For a moment the three brothers stood looking at each other, chests heaving.
“What in all the hells are ye both doing here?”
“Ruby figured it out,” Niall gasped. “That they’d changed the dates.”
Ruby. Of course. She was shrewder than any of them. “So how did ye know where to find me?”
“I’ve had men following ye,” Bryce said. “Watching every move ye made.”
“Ye mean ye didnae trust me,” Evan growled.
Bryce shrugged. “Let’s just call it ‘being prepared’, shall we?”
MacInnes’ men were regrouping now, more of them rushing towards Evan and his brothers. Bryce took the first man, his powerful swing driving the attacker back. He had always been a master swordsman and it seemed he’d not let his skills slip in the years since Evan had seen him.
Niall slipped past a strike and cut his opponent down. Evan turned just as a blade came toward his ribs, knocking it aside while Bryce stepped into the opening and finished the man.
Their movements flowed together like water and Evan felt a strange flash of memory. The three of them as boys in the courtyard, wooden swords in their hands, laughing and shouting as they pretended to be heroes from the old stories—warriors of the Order of the Osprey.
The guards fell one by one until finally only MacInnes remained. He didn’t run. He didn’t even look scared. He stepped forward slowly, drawing his sword.
Evan moved to meet him. “Give it up, MacInnes. This is over.”
MacInnes’ eye glittered. “That has yet to be decided.”
Then he attacked. MacInnes was fast, faster than Evan remembered. Their blades crashed together with a violent clang and Evan staggered under the force of the first blow. Bryce and Niall moved back, fighting more of MacInnes’ guards who came running to the aid of their chief.
MacInnes pressed forward relentlessly, striking again and again with brutal strength. “Ye always were weak,” the warlord growled. “Too soft for the life I offered ye.”
Evan blocked another strike, his muscles screaming. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
MacInnes laughed harshly. “Ye do that.”
He swung and Evan twisted aside, the blade slicing through the air where his chest had been. Evan spun and countered, their blades ringing as they came together. MacInnes fought like a seasoned killer, all brutal efficiency and strength.
Mud splashed beneath their boots as they circled each other. MacInnes swung wide. Evan ducked under the blow and drove his shoulder into the larger man.