Chapter 10 #3
“I found a boot print!” cried one of the two spearmen, tossing aside a small chunk of shale.
Instantly, twelve pairs of eyes tipped upward, peering into the rocks with renewed eagerness.
“Are you certain?” the sergeant asked with a skeptical frown. In spite of his doubt, he left the wall he was exploring and headed for the path.
“Aye, ‘tis definitely the mark of a bootheel frozen in the mud.”
Aiden drew a long, deep breath. His hand tightened around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword, but he still did not give the signal to shoot.
A half dozen soldiers joined the spearmen and began to clear the rocks.
The farther they advanced up the slope, the easier the path became.
They were about to discover the hill fort, to run amok and possibly slay his kin.
Aiden was out of options. He glanced down the line of archers, his face grim.
With a silent wave of his hand, he ordered his men to shoot.
The sergeant and the two spearmen were downed in the first volley of arrows. Two other soldiers farther down the slope also dropped. The remaining soldiers raised their targes and drove up the hill with an aggressive roar.
They swiftly reached level ground, and the battle switched to a duel of sword and spear.
Aiden dove out from behind a boulder and took on a broad-shouldered swordsman in chain mail.
The fellow was talented, and their swords collided again and again with neither gaining the advantage.
They circled each other, testing strength and speed, pushing footing and grip to the limit.
In the end, it was the soldier’s armor that did him in.
He tired quicker than Aiden, and after nimbly parrying a swift thrust, he made his first error—he left his leg exposed.
Fighting for the lives of his clan, Aiden didn’t hesitate—he drove his sword into the man’s thigh and brought him swiftly to the ground.
Unfortunately for the men of MacPherson’s patrol, they were outmaneuvered and outnumbered. Trapped between the two walls that surrounded the fort, they fought fiercely and with the seasoned skill of arms for hire, but circumstances played against them.
None of MacPherson’s men ceded defeat easily. Only three of them survived the melee—including Aiden’s opponent. The MacCurran injuries, by comparison, were minor. A few sliced chests and legs, but no deaths.
Aiden lowered his sword.
The camp was safe—for the moment. But that moment would be short-lived. MacPherson would send another patrol in search of the first, and when he did . . .
Wiping his blade on his sleeve, he ordered Niall, “Gather the arrows. Have the men round everyone up. We’ve a need to find a new camp.”
“Surely we can simply bury the bodies?”
“MacPherson will not yield so easily. He’ll comb this area until he finds the bodies . . . and then he’ll wreak vengeance upon us.”
Aiden left Niall to direct the men and strode across the inner close to the roundhouse. He almost missed Isabail when he entered. She was seated on the floor with her back against the wall.
When she spied him, she released a sigh. “You’re safe.”
“Gather your things. We must move.”
Isabail gained her feet and did her best to brush the dirt from her skirts. “Move? Move where?”
A very good question. Aiden had given thought to that question many times over the past few months as he planned for the future.
Nowhere in the glen would he benefit from stone walls, good storage, and a highly defensible position.
But with almost sixty souls under his care, secrecy was better than defensibility.
“There’s a thickly wooded area farther west. We’ll head there. ”
“Why? Why not remain here?”
Aiden laid the blanket on the floor and began piling items in the middle of it: his clothes, his spare pair of boots and some personal items. “Tormod MacPherson believes his mission is to destroy the MacCurran clan. He’ll soon learn that we are camped here, and when he does, he’ll attack in full force.
I cannot defend my clan against the strength of his army with little or no supplies. ”
Isabail was silent for a long moment. “You fear that he’ll come looking for his missing men.”
Aiden didn’t bother to answer. He tied the corners of the blanket and swung it over his shoulder. Holding out a hand, he said, “Come.”
She did not take his hand. “What if there were no men to be found?”
“It wouldn’t matter; he will continue to hunt until he finds us.”
“Unless he believed the men were elsewhere when they died.”
He stared at her, slowly lowering his hand. “Are you suggesting we move the bodies?”
Isabail blushed. “I’ve no idea what I’m suggesting. Just thinking aloud. Is it possible to move the bodies?”
“Aye,” he said. A thoughtful frown settled on his brow. “It’s possible. Moving his men from one spot to another won’t be enough to deceive MacPherson, however. To be successful, we’ll need a wee bit of cunning.”
He dropped the blanket bundle onto the mattress. Then he grabbed Isabail by the shoulders and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “Stay here. I’ll be back anon.”