Chapter Ten #3
“Nell,” she said, struggling to rise and pointing to the right of their hiding place.
Marcus looked. There, sleeping soundly on the shore, lay Nell, a young maid who had only last week begun working in the castle. Despite the ruckus, she didn't stir. Marcus recalled that she was deaf in one ear. His heart leapt into his throat.
“Do not move,” he ground out, and turned back to peer through the bush.
The other women had swum safely to deeper waters.
Someone cried out Nell's name, but the girl didn't wake.
Marcus looked at the Campbells. Two of the seven comrades reached the women's clothes and halted.
More shrieks came from the women as they swam farther from shore.
The two Campbells scanned the frantic women but made no move to pursue them.
One of the Campbells said something indistinguishable.
Marcus strained to make out the other's response but without success.
They continued to scrutinize the women, their attention moving farther to the right where Nell lay.
They would see her in an instant. Marcus stood and stepped around the bush into full sight.
He took two paces in the direction of his warriors' hiding place.
“Look!” one of the Campbells shouted, and the other turned in Marcus's direction.
Marcus spied a large piece of driftwood. He hurried the few paces to the wood and snatched it up. He kept his gaze on the Campbell who had called out as he snapped off two small branches and dropped them. Four of the five remaining Campbells joined their companions.
“Ha!” one of the newcomers exclaimed. “The MacGregor thinks to bring us down with a stick of wood.”
The man unsheathed his sword and kicked his horse's belly.
The beast lunged forward. The man bore down upon Marcus and swung his sword.
Marcus deflected the blow with the driftwood as the horse shot past, and pivoted full circle, hitting the man across the back with the wood.
A loud crack sounded and the man fell to the ground limp.
Two more Campbells spurred their horses toward him.
He sprang forward, headed for the fallen Campbell's sword.
He reached the weapon with a dive, barely missing the sweep of an oncoming rider's sword.
The Campbell barreled past while his companion wheeled his horse hard right to intercept.
The Campbells nearest the shore shouted and two more of them shot toward Marcus.
Marcus sprang to his feet, his steel meeting that of the man who had cut him off.
Marcus faltered a step under the power of his opponent's swing.
The man parried left, smiling as though already tasting victory.
Marcus saw the man's fingers tighten around his mount's reins and, just as the horse turned, Marcus thrust his sword into his midsection.
He twisted the weapon, then yanked it free.
The man cried out. He clutched his belly and slumped forward in the saddle.
Blood gushed despite the arm he wrapped around himself.
Marcus leapt forward and grabbed his shoulder.
The Campbell swatted at him, his blood-soaked arm leaving a streak of blood down his arm, but Marcus's fingers found purchase, and he yanked him from the saddle.
Marcus grabbed the pummel and pulled himself into the saddle in time to see his two men close in on the Campbell warrior who had shot past him.
The man gave a violent slap of reins against his steed's rump in an effort to elude them.
John lunged forward, swinging the blunt side of his sword across the horse's knee.
The horse stumbled, then fell to his knees, throwing its rider.
Marcus wheeled his mount around to face the two Campbells who were nearly upon him when the thunder of hooves rolled down the mountainside.
He cut his gaze to the left and saw a dozen MacGregor warriors speeding downhill.
A woman cried out, then Elise shouted, “Marcus! They have Nell!”
He jerked his attention to the girl. His gut wrenched when one Campbell rounded his attention on Elise and stared.
Marcus yanked his horse's reins to the right.
The animal whirled and Marcus dug his heels into its flanks.
In four great strides, he met his opponent's sword with his own.
The Campbell pulled his mount hard left.
Marcus gave his horse a fierce kick. The horse charged and he thrust his sword into the Campbell's side even as the man's gaze met his.
The man's eyes bulged. He reached out as if to grab Marcus. Marcus yanked his sword from the man's body. The man's mouth worked. Marcus whirled his horse toward the warrior who had captured Nell. The guards from Brahan Seer flew across the shore in his path, Erin in the lead.
“Erin!” Marcus shouted, then to one of the other men, “You!” Both men broke from their party and spun toward him. “Take her back to the keep.” He jabbed his sword in Elise's direction. “Erin, you're with me.”
In an instant, the warrior reached Elise. She shook her head.
“Take her!” Marcus ordered, and slapped the reins across his horse's rump.
He drove his mount, staying a nose ahead of Erin. Nell's heels unexpectedly kicked the belly of the Campbell's horse.
Fight, lass, fight! Marcus urged.
The Campbell's fisted hand rose and he tensed. The fist fell hard and Nell went limp. Marcus's blood froze.
The ground softened as the shores of Loch Katrine changed from rocky sand to marsh.
Marcus smiled coldly. One had to know the land well to ride this section of the shore, which the Campbell warrior did not.
The man's horse faltered. He glanced over his shoulder, then flung Nell to the ground.
Erin cried out. An even darker rage shot through Marcus.
They reached Nell.
“Take her home!” Marcus shouted without stopping.
The Campbell's horse stumbled again, then crashed to the ground, pinning his rider's leg beneath him.
The animal struggled to rise, gave a shrill whinny, then heaved his full weight onto the man's leg.
The Campbell arched in pain. After an instant's heavy breathing, he craned his head in Marcus's direction.
Marcus lifted his sword. In ten seconds, the warrior would be his.
The man shoved frantically at the horse's back, his gaze glued on Marcus.
Marcus tightened his grip on the sword. The man's gaze shifted to the raised weapon. He leveraged a foot on the horse's back, pushing with all his might. Marcus discerned strain in his arm muscles as, with one great heave, the man slid his leg from beneath the horse.
The warrior scrambled to his knees, lunging for his sword as Marcus raised his weapon and cried, “Buadhaich!” With one mighty swing of the claymore, Marcus sliced across the man's neck.
Marcus wheeled his horse around and, his gaze straight ahead, tread over the body as he raced toward home.