Highland Moonlight (19 page)

more to your reasoning than desire.”

Alexander drew a deep breath. “‘Tis a reason, but not an excuse for

what I did. I did not know the damage I would cause by traveling such a

path. She is not the same lass she was before, nor I the same man.”

“Mayhap ‘tis good. You have finally fallen to earth to join the rest of us

sinners,” Duncan said, his expression serious.

Alexander studied his brother in surprise. “I have never considered

myself above any man.”

“Nay, ‘twas what you expected of yourself.”

Mary returned and he rose. As though signaled, the men prepared to

remount. Mary pulled her gloves from within her surcoat and one dropped to

the ground. Alexander bent to retrieve it as she did the same. The

unmistakable hiss of an arrow sped just over their heads to land just

behind them.

Alexander grasped Mary’s arm and dragged her unceremoniously

behind a clump of brush for cover.

“Where did it come from?” she whispered.

“The trees above,” he answered. “Stay here.” He looked up in surprise

as her hand latched onto his arm, preventing him from leaving her.

“Take heart, lass. I do not intend to make you a widow at such a tender

age.”

****

men and signaled to them.

Those with bows began to return the sporadic fire of the hidden

archers. Though their aim focused in the right direction, their arrows could

not penetrate the thick branches of the pines in which their attackers had

taken refuge. Some bounced away to land in the snow beneath the trees

while others found purchase out of sight.

A lull came in the firing of the arrows by both parties and a horrible gut

wrenching silence ensued.

Mary looked away from Alexander’s progress then back to find him

gone from sight. She shivered and huddled beneath the branches of the

small evergreen, as fear for his safety twisted inside her.

A strange sound cut through the silence. Like a wave, it built to a

horrible roar that grew as the pounding of horses hooves sped closer. The

men drew their swords and readied themselves.

****

Using the animal as cover, he retrieved her crossbow and quiver of arrows.

Arrows hissed through the air, their venomous strike deadly and quick as

they hit the small mare along the shoulders and haunches. The horse went

down screaming in pain. Alexander leaped away, his tracks in the snow

hounded by arrows loosed on his heels as he ran for cover.

The lead horse appeared through the trees with several others close

behind. Another battle cry rent the air as the warriors bore down upon them.

Alexander stepped from behind the trees and released the arrow in

the crossbow. The dart split the air and found its mark in the chest of the

animal in the lead. It dropped like a stone from beneath his rider, sending

the man sailing through the air in an arc to land against a tree with a fleshy

thud. The riders and horses close behind reached the fallen animal without

warning. Several others went down causing those behind to either pull up

or leap over to keep from trampling their fallen comrades.

****

forward. The crashing of metal against metal thundered loud in the clear

cold air as the two forces met in a violent clash of arms and wills.

Duncan staggered through the brush falling back beneath an

onslaught of weighty swordplay. She rolled to her feet and stumbled back

out of the way.

Two men broke through the underbrush to her right. Their immediate

surprise at finding her there gave them pause, then they leaped forward.

Mary darted around Duncan. She hiked her skirt above her ankles and

raced uphill. Her breathing grew harsh as she struggled against the

uncertain footing, the snow and mud making her slip. Her muscles burned

with the effort, as the sound of the men’s pursuit behind her drew closer.

She cut back through the trees circling the camp to where she had last

seen Alexander. The sounds of battle increased in intensity.

She broke through the stand of trees, to find herself in the thick of the

fray, and ducked as a blade swung dangerously close over her head. She

leaped over a man in her path, his throat slit, the snow bloody from his

wound.

She reached the horses and ran around them seeking a place to hide.

A yelp of fear tore from her as someone grabbed her from behind and

knocked her to the ground. She turned onto her back to face the threat, and

was immediately pinned to the ground by the weight of one of the men. The

other stood over her.

Straddling her, her captor grinned. She had only time to experience a

momentary rush of dread when an arrow caught him in the throat

obliterating his smile and splattering blood in her face and across the

snow. He toppled and fell forward on top of her.

The other man wheeled to face the threat. Alexander swung the empty

crossbow hitting him in the face. Lifted clear of his feet by the force of the

blow, the man landed flat on his back in the snow. He lay motionless, his

body twisted at an awkward angle.

Mary wiggled to free herself from the dead weight of the man’s body as

his blood leaked out to run beneath her. She avoided looking at him.

Alexander flipped him off her. Grasping her arm, he lifted her to her

feet. He urged her into the cover of the trees a small distance from the

fighting and turned to give her a searching once over to check her for

injuries. “Are you whole, Mary? Did they hurt you?” he demanded.

“Nay.” She ripped a piece of fabric from her kirtle to wipe the blood

from her face. “Tis his blood not mine,” she assured him, her voice shaky.

Alexander bent to scoop some snow in his hand and rub it over her

cheeks to clean it away. “Come, lass.” He looked about for a place of safety

for her. He led her to a sturdy pine, the branches thick with needles. “Have

you ever climbed a tree?”

“It has been some time, but aye.”

“I need you to climb this one, lass, and stay here until I come for you.”

She nodded.

He bent and gave her a boost. Reaching one of the lower branches,

she hastened to secure purchase on some of the larger branches to push

herself upward. Her assent awkward, she settled on a branch a safe

distance above the ground. She offered Alexander a smile, though she had

never felt less like smiling. Fear for him and the others had her heart

pounding so hard it was almost painful to breathe. Sounds of the battle still

raging carried easily to them.

Alexander loaded the crossbow and stretched for her to grasp it, then

reached up the quiver of arrows. “Do not hesitate to use it, Mary.”

She nodded. “Have a care for yourself, Alexander.”

Flashing her a smile, he drew his sword then turned and ran back to

the fighting.

“‘Tis a bird,” Alexander said, as he looked up at Mary perched high

above them.

“Nay, what kind of bird would perch in such weather? ‘Tis a wee

beastie,” Gabriel said.

Mary smiled down at the two men and wanted to laugh from sheer joy.

The sounds of fighting had gone on for an endless time. Now that it was

finally over, she felt weak with relief.

“Is all well with Duncan and the others, Alexander?” she asked as a

fresh wave of anxiety struck her.

“Aye, lass,” he said with a grin. “Do you not wish to come down now?”

“Aye,” she breathed, eager to have her feet on solid ground.

She tossed down the crossbow and the quiver of arrows. Her skirts

continually caught on the many twigs and needles of the tree and she had

to free herself several times. “‘Twould have been easier dressed in trews

as you are,” she complained. Alexander grasped her about the waist to

steady her as she dropped to the ground.

“I do not believe I would approve your climbing about in trees often,

Mary,” he teased then frowned as she turned to face him. “Are you hurt,

lass?”

She touched the spot along her neck where dried blood left a grainy

residue on her skin. “Nay,’tis that man’s blood, not mine. I could not get it

off. I’ll see to it when we return to camp.”

The men exchanged a look.

“You must prepare yourself, lass,” Alexander said.

A feeling of fear curled around her insides, leaving a hollow sensation

in its wake.

“‘Tis a bloody mess you’ll be seeing. Do not dwell on the men’s faces.

T’will stay with you if you do.”

Mary nodded. “How many of the men have been hurt?”

“Three,” he answered, his expression grave. “Derrick, our healer, is

one of them and can not help the others. Do you think you can do

something for them?”

“We will see.” She prayed she would be able to care for them.

The camp lay in shambles, the snow trampled to mud in spots where

the heaviest fighting had occurred. Blood mixed with snow tinged the

ground pink in several places.

The men had cleared the area of bodies and were gathering the

weapons of the fallen warriors they had battled. The bodies lay in a row at

one end of the camp far away from the injured Campbell clansmen.

“They will return for their dead once we are gone,” Alexander said as

he guided her to the fire.

Mary searched for Duncan and drew a relieved breath when her gaze

found him among the men moving the dead.

Her eyes traveled to the row of eight bodies he stood beside and a

shudder of revulsion shook her. She could do nothing for them. She quickly

turned back to the three men lying close to the fire.

Drawing a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself, she

straightened her shoulders and turned to Alexander. “I will need water

heated and, if my things are still about, I will need scissors, and the muslin

you purchased for me before we left Lorne.”

Mary kneeled beside the first man. She peeled back the fabric of a

hastily fashioned bandage to find a gapping sword wound traveling the

length of his arm that laid bare the muscle beneath. She swallowed as

nausea rose up and she closed her eyes for a moment feeling light

headed. It was a moment before she trusted she would not bock. She

schooled her features into a calm expression and forced her gaze upward

to the man’s face. His gray hair, wet with sweat, lay plastered to his head.

His jaw harshly clenched against the pain.

“It cannot be left open, Artair. I will have to draw it closed somehow.”

He nodded.

Mary laid a hand on his uninjured arm. “‘Twill be well, as soon as I

may make it so.”

She started to kneel beside the next man, but he shook his head as

he held a cloth against a wound in his thigh.

“‘Tis only a cut and not as bad as Artair’s. See to Derrick first. He has

more need of your services than I do, Lady Mary.”

She moved to Derrick. He lay propped against a saddle, an arrow

protruding from his chest. He tried to offer Mary a smile though it was

obvious every breath he drew caused him pain. One of the men cut his shirt

away to bare the injury. The sight of the shaft protruding from his flesh had

her swallowing against the sickness again. She studied the depth of the

arrow for a few moments. “Twill be difficult,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed. “Let us do it and put it behind us both, lass.”

She nodded then looked around . “Have my things been found?”

“Aye, Mary.” Alexander stepped forward to place the items she needed

close beside her.

“Have two of the men scrub their hands then tear the muslin into strips

for bandages. Is the water heated yet?”

“Aye, lass.”

She laid a muslin cloth, scissors, and needle and thread out on a flat

piece of fabric then turned to scrub her hands thoroughly.

“Gabriel?”

“Aye, Lady Mary.”

“I would ask you to hold him steady while Alexander draws the arrow

free.”

The burley clansman moved around behind Derrick and looped a

muscular arm around his chest above the arrow. Alexander did not delay,

but jerked the arrow free with a quick heave. Mary applied pressure to the

wound, holding back the flow of blood. When she cautiously eased the

fabric back to view the wound, she breathed a sigh of relief. The blood did

not spurt and there were no air bubbles escaping from the wound. She

cleaned the torn flesh then padded the injury and bound it tightly.

Aware of the possibility the men who had attacked them could return,

she rushed to see to the other two clansmen. She found her sewing ability

more handy than she had ever thought as she drew the gapping sides of

Artair’s wound back together. Her hands grew slick with blood and the