The Recruit (24 page)

Felton’s stiff English control cracked. “I’m not worried, damn it.”

“Good,” Kenneth said curtly. Ignoring the blustering knight, he turned to Percy. “The
pass I mentioned is just ahead. You’ll want to have your men in position and hidden
well before Bruce’s men arrive, in case they send a scout ahead to watch for the supply
train.”

Percy’s plan was to hide a short distance away from where Bruce’s men intended to
launch their “surprise” attack. The carts and armed soldiers from Carlisle would proceed
as originally planned, but when Bruce’s men attacked, the soldiers would be ready
for them. Once the two sides were engaged in battle, Percy and the rest of his men
would circle around them, catching them in an impenetrable net.

But “impenetrable” wasn’t enough to hold the Highland Guard.

Kenneth might have been worried about the number of men Percy had brought with him—fifty
in addition to the soldiers from Carlisle guarding the carts (he wasn’t taking any
chances in letting the illustrious phantom warriors slip through his fingers)—but
he’d seen the Highland Guard in action. He doubted a hundred men would be enough to
hold them. Moreover, Striker—Eoin MacLean—had planned the “attack” with a second route
of escape if it proved necessary.

Percy turned to Felton. “Your men are ready? I will be counting on you to make sure
they cannot break through. I don’t care what it takes, do not let them escape!”

Felton appeared unconcerned. “If Sutherland is telling the truth, my men will be ready.
The place on the road they’ve chosen leaves them little room to maneuver.” He knelt
down to draw a crude map in the dirt. “It is dense forestland with a steep rise on
one side and the Aln River on the other. We will circle around from all directions
once they have launched their attack. As long as the soldiers protecting the cart
can hold them off while we get in position, we will have them.”

Percy looked at the ground for a long moment, studying every possible escape route.
If he considered the cliff, he quickly discounted it. Who would jump over twenty feet
into a narrow river in the darkness? “Good,” he said with a curt nod of the head.

When he’d moved off, Kenneth turned to Felton. “Don’t forget about the lad,” he said,
indicating the young Earl of Atholl. “I don’t think his mother would appreciate if
you got him captured.”

Even in the fading daylight, Kenneth could see the angry flush flood Felton’s face.
“The boy is none of your concern, and neither is his mother.”

Kenneth was being warned off, and if he were wise he
would have walked away. But Felton had driven one too many stakes in his claim.

He smiled. “Are you so sure about that?”

Felton’s fists clenched, and for a moment, Kenneth thought—hell, hoped—he was going
to strike him. But instead, he looked Kenneth over with a coldly assessing stare and
returned his smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve competed for something. And
like all the other times, I’m sure the result will be the same.”

Outwardly, Kenneth showed no reaction to the taunt, but inside was a different matter.
He would love nothing more than to prove to Felton just how wrong he was, but Bruce
had warned him to keep a low profile. To do nothing to bring attention to himself
or his skills. Besting Percy’s champion would sure as hell do that.

Kenneth had newfound sympathy for MacKay, who’d been forced to do much the same thing
in the face of Kenneth’s taunts last year.

All he could do was grit his teeth once again. “Just be ready.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Kenneth’s Highland Guard brethren—or the majority of
them at least; MacLeod, MacRuairi, and MacSorley had stayed with the king—arrived
about an hour after dusk to take their positions. Campbell and MacGregor had passed
within a few dozen feet of the English position, as they’d ridden south to supposedly
scout the arrival of the provision train. Kenneth knew they’d been spotted, although
the two warriors gave no indication of it. Campbell was too good to miss them. The
clear night and full moon provided enough light to see the signs on the landscape
left by fifty men.

Not long after Campbell and MacGregor passed by, they heard the clomp of horses and
the clatter of carts being pulled along a bumpy road. Felton motioned to one
of the soldiers in the carts as they passed, alerting them that the place was near,
but taking care that he could not be seen from the road ahead.

The air was thick with tension now as the train rumbled by them. They would not be
able to see the attack, but they would be able to hear it.

The minutes tolled slowly. Kenneth could see the anxiousness on the faces of the men
around him as they waited for the first sounds. The familiar battle scent of fear
laced with anticipation hung in the air.

Finally, a fierce battle cry tore through the night, and a moment later, there was
the answering clash of steel. Felton sprang from his position on the opposite side
of Percy and began barking commands. His men took off in all directions, fanning around
the attack to cut off all means of escape.

Kenneth, Percy, and Felton approached slowly, taking care not to alert Bruce’s man
of their presence.

Percy’s men were good, he’d give them that. For Englishmen they were doing a damned
find job of imitating Bruce’s “furtive” methods. If this had been a real attack, the
Highland Guard might have been in trouble.

But his friends knew what was coming, and they’d be ready.

Finally, Kenneth and the English reached a turn in the road where they could see the
battle. About a hundred feet ahead of them, pandemonium reigned. Swords, pikes, axes,
hammers—a symphony of weaponry flashed like a lightning storm in the night air before
them. If he hadn’t known better, the sight of Bruce’s “phantoms” would have taken
him aback as well. Wrapped in dark plaids, with their blackened faces, helms, mail
coifs, and
cotuns
, the Highland Guard did indeed look like wraiths, flying through the night air in
a whirl of death and destruction. He noticed more than one man startle beside him.

“They’re only men,” Percy reminded them softly, but there might have been a hint of
uncertainty in his voice. Then he stood, brandishing his sword about his head. “For
England!” he shouted, leading the charge.

Only Kenneth hesitated. He looked around to where Felton had instructed the young
earl to remain, protected by a half-dozen soldiers who would prevent the Guard from
escaping to the south. “Remember,” he warned the lad. “Stay back, and out of the way.”

Wide-eyed, transfixed by his first glimpse of battle, David nodded.

Kenneth raced forward, taking his position on the east flank where Percy was shouting
out his commands. The Highland Guard had already fought their way through the first
line of defense—the soldiers protecting the cart—and Percy was ordering the outer
line forward, tightening the noose.

The plan was for the Highland Guard to create a hole in the defense and slip through
before the English were in position. It should have been simple enough. With Percy’s
remaining men spread all around, the eight guardsmen could easily defeat the dozen
or so closest men and slip into the cover of darkness.

But something was wrong. The Guard was taking too long.

It took Kenneth a minute to realize that one of the Guard had been injured—Seton,
maybe?—it was too dark to tell. The guardsman nearest him—this one he had no problem
recognizing, Boyd’s powerful form being impossible to mistake—was locked in battle
with three of Felton’s men and couldn’t break free of them. MacKay was trying to make
his way over to help them, but Felton had seen what was happening and ordered a handful
of his men to stop him.

Unfortunately, Seton—he was sure it was he now—Boyd,
and MacKay were on the opposite side of the road from the rest of the Guard, and the
time for creating that hole was quickly disappearing. The noose was tightening and
would become harder and harder to break through.

Timing was everything, and they were losing it. Kenneth was trying to think of a way
to help without making it obvious, but his own position on the outer line beside Percy
hampered him.

Then things went from bad to worse. Improvising, the Guard decided to make two holes.
MacGregor, Campbell, MacLean, and Lamont broke through the line in the northwest and
escaped along the planned route through the high pass. MacKay, Boyd, and Seton would
take the backup route along the river. Splitting up made sense. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that between the three guardsmen and escape was the young Earl of
Atholl.

Would they be able to tell in the darkness it was only a lad? The boy was tall already,
and with his mail and helm …

Ah hell
.

“Get back!” Kenneth shouted, but the boy was too far away and the din of battle too
loud for him to hear the warning.

Realizing the danger, Felton had moved his men around to protect the boy. The added
men were making it harder for the three guardsmen to break through and giving Percy
the delay he needed.

“Don’t let them escape!” Percy shouted, ordering the rest of his men to circle around
from behind.

MacKay, Boyd, and the wounded Seton were fighting their way forward, but they needed
to hurry up. The rest of the army was closing in fast. They only had a handful of
seconds to get away.

One by one, they cut through the men standing before
the boy. The earl was trying to back up, but he wasn’t moving away fast enough. Felton
was doing his best to fend off MacKay, but the others were no match for Boyd, and
even an injured Seton.

Finally, they had their hole. Seton and Boyd slipped through and headed for the edge
of the hillside.

“Stop them, Felton!” Percy shouted. “They’re getting away!”

Percy’s champion was good, but MacKay was better. He feigned a swing of his sword
from the right, but at the last minute dropped his hands, spun, and delivered a blow
from the opposite side, sending Felton careening to the ground on his arse.

Kenneth didn’t have time to enjoy the moment, however. MacKay was past Felton and
headed for the others when he saw the lad—except he didn’t know it was a lad. He thought
he was just one more soldier in his way.

Kenneth was almost there.

MacKay lifted his sword.

“Nayyyy!” Kenneth shouted, leaping through the air, his own sword raised to block
the blow meant for David.

His gaze met MacKay’s shocked one as their swords clashed right before the terrified
boy’s face. Unfortunately, due to the angle and the fact that Kenneth was flying through
the air, the swords did not meet squarely, and the blade of MacKay’s two-handed long
sword skidded sharply off the blade and into Kenneth’s arm.

The shot of pain and hot pulse of blood told him the powerful slice of MacKay’s blade
had found a narrow gap between the sleeve of his habergeon and gauntlet and penetrated
the padding underneath to find flesh. Quite a bit of flesh, he suspected, feeling
the amount of blood seeping through as he tried to staunch it with his gauntleted
hand.

Kenneth hoped he was the only one to hear his brother-in-law
swear and mutter a hasty apology in Gaelic before disappearing into the darkness.

Moments later, Kenneth heard a splash below and knew his friends were safe.

Not surprisingly, not one of the Englishmen attempted to jump off the cliff to go
after them.

Thirteen
 

For the better part of two days, Mary had plenty of time to consider what she should
do. With Sir Adam in constant attendance to the Earl of Cornwall and Davey having
accompanied Lord Percy, Sir John, and—to her surprise—Sir Kenneth on some last-minute
journey to Roxburgh (at least she thought it was Roxburgh, though Sir Adam had been
unusually vague), she’d been left largely to herself.

Although she was certainly eager to avoid Sir Kenneth, and truth be told Sir John
as well, she wanted to tell Sir Adam and Davey of her plans to return to Ponteland
as soon as possible.

Her chest squeezed at the thought of leaving so soon after arriving. It wasn’t fair.
She’d just begun to make inroads with her son, just started to get to know him, and
he
had to show up and ruin everything.

Mary’s first instinct had been to toss a few items in a bag that night and find the
nearest ship to take her to France. But once the initial shock of seeing Kenneth Sutherland
in all his too-handsome glory in
England
had passed, she’d calmed down. Well, at least enough not to run to the stables and
jump on the first horse.

There was no reason to be scared, she told herself. No reason to overreact or do anything
rash. Perhaps he did not mean to stay long?

But Mary knew that even a few days was too much to risk. She would return to Ponteland
on the pretext of attending
to a matter with the estate and return to Berwick and Davey as soon as she was able.
As soon as he was gone.