The Witch and The Warrior (35 page)

C
HAPTER
11

“Alex!” called Robena anxiously, “what are you going to do?” “I'm going to fight him, Robena,” Alex replied, striding toward the stairs that led to the battlements. “He leaves me no choice.”

“This is madness! You cannot let your people die for the sake of that whore!”

Alex stopped. “What did you say?” His voice was ominously soft.

Realizing she had gone too far, Robena made a cautious retreat. “I mean only that she is a witch, Alex.” She began to wring the fine linen square she held in her hand as she continued meekly, “You brought her here to help your son, but he seems better now. We don't need her anymore. It would be best for everyone if you simply gave her back to the MacSweens.”

“So they can kill her?”

“Whatever they decide to do with her is their affair, not ours. She is one of them, and they have the right to punish her for her evil crimes. It is not your responsibility to protect her.”

“You're wrong, Robena. From the moment I rescued Gwendolyn from that stake, she became my responsibility. And I will defend her the same as I would any member of my clan.”

“But she doesn't belong here, Alex,” she persisted. “Surely you can see that?”

“Whether she belongs here or not, she will be protected.”

Robena's gaze narrowed. “Elspeth said the witch would bring misery and death to the clan, and so she has. And she has bewitched you with her sluttish charms until you are too blind to see the truth!”

Alex stared at her, shocked by the sudden change in her demeanor. The linen square she held was crushed into a limp ball, and the feminine fear sparkling in her eyes a moment earlier had been obliterated by utter loathing.

“You disappoint me, Robena,” he said tautly. “I would have thought that you, of all people, would have more faith in me than that.”

“But Alex—” she began, laying a pleading hand upon his shoulder.

“Get yourself below. I have a battle to fight.”

He shrugged off her touch and mounted the stairs, deeply troubled by the realization that Robena was likely not alone in her convictions.

         

“Get off my wall, ye louse-ridden heap o' fur!” shouted Munro, awkwardly shoving a heavy stone off the parapet.

Farquhar leaned over and blearily watched as the boulder plopped to the ground, missing a cluster of MacSween warriors by a good six feet. “You missed,” he reported. He took a deep swallow of ale and belched loudly.

“Christ, those buggers are fast,” complained Munro, mopping the sweat off his face with his sleeve.

“They're coming up the ladder now,” observed Farquhar, not sounding overly concerned. “Why don't you try again?”

“How many are there?” asked Munro, critically scanning the enormous pile of boulders at his disposal.

“Three—no—four—no—one's been shot—but here's another—and that one there makes five—or more like four and a half—the last chap is rather scrawny….” He paused to take another draft of ale.

“For God's sake, Farquhar,
how many?
” bellowed Munro.

He belched. “Definitely five.”

“This one looks like a fiver,” decided Munro, selecting an enormous boulder from the pile. He hauled the heavy stone up, grunted loudly, and heaved it over.

“A clean strike!” praised Farquhar, watching as the five MacSween warriors were knocked from the ladder.

“Let that be a lesson to ye, ye stinkin' clods of dung!” shouted Munro triumphantly. “Oh-ho,” he said, spotting another group advancing with a ladder. “You're wantin' some of the same, are ye? Well, I'll not be disappointing ye!”

“Stand back so I can shoot them,” said Ned, slipping between them with his bow and arrow.

“Now, Neddie, Farquhar and I have this little area well in hand,” protested Munro. “Why don't ye move along and find your own space?”

“It's too crowded,” grumbled Ned.

Munro sighed. “Very well. Come over here. But try to hit the MacSweens who are farther out, and leave the ones scrambling up the wall to us.”

Ned obligingly took aim at a warrior who was pointing at them with a burning arrow.

“Now, that's a daft thing,” commented Cameron, coming up behind them. “Does he not realize the flame from that arrow makes him a pretty target?”

Ned released the string of his bow, sending his arrow flying. The MacSween warrior let out a bellow of pain as the sharp missile pierced his chest. “I'd warrant he does now,” Ned reflected.

“Spread yourselves out!” commanded Alex, driving his sword into the belly of a MacSween who had nearly climbed to the top of his ladder. “They're coming up the east side!”

The MacDunns instantly thinned ranks, covering the exposed areas.

“We're here, laddie!” trumpeted Owen, emerging on the wall head. He squinted into the darkness, then awkwardly began to grope his way along the parapet. Suddenly he stumbled and grabbed Cameron's plaid, jerking it down to the enormous warrior's ankles. “Do forgive, lad,” he apologized hastily. “Not much light out here, is there?”

“Not unless you count the moonlight bouncing off Cameron's backside!” joked Brodick, who had just finished knocking a MacSween off the parapet.

“Stand over here, Cameron. Ye can help me to better see these stones!” roared Munro, nearly doubled over with amusement.

“By God, those MacSweens have had it now!” shouted Reginald, appearing with his sword wobbling before him. “I'll slice them open and feed their rancid, stinking bowels to the frogs!”

“Disgusting,” sniffed Lachlan, who was following him, carefully balancing a frothing pitcher in his hands. “You have been spending far too much time with that Isabella.”

“That's not from Isabella,” protested Reginald, his aged arms trembling as he struggled to wield his weapon. “That's what the mighty Torvald says when he goes to fight the Gunns.”

“Do forgive, Reginald,” interjected Owen, “but I believe that's
dogs,
not frogs.”

Reginald dropped his sword and scratched his white head. “Are you sure?” he asked, bewildered.

“For heaven's sake, how long do you suppose it would take to feed just one man to a bunch of frogs?” demanded Lachlan impatiently. “Years!”

“That's what makes the threat so dreadful,” explained Reginald. “All those green, slimy creatures hopping in and out—”

“Get down!”
roared Alex, racing toward the elderly trio.
“Now!”

Ned, Cameron, and Brodick instantly threw themselves at the council members, knocking them down and shielding them with their bodies. A flurry of burning arrows sailed up to the battlements and landed around them.

“Now, that was bloody close!” swore Cameron, angrily kicking one of the flaming arrows aside.

“Release the first cauldron!” commanded Alex, watching as a group of MacSweens reached the gate carrying an enormous timber.

“Wait!” cried Lachlan, still cradling his frothing pitcher in his hands. He scrambled to his feet, shuffled over, and dumped the mixture into the cauldron of boiling water. “Not yet,” he ordered, waving away Garrick, Ewan, and Quentin. “It has to ripen.”

“For God's sake, Lachlan, get the hell out of the way!” shouted Alex.

“Very well. I suppose it will have to do,” Lachlan relented. “But don't blame me if it doesn't work.”

The MacDunns heaved the giant pot on its side. The startled MacSweens instantly abandoned their log as the boiling water poured down. There were a few shouts of pain and much colorful language, but nothing that suggested too serious an injury. Gazing warily up at the wall head, the cluster of MacSweens moved back to pick up their timber.

“Watch this,” said Lachlan, cautiously peering over the parapet.

When they were just a few yards away from the abandoned log, the MacSweens began to gag.

“Christ almighty,” complained one, “what the hell is that stench?”

“You'll find out soon enough!” shouted Lachlan merrily, waving at them. “Just keep on coming!”

“Ram the gate, you fools!” bellowed Robert impatiently from somewhere in the darkness. “Now!”

Hacking and choking, the MacSweens manfully continued toward their objective.

“Prepare to release the next cauldron!” commanded Alex.

“No, no,” said Lachlan. “Let's wait and see if my potion worked.”

“Lachlan,” Alex began, struggling for patience, “this isn't the time—”

“It will only take a moment,” Lachlan assured him. “Just watch.”

“Fine,” Alex muttered, thoroughly exasperated.

Pinching their noses with their fingers, the MacSweens reached the log. The instant they released their nostrils to pick up the heavy timber, half of them bent over and began to retch.

“Poison!” screeched one, falling to his knees. “By God, they've poisoned us!”

“The log is dripping with filth!” observed another, staring in horror at his slime-coated hands. “My God, the stink!”

“It's on your clothes!” shouted another. “Bloody hell, we're covered in it!”

“It worked!” burst out Lachlan, dancing with elation. He leaned boldly over the parapet. “Ruined your pretty log, didn't I?” he cackled. “Now you'd best find a stream to scrub yourselves in, before that slime turns to fire and burns your flesh off your miserable bones!”

The MacSween warriors stopped gagging and looked up at him in horror.

And then they turned and ran, knocking each other over in their haste to find a stream.

“My God, Lachlan, will that muck really turn to fire?” demanded Alex, incredulous.

“No,” he admitted slyly. “But it won't hurt them to think so, now, will it?”

“Well, that's a damn nuisance,” complained Reginald, leaning against his sword. “If you do that to all of them, who will be left for me to feed to the frogs?”

“He means dogs,” Owen assured Alex.

“MacDunn!”
roared a low, furious voice.

Alex watched as Robert rode forth from his vantage point with a group of mounted, torch-bearing warriors flanking him on either side. He lifted his sword, signaling for the remaining MacSween warriors to abandon their attack and form a protective line in front of him. They moved forward with the deliberate, elegant precision of a highly trained army, their shields and swords flashing in the amber waver of torchlight. The moment Robert caught a whiff of Lachlan's foul brew he halted, some thirty yards from the castle wall. The torch-bearing warriors swiftly reassembled, safely enclosing him in a ring of horse and fire.

“Good evening, Robert,” called Alex pleasantly. “How splendid that you have decided to join us. I was actually starting to miss your cheerful presence.”

“Give her to me, MacDunn,” demanded Robert coldly. “You have no right to her.”

“You're quite right,” Alex agreed. “I don't.” He sighed. “The problem is, Robert, she doesn't want to go with you.”