Page 50 of A Sinful Night with a Scot
Slipping past Keane, one of the soldiers grabbed his plaid from behind. Keane stumbled back, unable to keep his footing. Soon, he was on the ground, and yet, still he fought. His legs kicking to keep two of them away, while he defended strikes from the other. His chances looked even slimmer, and Elsie could not help but see her opportunity.
This is me chance. I can return home. I can be free o’ Keane’s grasp forever.
But seeing him overtaken terrified Elsie to death. She continued to watch, her breathing momentarily suspended, her heart thumping against her bones, and her fists gripping the reins. Something occurred within her. A physical change that tugged her heart in the opposite direction. Even after everything he had done, she could not watch the soldiers murder him before her very eyes.
Because ye want tae be with him.
Yes. She did. The last two days, she had seen parts of him that he had kept well hidden, yet parts of him that she also knew were true. The real Laird Mackay. The person he had been before his father's murder. Before he had been hell bent on slaughtering anyone who got in his way of getting to Laird Gunn.
I have tae save him.
In a moment of desperation, Elsie made a decision. Jumping from her horse, she grabbed the dirk that Anna had slipped into her hand that very morning ‘for her protection’ from beneath her skirts and without any hesitation, she launched herself into the fight.
As she ran, however, the man towering over Keane managed to strike him in the stomach, releasing a haunting bellow from Keane’s lips. But the sound only spurred Elsie on. The man had his back to her, and thus, did not see her approaching. When the other soldiers did, it was too late, for she had thrown herself upon the man’s back. With her dirk gripped in her fist and her mind trying not to think what she was about to do, she began stabbing the small knife into his back.
Roaring in pain, he swung his body from one side to the other, flinging her off him. Elsie landed with great force, wincing as her body came into contact with the soft sod.
Keane’s roar of anger now echoed around them, and even injured, he pushed past his agony. Scrambling to his feet with his sword held high, he brought it down on the man who now struggled to breathe after Elsie’s attack.
The two remaining men yelled and advanced at Keane, one striking another blow across his upper arm. At the exact same time, the sound of thundering horse’s hooves reached them. Alisdair came into sight, and while Keane continued to battle, the other soldier turned and ran. Evidently, he realized his chances of survival had greatly decreased.
Alisdair’s horse was still moving when he jumped from it and ran towards the fight. Unsheathing his sword, he ran towards the soldier fighting Keane, and with a single strike, the man fell down dead.
Only then did Keane collapse to his knees and fall backwards onto the ground.
“Och, God,” Elsie cried, running to join Alisdair who was already at his friend’s side.
“He’s losing a lot o’ blood,” Alisdair hissed. “We need tae get him back tae the castle immediately.”
“Wait,” Elsie cried. And yanking at the hem of her underskirts, she pulled the material until it tore in her hands.
While she continued to tear at her skirts, Alisdair rushed back to his horse. He returned not a moment later with a bottle of whisky he had purchased in the village they had not left long ago. Pulling Keane’s already torn shirt apart, they found a large gash below his ribs on the left. Blood pulsed from it, like water pumped from a well.
Alisdair poured the whisky over it, eliciting a bellow from Keane. Immediately afterward, Elsie pressed the makeshift dressing against the flow.
“This isnae enough,” she said, fear dancing in her voice, “but we have tae try.”
“I’m fine,” Keane groaned. “Get me back.”
“Indeed, ye are nae fine,” Elsie hissed. “Are ye mad?”
“Get me back,” he repeated, gazing up at her with pleading eyes.
Elsie and Alisdair shared a knowing glance. There was little time left. They had to hurry.
With great effort, Alisdair and Elsie struggled to lift Keane onto Alisdair’s horse. He was not a small man. As breathless as he was, Alisdair jumped up behind him. Gripping Keane against his body, he looked down at Elsie.
“Take Keane’s horse and hurry back tae the castle. Ye will be there ‘afore us. Get the healer ready fer our arrival.”
Elsie grabbed the reins of Keane’s animal before mounting her own. With a final glance back at the two men, she whipped the reins of hers and rushed on ahead of them.
The gates of the castle yawned open at her approach. Thundering through them, she couldn’t help but notice the frowning, worried faces of the soldiers on the gate as the men stared up at her.
“The laird is injured,” she cried, as men hurriedly approached. “We need the healer immediately.”
She heard the order barked for someone to fetch the healer, and then, all attention was on her. Questions of where, what, and how tumbled out at her. She answered them, one at a time. When the questions were over, all she could do was wait. Pacing back and forth over the cobblestones, she worried for another five minutes, until Alisdair and Keane came into view.
Elsie suddenly felt someone at her side and swung her head to look. Beside her stood an old man, his face lined with deep crevices, like the side of a mountain. His hair was as white as fresh snowfall, and his eyes were so deeply set into his face, they looked almost black.
