Page 44 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
The Ranald warrior dodged an attack, his steps clumsy with blood loss and pain, then staggered backward and fell. Donall lunged forward, stepping between the two and raising his own sword to parry, but his timing was rushed and his blow was awkward. The blades skittered between the two of them, and then the tip of the Cameron soldier’s dagger ripped across his chest on a left to right slight diagonal.
Pain flared, hot and bright. Donall snarled, reeling from the blow briefly before he rallied, knocked aside a second attack and hurled himself forward to punch the man in the face with all his strength.
The Cameron soldier toppled like a felled log. Donall spun, ready to face his next opponent.
There were no enemies left to fight. Eight enemies were lying on the trail, all of them dead save the one he’d just punched. All of his own men were still standing, with the exception of the warrior who was attempting to get to his feet, his eyes glassy and his face white as fresh-washed linens. “Me laird! Me laird, ye…”
“I’m fine. Are ye?”
“Broke me arm, an’ slashed tae the bone, but I’ll live. But me laird, yer chest…”
His chest was throbbing, the pain and the blood soaking his clothing making him feel slightly lightheaded and sick, but he was scarcely going to admit that. “Tis only a minor wound. Get Ewan tae bind yer arm, an’ ye’ll ride with one o’ the others - double or tossed over a saddle like a travel pack, ye’re in nae shape tae be tryin’ tae guide a horse on yer own.”
“Ye ought tae be taking yer own advice, me laird.” Ewan dismounted and stopped beside him. “That needs binding afore ye attempt aught else.”
He would have liked to protest, but Donall knew Ewan was correct. He began to shrug out of his clothing. “Then bind it fer me.”
His gaze flicked to the man he’d knocked unconscious. “See if that man’s still breathin. Bind his wounds, an’ his hands an’ feet. We’ll bring him back tae the keep tae question.”
“Aye, me laird.” Ewan waved one of the Ranald warriors over and relayed the orders. One of the others was already binding his companion’s arm.
Once the clothing was out of the way, Donall lifted his own arms and submitted to letting Ewan examine the wound, then dab it with salve and bandage it. Donall waited, somewhat impatiently, until his second-in-command had tied the final knot of the bandages, then turned his gaze to the waiting warriors. “Who here’s the swiftest rider among ye?”
“Here, me laird.” One man stepped forward. He was younger than many of the other warriors, whipcord thin and light on his feet. “’Twas me that brought word this morn.”
“Then hurry back ahead o’ us. Tell Evelyn there’s three wounded, one critical. Then tell the guards tae see a cell is prepared fer our prisoner.”
Ewan scowled. “One critical, me laird?”
“Ye’ve seen tae me, an’ my wound will keep.” Evelyn would certainly scold him, but that was a concern for another time. He addressed the young man again. “An’ put out the call fer an emergency council meeting. I want the Elders assembled, or on their way, by the time we arrive an’ have the prisoner locked away.”
“Aye, me laird.” Donall waved the young man away, and the warrior was on his horse and racing away at a gallop before he could lower his hand. Donall watched with bemusement. “Quick lad indeed. We may want tae claim him as a messenger permanently.”
“Aye, me laird. I’ve considered it.” Ewan frowned. “This wound…”
“Will be better tended by Evelyn after we return an’ she’s seen tae Galen.” Donall shrugged his second’s hand away and began to tug on the mess of his shirt. He would need to change when he returned to the keep, but for now, the shirt was better than wearing nothing. “An’ if ye’re so anxious, best get mounted, seeGalen ahorse an’ the prisoner bound across one o’ the spare animals, so we can return.”
Ewan’s scowl deepened, but he knew better than to press the matter. “Aye, me laird.”
Donall turned and went to reclaim his own mount. His chest throbbed and burned like he’d been hit with a blazing branch, and the world went gray very briefly, but he managed to keep his seat and take up the reins with what he hoped looked like confidence and ease.
In truth, he knew the wound was a serious one. It hadn’t punctured anything vital, nor scraped past his ribs, but it was deep enough that it would not have taken much to change that. On top of the barely healed gouge to his side from the battle a seven-day ago, he was not in the best condition.
It daesnae matter. We’ve avenged our dead, an’ proven we’ll nae remain quiet an’ complacent if we’re attacked. I dinnae ken if any survived by fleein’, but whether they did or nae, Laird Cameron will ken I didnae tak’ his trespass lightly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
By the time they returned to Ranald Keep, Donall’s chest felt like someone had wrapped molten metal bands around it - studded with sand on the inside, and periodically tightening to cause spikes of pain. Ewan’s bandages had staunched the bleeding, but he was lightheaded with the combination of blood loss and lack of food.
His stomach growled and his head and chest throbbed, but Donall determinedly forced the sensations to the back of his mind. He knew, if he went to the healer, that two things would happen. First, her attention would go to him first, when Galen was the one who most needed her care - he was the laird and his health always came first unless he contrived or commanded otherwise.
Second, Evelyn would likely order him to remain in the healer’s cottage, or bedridden, for a day or so to be sure he healed. He knew from previous experience that the healer wouldn’t hesitate to dose him with medicines that, though they might not renderhim unconscious, would render him unable to rise or walk in a straight line.
He couldn’t do that - there was too much to take care of. The Council had to be informed of the latest attack, and what little he’d already gleaned from it. The prisoner had to be secured, to be questioned later. And plans had to be made, because Donall was certain the attack on the watch post had only been the opening move. The first arrow across the ramparts, as it were. His people needed to be ready for the true assault, whenever it came.
And, somehow, in the midst of everything, he would have to try, once more, to discernwhyLaird Cameron was attacking, after so many years of uneasy truce on their shared border.
Alex met him at the door to the keep, his expression grave with concern. “Donall, ye’re hurt…”
