Page 64 of Scot of Deception
She’d never mastered the art of holding her tongue. It was her greatest weakness — always speaking when silence would serve her better.
She was about to answer back when the shouting began.
The Campbell soldiers scattered, scrambling as enemies burst from the trees, attacking from all sides. A war horn blared, its sharp cry slicing through the stillness of the forest. The first clash of swords followed, a deafening ring like iron bells.
Laird Campbell's eyes burned with hatred. But whatever revenge he’d planned, he had to let go. War had come, and he had no choice but to defend himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Stewart and Mackintosh soldiers alike flooded the clearing. Blaine, Bran, and Laird Stewart had gathered the troops in a hurry, each of them spearheading one of the three groups that surrounded the Campbell forces. The Stewarts knew their land well—Blaine used that to his advantage, crafting an attack plan that would keep them undetected for as long as possible and would give them the edge in the fight, no matter the size of the Campbell forces.
Laird Stewart was right to think that about half of the Campbell army was there, just as the other half had attacked Moy Hall. In their hurry, they couldn’t wait for more Mackintosh soldiers and they had had to rely on those who had come to Castle Stalker with Bran and Ilyssa, but the Stewart forces more than made up for it, even though they had to hastily prepared for battle.
The moment Blaine’s feet touched the ground after he dismounted his horse, his gaze started searching for Kathleen. He knew she had to be there somewhere, held captive, but in the chaos that erupted around him, it was difficult to make out any individuals. The clearing was a blur of movement, dizzying and disorienting. Swords clashed all around him, the sound of steel against steel defeating in his ears, ringing loudly over the shouts and screams of the men. The first blood had already been spilled. It was only a matter of time before death spread through the woods, the men cutting each other down ruthlessly, without a second thought.
But in Blaine’s mind, there was only one goal; he had to get Kathleen out of there as fast as he could. It was what he had agreed to do with her father and Laird Stewart. He was not there to fight; he was there to take her out of the fight safely.
And yet, when one of the Campbell soldiers threw himself at him, he had no choice but to engage. Their swords met between them, the blades crashing together, the force of the blow reverberating all through Blaine’s arm. The other man was older, weathered and seasoned in battle, quick with his sword. He swung it in an arc, aiming for Blaine’s neck, but Blaine was quick to jump out of range.
He wasn’t fast enough. The blade caught him at the very last moment, slicing through his shirt and the skin of his chest. A stinging pain radiated outwards from the cut, and Blaine could feel the sluggish drip of blood down his torso. It hardly mattered to him at all, though; the pain was only a nuisance, just another small thing to ignore.
The air around him hissed as the blade cut it in two. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, making every single moment in time stretch and expand. Blaine tracked the other man’s movements carefully, taking in every shift of his feet, every minuscule twist of his wrist as he handled his sword. He knew the man was doing the same, watching him like a hawk, trying to find his weaknesses, his openings.
He would find none. Blaine hadn’t survived this long by being careless. Even in situations like this, even when his fear for Kathleen’s safety threatened to overcome him, he still had the presence of mind to do what had to be done in a fight, and his body moved through sheer instinct alone.
Another swing of the man’s sword had Blaine jumping back, just barely avoiding the slash at his stomach. Before the man could pull away and continue this dance, though, Blaine delivered his counterattack—a stab through the stomach, one that the man didn’t manage to avoid.
He watched as the man fell to his knees silently when he removed his sword, blood fountaining out of his torso. It was a sight he was used to and which didn’t faze him anymore. And yet, each time he took a life, something within him changed.
He didn’t have time to spare for any more thought over the matter. With the man dispatched, he began to search forKathleen once more, pushing through the crowd of fighting soldiers. In his mad dash, he fell into others, exchanged some blows, tripped over the bodies of those who had already fallen to their deaths. Cuts and scrapes and bruises formed on his body as he received blow after blow, and yet none of them was enough to slow him down. Sweat covered his body, dripping down his back in thick droplets. His hands were slippery with blood, staining everything he touched, and his feet sank into the earth softened from all the blood that had seeped into it.
Just when he began to despair, he caught a glimpse of a bright, familiar color in the chaos. It was Kathleen, her dress standing out from the crowd, and upon spotting it, Blaine’s heart soared. She was there, he told himself. She was safe.
As safe as she could be, at least, when she was bound to a tree, close to the fight.
Blaine rushed to her as she squirmed on the ground, desperately trying to free herself and get away while no one paid her any attention. Upon seeing him, her mouth fell open and her breath caught in her throat, as though she could hardly believe he was there.
“Blaine?” she asked in disbelief. “What… what are ye daein’ here? How are ye here? Did ye nae leave?”
“I couldnae leave ye,” Blaine said as he fell to his knees next to her, discarding his sword for a moment in favor of his knife, so he could untie her. He began to cut at the rope around her wrists, constantly glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no one would attack while he was busy, but it was a laborious task. Not only was the rope thick, but the handle of his knife kept slipping from his grip, damp from the blood and the sweat. “I had tae come back fer ye, Kathleen. I had tae try an’ ask ye tae forgive me.”
“I forgive ye,” Kathleen said immediately, though Blaine couldn’t quite believe that. It was the rush of the battle talking. It was the fact that he was there, saving her, and once it all settled down, perhaps she would change her mind. Blaine was perfectly aware of that, and yet there was still a spark of hope inside him, a small voice which told him that maybe she could truly forgive him.
When Blaine managed to untie her wrists, he moved on to her ankles as Kathleen rubbed at her raw and reddened skin. “Me faither?” she asked. “Is he alright?”
“He’s here,” Blaine said, taking a moment to search for the man in the crowd. He and Laird Stewart were in the middle of the fight, tearing down the Campbell forces one soldier at a time, and Blaine marveled at them both as he saw them battle. They were truly men of great skill; so much so that he was glad he didn’t have to fight Bran, as he doubted it would be an easy fight to win. “He wants me tae take ye out o’ here. I’ll take ye back tae the castle, yer maither is waitin’ fer ye.”
Kathleen nodded, pushing herself up to her feet with Blaine’s help once her ankles were released, too. She was a resilient woman; even as she stumbled, her legs surely numb after spending all that time tied up, she didn’t once slow down or complain. She only followed Blaine, letting him guide her away from the fight and clinging to him as they walked past piles of dead bodies.
And then, just as Blaine thought the worst was past them, a wall of soldiers appeared before him. Slowly, he stepped in front of Kathleen, using his own body as a shield to protect her, and wiping his hands dry on his trews.
There were four of them and one of Blaine, but he had fought against worse odds before. And this time, he had something even more precious to fight for, something to protect.
“Stay behind me,” he told Kathleen; one brief warning before he threw himself into the wall of men with a battle cry, his sword held high in the air.
Stunned by his sudden attack, the men took too long to respond. It gave Blaine the opportunity to strike the first one in his path down, killing him instantly through a blow to the neck. The man abandoned his sword, his hand coming up to press against the deep wound, but no matter how much he tried to stop the bleeding, he could do nothing to prevent his death. Blood poured through his fingers unbridled, a river of crimson that drenched the earth beneath his feet.
Just like that, he was gone. But the other three would not be as easy to kill, Blaine knew.
