Page 154 of Bride of Fire
Anyone could look after a bairn.
There was only one Jenefer, master archer.
“I need ye on the wall,” he called to her.
She nodded and immediately started issuing commands to a group of lads on the wall. “You lads! Gather all the arrows. Pry them out of the dead if you have to. Quick! Bring them up to the archers.”
Meanwhile, Morgan spotted Danald, who stood apart, twisting his cap in his hands.
“Here, lad,” Morgan said, “I need ye to take Miles.”
“Are ye certain, m’laird?” Danald asked. “I failed ye once. Lady Alicia—”
Behind Morgan’s shoulder, Alicia screamed in agony.
Two of the Campbell brothers had taken mercy on her. They’d broken off the arrow head and were pulling the shaft out of her arm.
“Won’t be seizin’ anythin’ for a while.” He placed his son in Danald’s hands.
The lad gave him a solemn nod and fled with Miles to the safety of the great hall.
Alicia screeched again, this time in outrage. The Campbells were tearing her fine leine to use the linen for a bandage.
The next crash against the doors came with an ominous creak. One or two more hits, and the doors would not only open. They’d splinter off their iron hinges. Then there would be no trickle of English soldiers through the entrance. There would be a flood.
“Archers at the ready!” Jenefer shouted from above.
“To mac Giric!” Morgan bellowed, brandishing his claymore to embolden his men.
They roared in response.
The Campbells had no more time to tend to Alicia. They handed her the bandage, leaving her to bind her own wound.
Jenefer’s throat thickened with pride as she watched the archers all along the wall nock their arrows in perfect unison. Her eyes welled with tears of admiration as she saw the mac Giric lasses reassemble above the entrance, armed with whatever they had left.
How could she ever have imagined they were dimwitted savages? These Highlanders were fierce and brave, loyal and resourceful, a clan anyone would be proud to claim.
She only prayed she wasn’t condemning them to death.
She drew her own bow, watching the doors, determined to defend them with her last breath.
Then she felt a strange tingle at the back of her neck.
Something was coming.
She dared not look away from the doors. But the sensation persisted.
Swiftly, what began as a prickling became a sound, as if someone were calling to her.
Hardening her jaw against distraction, she kept her focus on the entrance as the battering ram once again tried to break through the thick oak.
Again the men-at-arms were able to hold back the beast, shoving the cart firmly against the doors. But the oak had splintered partially away from the heavy iron hinges. The doors wouldn’t withstand one more pummeling.
In the few moments the English would need to regroup, Jenefer eased the tension of her bow and stepped to the battlements. Still feeling the queer shiver along her neck, she cast a glance toward the palisade gates.
The field was thick with fog. An archer could shoot an arrow and never see where it landed. But she thought she glimpsed something stirring in the mist.
Figures.
