Page 64 of The Torment of a Scottish Warrior
“Nay, Broc. Stop,” his father barked. “You’ve always been like this. You always want everything to end perfectly. It doesn’t happen in life that way, son.”
Broc, confused, wasn’t sure what his father meant by that comment.
“When you were a lad, you were always competing with Alick and Paden. And all your cousins. Always wanting to be the best. You can’t. You do the best you can and go from there.”
“But I do the best I can.” He believed he tried his hardest, but his hardest was always a failure. “And it’s never enough.”
“It is enough. You are part of a clan, Broc. Not fighting alone. Look how many men we fought off. You saved Logan, and Tora, and Shealee. You are only one person. You can’t save everyone yourself. We have to be wise about our moves. Alasdair and John can handle themselves and they will be there to help your mother. You’re not going after them. I agree with Connor.”
Broc stared at the two men he admired more than any other, his gaze now taking in his surroundings. The injured anddead around them, some moaning, some not moving. The place wreaked of battle, of death, the smell of blood overwhelming. Every face he looked at appeared exhausted, making him wonder how he looked. His father was right. He’d always wished to fight on his own, always wished to be first.
Ahead of everyone.
Alaric moved closer and clasped his shoulder. “Your sire is right. We’re fighting together now, and we just fought off double our numbers. Be proud, Broc, and stop torturing yourself. We’ll get them. It’s not your fault, it’s the bastards who attacked us.”
Uncle Connor said, “We’re going back to reassess. You have a lass back there who has just experienced her first battle.”
He nodded, knowing they were right. His father was right. He spent too much time thinking on his own efforts instead of the clan’s efforts.
His father tipped his head toward the path back. “Get Merryn out of the tree.”
He didn’t wait, instead nodding to the two clan elders and retreating, though it went against his grain to do so. But he had to think of Merryn too, who had to be scared as hell over what had happened. He needed to go to her.
They left the dead, moving along to the clearing where the attack had started, Simone and Merryn still in the trees.
“Broc, you are hale?” The most beautiful lass in the world stared down at him, the fear and worry on her face so clear that it humbled him.
“I’m fine. You?”
Merryn nodded, but her eyes misted, and he fetched her down from the tree, tucking her in front of him on the horse. He kissed her briefly, then looked about to see what else, or who else, they’d lost. Simone and Artan were fine, but two of their guards were wounded.
“You can ride?” Uncle Connor asked each one. “Brenna and Eli will fix you both.”
They headed back with heavy hearts because they were missing three, and Broc could feel the fine tremor in Merryn’s body. This was her first true battle as an archer, but she’d seen death enough to know how disastrous it could have been.
He rubbed her arm and said, “You had fine aim, catching one in the shoulder and knocking him off his horse.”
She whispered, “It was so odd. I didn’t hesitate to fire for my sister and my parents. I shot and shot and never slowed, and now I’m shaking so badly that if I were on my own horse, I’d never make it.”
“You were wonderful. What you’re experiencing is common to some in battle. It happened to Alick many times, and Els too. It will pass.”
But Broc thought about all that had just happened. He’d deserted one of his dearest cousins and lost the greatest chance he’d had yet to save his mother.
But he looked at it differently this time. It was the right thing to do. They were outnumbered.
They would regroup and, together, they would save his mother, Alasdair, John, and Lia.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Alasdair
Alasdair awakened to find himself chained to a wall in some unknown place. The cool, damp environment told him he was probably in a dungeon. He opened his eyes slowly so he could take in the situation without letting anyone know that he was awake.
It was dark. A torch set the only light they had through the small window in the top of the door. He studied the chamber he was in. He sat on a pallet, one foot chained to the wall, his bound hands in front of him allowing him little movement. Another bed held John, and the sight of him lying there looking so helpless nearly undid him. What the hell had happened out there? They’d never been overtaken by so many before, something they hadn’t expected. It was as if they knew they would be coming.
John was asleep on the small cot, his hands and feet tethered by rope to the bed. Lia sat on a smaller bed near him, her hands tied and covered with some fabric.
She was awake, watching him.
