Twelve
 

By the time they neared the place in the royal Ettrick Forest where they would “surprise” Bruce’s men who were lying in wait to attack the supply cart from Carlisle, it was taking everything Kenneth had not to give Felton the fight for which he was so obviously clamoring. During the long ride west from Berwick Castle, Percy’s champion knight took every opportunity to insult, discredit, and argue with him about every facet of the mission.

Kenneth knew he should be used to it. Hell, he’d heard far worse from MacKay over the years. And after the past few months of nonstop prodding by the other members of the Highland Guard, he’d thought he had a steel rein on his temper and ice in his veins.

He did. Except, it seemed, when it came to one subject. Each time Felton mentioned Lady Mary—which seemed to be in every other sentence—Kenneth could feel that steel rein start to slip between his fingers. The muscles in his shoulders were so knotted with tension, he’d developed a damned crick in his neck.

If Felton was to be believed, they were as good as betrothed. And if Felton’s relationship with the young earl was any indication, it was probably true.

David Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl, had come along as one of Percy’s squires. At dawn, when they’d gathered in the courtyard to depart, Kenneth had taken one look at Lady Mary’s young son and had argued against it.

“It’s too dangerous for the lad,” he’d said to Percy. “He would be a valuable prisoner if something were to go wrong and Bruce’s men were to get hold of him.”

It was the truth. Hell, Bruce would love to get his hands on the young Earl of Atholl. So why was he trying to prevent it?

Percy had seemed about to agree when Felton interrupted. “If Sutherland is telling the truth, the danger should be minimal.” His voice left no doubt as to his thoughts on the matter. “If he isn’t, I will watch out for the lad. He won’t come to any harm under my command. He’ll stay in the rear, well protected and well away from any danger. Besides, the lad is ready to see action beyond the practice yard, aren’t you, David.”

The solemn lad with his mother’s startling blue-green eyes had looked uncertain, but at Felton’s praise he puffed up considerably. “Aye, my lord,” he said to Percy. To Kenneth, he cast an unfriendly glare. “I’m ready, and I should like to be there to see the usurper’s phantoms captured.”

The lad sounded so bloody English, it was hard to believe his father had died for that “usurper.”

Kenneth hadn’t known the previous Earl of Atholl well, but from the way he was spoken of amongst Bruce and the Guard, Lady Mary’s former husband had been a fierce patriot, gallant knight, and skilled warrior. An honest-to-God hero, Kenneth thought, not knowing why his jaw was clenched so tight.

In any event, Felton’s recommendation and the boy’s eagerness proved enough for Percy. “ ’Twill be good experience for the lad. I was his age when I served as squire in my first battle. Just keep a good eye on him, Felton.”

Felton nodded as Percy rode forward and cast a smug look of victory at Kenneth.

It was to David that Felton spoke of Lady Mary during the long day of riding, but Kenneth knew it was more for his benefit than the lad’s. Felton was making his claim loud and clear. The boy seemed thrilled by the prospect of a union between his mother and the lauded knight.

Kenneth, however, felt his blood growing hotter and hotter by the minute. His teeth had been clenched for so long his jaw had start to hurt. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he was jealous.

Of a woman. How bloody ridiculous! He had his pick of just about any woman he wanted; he didn’t need to trouble himself with one. Even one who made his blood rush hot just standing next to her.

The changes in her appearance should have made him happy. God knows it helped explain his strange attraction to the lass. But he wasn’t happy about it at all. He wanted her back the way she was, when he had been the only one to see the passion beneath the colorless facade.

Suddenly, an image of her softly rounded bottom sprang to mind. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t take back all the changes. The curves could stay.

He wasn’t jealous. The only reason Felton’s taunts were grating on him was that he intended to teach Lady Mary a lesson and didn’t want anyone interfering.

Kenneth hadn’t forgotten how she left him, or how it cost him the battle with MacKay. Her ready dismissal of him still grated. Both at Dunstaffnage and the day before.

“I’d almost forgotten.”

To a man whose first instinct was to fight, those words were like a gauntlet tossed at his feet. A challenge he couldn’t resist. And this was a battle he had no intention of losing. For a man who preferred to keep his challenges confined to the battlefield, he was surprised by how much he was looking forward to it.

Aye, he was going to make her pay for all the trouble she’d caused him. First with that delectable little body of hers, and then with her heart. By the time he was done with her, she’d be looking at him like he hung the damned moon. His mouth curled with annoyance, glancing at the riders behind him. Not unlike the way her son was looking at Felton.

“How much farther?” Felton bit out, coming up beside him. “It will be dark soon, and if this attack of yours is real, we should be getting into position. If this is some kind of trick, I’ll see you hung by your—”

“Relax,” Kenneth said, as if he were pacifying an over-eager bairn. “We’re almost there. If this is a trick, you’ll know soon enough.”

Felton flushed angrily. “Is that supposed to convince me?”

Kenneth gave him a hard look, letting some of the rage he’d been bottling inside show. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I don’t give a shite what you think, Felton. Hell, I’ve heard you boast countless times what would happen to Bruce’s phantoms if you ever came face-to-face with one. Well, here’s your chance. If you’re worried that you and half a bloody garrison of men aren’t enough to defeat a few rebels—”

Felton’s stiff English control cracked. “I’m not worried, damn it.”

“Good,” Kenneth said curtly. Ignoring the blustering knight, he turned to Percy. “The pass I mentioned is just ahead. You’ll want to have your men in position and hidden well before Bruce’s men arrive, in case they send a scout ahead to watch for the supply train.”

Percy’s plan was to hide a short distance away from where Bruce’s men intended to launch their “surprise” attack. The carts and armed soldiers from Carlisle would proceed as originally planned, but when Bruce’s men attacked, the soldiers would be ready for them. Once the two sides were engaged in battle, Percy and the rest of his men would circle around them, catching them in an impenetrable net.

But “impenetrable” wasn’t enough to hold the Highland Guard.

Kenneth might have been worried about the number of men Percy had brought with him—fifty in addition to the soldiers from Carlisle guarding the carts (he wasn’t taking any chances in letting the illustrious phantom warriors slip through his fingers)—but he’d seen the Highland Guard in action. He doubted a hundred men would be enough to hold them. Moreover, Striker—Eoin MacLean—had planned the “attack” with a second route of escape if it proved necessary.

Percy turned to Felton. “Your men are ready? I will be counting on you to make sure they cannot break through. I don’t care what it takes, do not let them escape!”

Felton appeared unconcerned. “If Sutherland is telling the truth, my men will be ready. The place on the road they’ve chosen leaves them little room to maneuver.” He knelt down to draw a crude map in the dirt. “It is dense forestland with a steep rise on one side and the Aln River on the other. We will circle around from all directions once they have launched their attack. As long as the soldiers protecting the cart can hold them off while we get in position, we will have them.”

Percy looked at the ground for a long moment, studying every possible escape route. If he considered the cliff, he quickly discounted it. Who would jump over twenty feet into a narrow river in the darkness? “Good,” he said with a curt nod of the head.

When he’d moved off, Kenneth turned to Felton. “Don’t forget about the lad,” he said, indicating the young Earl of Atholl. “I don’t think his mother would appreciate if you got him captured.”

Even in the fading daylight, Kenneth could see the angry flush flood Felton’s face. “The boy is none of your concern, and neither is his mother.”

Kenneth was being warned off, and if he were wise he would have walked away. But Felton had driven one too many stakes in his claim.

He smiled. “Are you so sure about that?”

Felton’s fists clenched, and for a moment, Kenneth thought—hell, hoped—he was going to strike him. But instead, he looked Kenneth over with a coldly assessing stare and returned his smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve competed for something. And like all the other times, I’m sure the result will be the same.”

Outwardly, Kenneth showed no reaction to the taunt, but inside was a different matter. He would love nothing more than to prove to Felton just how wrong he was, but Bruce had warned him to keep a low profile. To do nothing to bring attention to himself or his skills. Besting Percy’s champion would sure as hell do that.

Kenneth had newfound sympathy for MacKay, who’d been forced to do much the same thing in the face of Kenneth’s taunts last year.

All he could do was grit his teeth once again. “Just be ready.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Kenneth’s Highland Guard brethren—or the majority of them at least; MacLeod, MacRuairi, and MacSorley had stayed with the king—arrived about an hour after dusk to take their positions. Campbell and MacGregor had passed within a few dozen feet of the English position, as they’d ridden south to supposedly scout the arrival of the provision train. Kenneth knew they’d been spotted, although the two warriors gave no indication of it. Campbell was too good to miss them. The clear night and full moon provided enough light to see the signs on the landscape left by fifty men.

Not long after Campbell and MacGregor passed by, they heard the clomp of horses and the clatter of carts being pulled along a bumpy road. Felton motioned to one of the soldiers in the carts as they passed, alerting them that the place was near, but taking care that he could not be seen from the road ahead.

The air was thick with tension now as the train rumbled by them. They would not be able to see the attack, but they would be able to hear it.

The minutes tolled slowly. Kenneth could see the anxiousness on the faces of the men around him as they waited for the first sounds. The familiar battle scent of fear laced with anticipation hung in the air.

Finally, a fierce battle cry tore through the night, and a moment later, there was the answering clash of steel. Felton sprang from his position on the opposite side of Percy and began barking commands. His men took off in all directions, fanning around the attack to cut off all means of escape.

Kenneth, Percy, and Felton approached slowly, taking care not to alert Bruce’s man of their presence.

Percy’s men were good, he’d give them that. For Englishmen they were doing a damned find job of imitating Bruce’s “furtive” methods. If this had been a real attack, the Highland Guard might have been in trouble.

But his friends knew what was coming, and they’d be ready.

Finally, Kenneth and the English reached a turn in the road where they could see the battle. About a hundred feet ahead of them, pandemonium reigned. Swords, pikes, axes, hammers—a symphony of weaponry flashed like a lightning storm in the night air before them. If he hadn’t known better, the sight of Bruce’s “phantoms” would have taken him aback as well. Wrapped in dark plaids, with their blackened faces, helms, mail coifs, and cotuns, the Highland Guard did indeed look like wraiths, flying through the night air in a whirl of death and destruction. He noticed more than one man startle beside him.

“They’re only men,” Percy reminded them softly, but there might have been a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Then he stood, brandishing his sword about his head. “For England!” he shouted, leading the charge.

Only Kenneth hesitated. He looked around to where Felton had instructed the young earl to remain, protected by a half-dozen soldiers who would prevent the Guard from escaping to the south. “Remember,” he warned the lad. “Stay back, and out of the way.”

Wide-eyed, transfixed by his first glimpse of battle, David nodded.

Kenneth raced forward, taking his position on the east flank where Percy was shouting out his commands. The Highland Guard had already fought their way through the first line of defense—the soldiers protecting the cart—and Percy was ordering the outer line forward, tightening the noose.

The plan was for the Highland Guard to create a hole in the defense and slip through before the English were in position. It should have been simple enough. With Percy’s remaining men spread all around, the eight guardsmen could easily defeat the dozen or so closest men and slip into the cover of darkness.

But something was wrong. The Guard was taking too long.

It took Kenneth a minute to realize that one of the Guard had been injured—Seton, maybe?—it was too dark to tell. The guardsman nearest him—this one he had no problem recognizing, Boyd’s powerful form being impossible to mistake—was locked in battle with three of Felton’s men and couldn’t break free of them. MacKay was trying to make his way over to help them, but Felton had seen what was happening and ordered a handful of his men to stop him.

Unfortunately, Seton—he was sure it was he now—Boyd, and MacKay were on the opposite side of the road from the rest of the Guard, and the time for creating that hole was quickly disappearing. The noose was tightening and would become harder and harder to break through.

Timing was everything, and they were losing it. Kenneth was trying to think of a way to help without making it obvious, but his own position on the outer line beside Percy hampered him.

Then things went from bad to worse. Improvising, the Guard decided to make two holes. MacGregor, Campbell, MacLean, and Lamont broke through the line in the northwest and escaped along the planned route through the high pass. MacKay, Boyd, and Seton would take the backup route along the river. Splitting up made sense. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that between the three guardsmen and escape was the young Earl of Atholl.

Would they be able to tell in the darkness it was only a lad? The boy was tall already, and with his mail and helm …

Ah hell.

“Get back!” Kenneth shouted, but the boy was too far away and the din of battle too loud for him to hear the warning.

Realizing the danger, Felton had moved his men around to protect the boy. The added men were making it harder for the three guardsmen to break through and giving Percy the delay he needed.

“Don’t let them escape!” Percy shouted, ordering the rest of his men to circle around from behind.

MacKay, Boyd, and the wounded Seton were fighting their way forward, but they needed to hurry up. The rest of the army was closing in fast. They only had a handful of seconds to get away.

One by one, they cut through the men standing before the boy. The earl was trying to back up, but he wasn’t moving away fast enough. Felton was doing his best to fend off MacKay, but the others were no match for Boyd, and even an injured Seton.

Finally, they had their hole. Seton and Boyd slipped through and headed for the edge of the hillside.

“Stop them, Felton!” Percy shouted. “They’re getting away!”

Percy’s champion was good, but MacKay was better. He feigned a swing of his sword from the right, but at the last minute dropped his hands, spun, and delivered a blow from the opposite side, sending Felton careening to the ground on his arse.

Kenneth didn’t have time to enjoy the moment, however. MacKay was past Felton and headed for the others when he saw the lad—except he didn’t know it was a lad. He thought he was just one more soldier in his way.

Kenneth was almost there.

MacKay lifted his sword.

“Nayyyy!” Kenneth shouted, leaping through the air, his own sword raised to block the blow meant for David.

His gaze met MacKay’s shocked one as their swords clashed right before the terrified boy’s face. Unfortunately, due to the angle and the fact that Kenneth was flying through the air, the swords did not meet squarely, and the blade of MacKay’s two-handed long sword skidded sharply off the blade and into Kenneth’s arm.

The shot of pain and hot pulse of blood told him the powerful slice of MacKay’s blade had found a narrow gap between the sleeve of his habergeon and gauntlet and penetrated the padding underneath to find flesh. Quite a bit of flesh, he suspected, feeling the amount of blood seeping through as he tried to staunch it with his gauntleted hand.

Kenneth hoped he was the only one to hear his brother-in-law swear and mutter a hasty apology in Gaelic before disappearing into the darkness.

Moments later, Kenneth heard a splash below and knew his friends were safe.

Not surprisingly, not one of the Englishmen attempted to jump off the cliff to go after them.