Donald ordered his comrades by his side to remain under the brushes for the opportune moment to draw first blood. The watchmen treaded up the hill which overlooked the castle to scan the perimeter. The whites of their knuckles pushed through the skin as they gripped their swords, anticipating their foe to appear at any moment.

“They are expectin’ us. Wait fer my signal. If we dae no’ kill these patrolmen, then we are in fer an onslaught,” Donald whispered.

The wind howled, causing the brushes opposite the crouched Murray warriors to tremble. The clamor aided in their desire to remain unnoticed, the castle’s guards’ backs still facing them.

Donald relayed a hand gesture to signal the attack, and in a flash, two of his fighters sprinted across the path to deliver the first assault. In a matter of moments, the guards were strewn to the dirt with their throats slit and their bodies cast into a nearby ravine. Not one sound had broken out in the scuffle, so the element of surprise was still in the Murray clan’s favor.

“Andrew, take some o’ the men an’ flank ‘em ‘round the ither side o’ the hill, down tae the rear o’ the castle,” Donald commanded.

Andrew guided nearly a dozen men alongside the hill camouflaged by the brushes and tree limbs scattered amongst the gardens. They were astonished to discover the rear of the castle deserted with no trace of any adversaries.

“Ye are no’ leadin’ us intae a trap, are ye, Andrew?” one of the warriors joked.

Andrew surveyed the villages at the base of the hill and spotted a squadron of Erskine clan warriors positioned for battle.

“Look at that, will ye? They expect oor attack tae come from the villages upward tae the castle,” Andrew replied.

“Aye, that is where we snatched the stoater on the last night raid,” another man remarked.

“This beauty will be oors in nae time. Once they see we hae the castle, their men will be scattered, an’ victory will be oors. Quickly, everyone inside!” Andrew commanded.

A window carved into the brick provided an opening where the men catapulted each other high enough to climb inside. Once inside, they ransacked every level of the castle and chaos ensued. Each floor of the structure had men on guard, but they were no match for Andrew and his men’s skill and expertise.

The first two Erskine clan warriors they encountered charged at Andrew simultaneously with bravado. Two attacks with the sword swung at him with full force, but the canny warrior sidestepped both attempts. With one thrust of his broadsword, Andrew laid out one of the attackers as his blade protruded through the sternum with pinpoint precision. He kicked the lifeless body off his sword onto the cold, stone floor.

Face-to-face with the second Erskine assailant, Andrew blocked three heavy swings to avoid being decapitated. He jostled back and forth in a battle of strength with the opposing warrior. The friction between the two swords pierced a smoky whiff throughout the halls of the castle as if they were set ablaze.

They broke their entangled grip, and Andrew rolled amidst the feet of his adversary, as a missed strike of the sword against the floor sent shockwaves down the arms of its guide. Suddenly, Andrew lifted a dagger hidden within his tartan for close quarter combat such as this and gashed the carotid artery of his opponent. The blood spurted and stained the vibrant, colorful paintings that decorated the walls.

Further combat awaited Andrew and his comrades as they traversed to the top floor of the castle. Outnumbered nearly two to one, Andrew’s stoic expression revealed not a shred of fear.

“Forward men. Show nae fear,” he shouted and released a battle cry.

The roaring war chants of the Murray warriors echoed down the valley, which signaled the battlement of Erskine fighters at the base of the hill of their arrival. Precisely as Andrew foresaw, the battalion scurried like blind rodents to rescue their allies caught amongst the fury of Murray fighters.

The miscalculation in battle strategy proved costly for the Erskine clan as their forces inside the castle were doomed against the might and tenacity of the Murray fighters.

Andrew guided his sword like an extension of his body and pierced his opponents one by one. His mastery of evasion, pure strength, and deadly accuracy with his broadsword made him an unbeatable force against every Erskine foe to stumble across his path.

A gash through the chest, a slice through the base of the neck, and a thrust through the abdomen vanquished three more men who crossed his path. An adversary witnessed in horror the fury of Andrew’s veracity in battle. His eyes bulged opened, and his dry, cracked lips quivered as he was the next victim of the ferocious Highlander.

The numbers game now put Andrew at a disadvantage as a second opponent locked eyes with him, as his allies were all engrossed in the trenches of battle.

“Two against one? I’ve been dealt worse hands than this afore,” he said with a grumble and kicked a blood-stained sword off the ground and into his hand.

One slice aimed at the head and one thrust aimed at the stomach both failed to pierce Andrew as his two swords deflected them with ease. He leaped onto the high ground as a wooden desk presented him a vantage point over the two attackers.

A feeble thrust caught by Andrew was punished by a hack onto the forearm which amputated the arm at the elbow. The piercing screams of the Erskine fighter reverberated along the halls of the top floor. His hysteria steered him straight into the sword of another Murray warrior.

The legs of the desk wobbled and shook Andrew off balance. His remaining foe sliced the legs off the table to steer him back onto even footing. Andrew’s feet landed on the floor, and the whoosh of a sword piercing the air motioned for him to spin clockwise to dodge a brain-crushing death blow. The sword hammered the dust-filled surface which raised the dust off the ground like a thin layer of morning fog along the Highlands.

Andrew burst to his feet with the lightning reflexes of a wildcat locked on its prey. He swept his sword off the floor and swung at the neck for the kill shot. A miss on the first swing, but not on the second, as Andrew impaled the legs which brought the Erskine clan member to his knees. His thighs oozed blood onto the floor, and his face grew paler by the second. His suffering was finally ceased when Andrew ran his blade straight into the soldier’s heart. The deadpan expression moved Andrew, just for a moment, before the body crashed to the ground.

“Aye, I got me a lass! She sure is a fair one,” Donald shouted as he barged onto the top floor.

“We dae no’ hae mich time. Their battalion will barrel right on top o’ us ony minute now. We hae tae keep movin’,” Andrew said as he was solely focused on surviving the battle.

Donald and three other men seemed infatuated with the young woman Donald was holding hostage to his person. Andrew observed in disgust as the men draped their hands all over her tattered arisaid. In a fit of rage, he sliced the wooden desk, the splintered wood stealing everyone’s attention.

“Ye dunderheids are goin’ tae get us a’ killed! Ye act like ye hae ne’er seen a fair lass since ye were born!” he shouted.

The men, with the exception of Donald, at once took their hands off the girl.

Donald snickered and made up the distance between him and Andrew. “Ye dae no’ call the shots ‘round ‘ere. Dae no’ ferget why we are ‘ere. It is tae take as many hoors like this as we can find.”

An intense stare down ensued between them, as a kirk mouse could be heard amongst the silence inside of Kellie Castle. Onlookers could cut the tension with a knife.

“Very well, whit’s the next command, my chief,” Andrew said with a slightly derisive tone.

Donald shunned Andrew and grasped two nearby candles that were dimly lighting their surroundings.

“Did ye listen tae nothin’ yer chief said in his inspirational sermon afore we left? We slaughter the rest o’ these heathens, take as many lassies as we find back home, an’ turn this place intae ashes,” Donald proclaimed and then went to setting the place on fire.

The image of the flames flickered in Andrew’s eyes. He was mesmerized by how small they started, only to catapult higher and higher. The smell of burning flesh soon engulfed his senses, and he had to beat back the overwhelming urge to empty the contents of his stomach.

He was loyal to his clan, his people, yet the scene before him left a bad taste in his mouth. Was this really what was necessary for their clan’s survival? His head said yes, but his heart did not agree.

“Come on, will ye? Oor dae ye want tae join ‘em in this fiery grave?” Rory, Andrew’s best friend, laughed as he yanked Andrew by the arm, pulling him away from the inferno.

Andrew and Rory raced down the stairs to the ground floor of the castle, then collapsed to their knees outside, wheezing from inhaling too much smoke.

“Get up, Andrew! We hae company!” Rory then shouted.

A dazed Andrew clutched his broadsword and scanned his surrounds. Before them stood four Erskine adversaries, blades drawn.

“An’ intae the fray we go again, my friend,” he told Rory.

“Aye, an’ ye ken whit I say tae the devil who waits tae take my soul?”

Andrew grinned. “Aye. ‘No’ taeday!’”