The Warrior
Darroch braced his legs and leaned back against the rough wall of the cave. He tugged at the rope binding him but it seemed to be tied to a metal ring embedded in the wall. A twinge at his elbow put paid to pulling too hard.
He was woefully aware that he’d fall flat on his face if he attempted to defend himself against the beak-nosed miscreant who moved gingerly towards him.
He searched the shadows for any sign of Kyla but, thankfully, she had managed to conceal herself. He hoped the courageous lass wouldn’t be a witness to her father’s demise.
Tremaine’s eyes darted cautiously here and there, but he didn’t seem surprised Darroch was alone. Perhaps, he’d been unaware the bairn had trailed them to the cave.
He risked a taunt. “I’m surprised ye came without yer mother.”
Tremaine halted a few feet away and brandished a small vial made of dark glass. “I dinna need her help. Besides, she’s got more important things to tend to in the castle.”
Darroch’s gut tightened. Ghalla intended to finish off Rory MacRain. How she thought to accomplish that with so many people surrounding the chief was a mystery, but he’d already underestimated the woman.
Still feeling the aftereffects of the opioid, he resolved to do what he could to avoid taking another swig. “Ye had to knock me out last time. What makes ye think I’ll take yon drug willingly?”
Tremaine chewed his bottom lip, as if just now realizing the difficulty he faced. “’Tis important ye keep drinking the opium,” he said, as if talking to a bairn, “then ye’ll be useless to yer wife.”
“That’s yer mother’s plan, is it?” Darroch sneered, disgusted he’d allowed himself to be captured by such a brainless nincompoop.
“Aye,” Tremaine replied. “And if ye refuse…er…yer son will suffer. He’s my prisoner.”
At that precise moment, Darroch caught sight of his daughter near the opening of the cave. Tempted to laugh out loud in the moron’s face, he clenched his jaw lest he distract her aim with the loaded sling.
The missile caught Tremaine on the temple as he turned towards the whirring sound. He dropped like a stone at Darroch’s feet. Black liquid oozed out of the fractured vial still held firm in his grip.
“Ye’re a marvel, lass,” Darroch rasped as his daughter ran towards him. “Get his dagger and cut me free.”
Leaning back on the wall, he used his feet to help her roll Tremaine over, chuckling when she planted her foot on his chest like a true pirate and yanked the blade from its sheath.
“Remind me one night at bedtime to tell ye the ancient tale of David and Goliath,” he said hoarsely as she sawed through his bindings.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
Even in his lingering stupor, it occurred to him that taking a life might not sit well on a young girl’s conscience. He’d killed men in battle and knew the toll it took. “Nay, just wounded. And he’ll have a fearsome headache when he wakens.”
She smiled briefly then continued her task.
Once he was free, he took his daughter’s hand and staggered to the entrance, still feeling lightheaded.
He inhaled the fresh air deeply, taken completely off guard when a sobbing Tremaine bolted out of the cave and shoved them both hard.
Darroch lost what little balance he had and narrowly missed falling on his daughter. He struggled to his feet and scooped up his little lass, alarmed to see blood oozing from a gash on her forehead.
Tremaine ran to his horse, mounted after two unsuccessful attempts, rode off down the steep incline and disappeared into the trees.
*
Isabel and Boyd rode at the head of a small army of clansmen until it became evident they’d make better progress on foot. They dismounted, tethered the horses and continued the climb. The sun was fully up now, though they’d set off as soon as the first grey streaks of dawn painted the sky.
Scaling the challenging terrain seemed more difficult than when she was a child. Her hips ached and she was out of breath as she grasped branches as handholds; however, the trews she’d insisted Coira find for her made the task a little easier. She didn’t care that Uncle Boyd and her father had protested her appearance. Darroch’s life was in jeopardy. It was no time to be wearing a skirt. Fanny had supported her decision wholeheartedly.
She paused for breath, irritated every male soon outpaced her. Suddenly, shouts of warning filled the air as men leapt aside. A horse came barreling out of the trees down the narrow trail. Heart racing, she launched herself into the prickly gorse. Only a lunatic would ride at breakneck speed down such a slope. Seconds later, a chilling scream sent gooseflesh marching across her nape. A horse whinnied in distress. Uncle Boyd and some of his men hurried down the slope to see what had happened.
Frantic, she carried on up the hill, praying she would find her husband and child still alive.
“’Tis Tremaine,” her uncle shouted from below. “Horse threw him. Broke his neck.”
Feeling somewhat dizzy, she was tempted to reply that it seemed fitting the youth who was afraid of horses should die in such a manner. But her throat was too dry and she needed every drop of saliva to yell her husband’s name. “Darr—och.”
“Up here,” came the hoarse reply. “Hurry, Kyla’s hurt.”
*
Darroch swayed unsteadily as he lifted his daughter.
“Ye dinna need to carry me,” she protested. “’Tis only a scratch.”
Fearing he might cause them both to topple down the hill if he persisted, he set her upright and dabbed the blood off her forehead with his plaid.
“Do ye think ’twill leave a scar?” she asked, sounding too hopeful.
“Mayhap,” he allowed.
“I canna recall,” she said. “Did Cú Chulainn have scars? They say all warriors have scars.”
He chuckled. “Ye’re a warrior right enough, with or without scars.”
Just then, Isabel staggered out of the bushes. Her hair was a spiky mess of leaves and twigs. She gulped air, her red face scratched and smeared with dirt and tears. And she was wearing trews tucked into the boots he loved so much. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
She rushed into his arms and buried her face against his chest. “I thought I’d lost ye both,” she sobbed.
Kyla wrapped her arms around his wife’s thigh and looked up at them. “I saved him for ye, Bel,” she said.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as Isabel stooped to pick up his bairn and hug her tightly. “’Tis true. She knocked Tremaine out with her sling.”
Boyd entered the clearing and shook Darroch’s hand. “I’m relieved to see ye,” he panted. “The fool broke his neck, but there’s no sign of his mother.”
Eyes wide with alarm, Kyla cupped Isabel’s face in her hands. “She’s gone after yer father.”
The fog lifted from Darroch’s brain. “She’s right. Ghalla knew ye’d all come to our rescue, leaving Rory unprotected. Tremaine bragged about it.”