RIPPED FROM SOMEPLACE he had no intention of going with Lindsay, Conall soon found himself somewhere far worse. The Sassenach were everywhere, and as the bloody bastards likely planned, the Scots were at a disadvantage on the slick slope. It was hard to know how many were coming at them but he would say double their numbers.

“’Tis Robert de Clifford up there,” Grant said into his mind. “We willnae be able to kill him, but we may be able to evade him then attack.”

He knew who the man was. One of several traveling with Robert the Bruce.

Robert de Clifford was the first Baron de Clifford of Appleby Castle, Westmorland, amongst other things including feudal baron of Appleby and feudal baron of Skipton in Yorkshire. He would become well known in history as the first Lord Warden of the Marches, responsible for defending the English border against Scotland.

“What should we do?” he replied to Grant, taking in their surroundings. As far as the eye could see there were nothing but trees, an icy slope and endless arrows raining down. “We are in a poor place, indeed.”

Several Scots had already been taken down by arrows as they made a run for it.

“Can we use magic?” he asked his grandfather.

“Nay, I wouldnae,” he replied. “I dinnae sense evil about, and dinnae want to attract it unless necessary.”

“Like Grant said,” Lindsay whispered. “You need to evade then attack.”

Though he was not surprised she had followed their conversation, he wondered at her meaning. Or at least he did for a second or two as his eyes met hers.

“Nay.” He shook his head. “I willnae allow it.”

“You will not allow it?” Her brows snapped together, and her voice grew tight. “At some point here soon, you need to realize you don’t control me, Conall.” She shook her head. “I’m offering to help you and give the Scots a chance not only to survive but to possibly defeat the men trying to slaughter them.” She stood up straighter and notched her chin, not acting in the least but very much the real Lindsay. “If you don’t let me do this, you’re risking the lives of everyone you care about.”

“But if I let you do this,” he countered. “I risk losing you.”

Their eyes held, and she swallowed hard. “I’ll be okay.”

Would she? How could he be sure?

“When did your gift first ignite, lass?” he said softly as more arrows slammed into nearby trunks. Arrows he would deflect if any got close to her. “Tell me what sparked your gift so I know you can control it.”

Unsure, her pained eyes stayed with his, and she started to speak but stopped.

“No,” she whispered and shook her head, renewed determination in her gaze. “Outside of a warlock being present which Grant just said wasn't the case, I know how to control my gift. I have for a long time, Laird Hamilton.” She sounded steady and strong. “You saw what I did with the English warrior in the woods and defied my request not to kill him.” She narrowed her eyes. “Will you do the same now? Will you defy my request when I have a plan that can save everyone here?”

Though tempted, he did not mention that she didn’t seem in control when the Sassenach raided his castle. Nor did he share that he had heard her thoughts about why she grew so upset with him when he killed the Sassenach warrior yesterday. That, above all, he intended to address. Just not right now. Not in the midst of chaos.

“I believe in her,” Graham said into his mind.

“As do I,” Bryce concurred. “She is a strong and talented witch, and we’re running out of time, Cousin.”

He had lived through few moments as difficult as this. Few as trying as looking into her eyes then letting her go. Yet he knew this was a test he could not fail. He had not handled things correctly with the Sassenach warrior yesterday, and now she was giving him a second chance. Yet it went against his every instinct.

“I need ye, Grandson,” Grant murmured, his mental voice pained. “I need ye to trust Lindsay and come defend me.”

His blood chilled, and time seemed to slow as he scanned the slope and finally locked eyes on Grant. He had taken an arrow to the shoulder and leaned against a tree. Blood blossomed on his tunic far too quickly. If Grant were twenty years younger, Conall might not be so worried.

Torn, his eyes whipped between Grant and Lindsay. What sort of cruel trick was this?

More arrows kept flying as the Sassenach released a war cry.

They were coming.

“Go.” Lindsay pressed a fist against his chest in a sign of strength and said through clenched teeth, “I can turn this in your favor very quickly if you just let me.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “If you just trust that I know full well how to use my gift, Conall. I’ll get them to the bottom without all this fighting. All you need to do is be ready to ambush them, okay?”

She was right, and he knew it. He had to trust her.

No, he did trust her.

He nodded and meant to say a hundred things, but nothing came out as she shoved at him. “Then go.” Her eyes rounded. “Go save your grandfather and these men, all right?”

Though he wanted to yank her into his arms and kiss her one last time, he knew better. It might be seen. So though it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, he left her and raced down to Grant. While his grandfather appeared weakened, he also seemed relieved and maybe a little embarrassed as Conall scooped him up into his arms and kept moving.

“I have two feet,” Grant muttered.

“Aye.” Conall did his best on the slippery ground. “Two feet that willnae work once ye’ve lost enough blood.”

He skidded when he hit a patch of ice but got his bearings, all the while trying not to jostle his grandfather.

“There used to be a day when an arrow wouldnae dream of coming near me,” Grant grumbled as he wrapped his arm tighter around Conall’s neck. “Bloody changin’ times.”

Though tempted to pull the arrow out, he knew better. He would set his grandfather down somewhere safe, defeat the Sassenach, and then find a doctor in the nearby village. Assuming, that is, all went as planned and Lindsay did not get herself killed beforehand.

“She willnae get herself killed, lad,” Grant murmured. “She has too much to live for.”

Conall said nothing because he knew that his grandfather was referring to him.

Once he reached the bottom, he carefully sat his grandfather against a tree, pulled off his own tunic and tied it around Grant’s wound to stop the blood flow. Concerned, he tried to sense Lindsay’s thoughts, but she was closed off.

“She does that so ye willnae worry, lad,” Grant murmured, his half-mast, tired eyes on Conall. “And so that ye willnae distract her.”

Conall nodded as he looked up the hill and frowned. Everything had grown very quiet, and he had no idea what to make of it. 

“It means she’s doing what she told ye she could.” Grant squeezed his hand. “She willnae let any of us down, lad. More so, she willnae let ye down.”

He met his grandfather’s eyes and frowned. “Ye put too much faith in what we share.”

“Nay.” Grant shook his head, clearly weak. “I put everything in what ye share.”

“There’s movement,” Graham said into his mind. “They’re coming, Cousin.”

“How many?” He scanned his surroundings. “And from which direction?”

“Just beyond those trees,” Grant whispered, his eyes narrowed as he followed the telepathic conversation. “Seventy or so. All the Sassenach in this particular band.”

“And Lindsay?” he whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“The verra reason they’re about to be where ye can best attack them.”

He met his grandfather’s eyes as both hope and relief washed over him. “Aye?”

Grant smiled and squeezed his hand again. “Aye.”

Their eyes held in a moment of connection they had not shared for a very long time before Grant murmured, “She’s done her part, Grandson. Time to do yers.”

“I dinnae think I should leave ye,” he began before Rona fell in beside him. Blood streaked her cheek, and her hair was disheveled, but she seemed unharmed as her eyes met his. “’Tis a bloody good ambush she’s setting up, Cousin. Go fight, and I’ll see to Grant, aye?”

Conall’s eyes returned to Grant, torn. It was not easy choosing between protecting his wounded grandfather and his vulnerable lass.

“There ye have it, lad,” Grant murmured, clearly following his thoughts. “Ye’ve done nothing but call her yer lass these past few days, as ye should because she is.” He nodded. “Go help her as she just so readily helped us, aye?”

He was right. More than Conall realized until that moment.

When his eyes met Rona’s, she nodded.

“Go, Cousin,” she replied to his unspoken question. “I might not like anyone who can bruise yer heart more, but she’s brave and deserves our protection.” She sighed, her next words clearly hard to say but at last, said. “She deserves yer love if that’s what yer aimin’ for, aye?”

Their eyes remained locked in a moment of mutual understanding and acceptance before he drew his blade and made his way through the forest. What he saw as he fell in beside Bryce and Graham behind thick shrubbery, made his heart leap into his throat.

Lindsay limped into a small clearing, supported by none other than Robert de Clifford. Like his cousins with their superior hearing, Conall could follow her flustered, whisper-soft words.

“I tried to get away,” she whimpered as she clutched her side but still managed to swing her hips just enough to turn men’s heads. “But they wouldn’t let me...” Her voice grew breathy and hoarse as she turned her big, silver eyes to Robert. “I am so lucky you came when you did.”

He nodded, seemingly quite concerned as he helped her to a rock so she could lean against it and gather her strength.

“M’lord, we should not be here,” one of his men bit out as he scanned his surroundings. “We killed some but not nearly enough. The Scots rebels could be anywhere.”

Lindsay pouted and tossed her hair over her shoulder as her eyes stayed with Robert’s. “But they are not, are they?” She shook her head and hid behind her long, thick lashes. “The minute they saw you coming, they ran...” She touched his bicep, appearing shy as she blushed. “How else could it be with a man like you chasing after them?”

Though his cousins grinned at each other because of her cunning, Conall's eyes remained trained on her, his weapon at the ready. If Robert made a single threatening move toward her, he would close the distance with his magic and end him. 

“’Tis true,” Robert de Clifford murmured, enchanted as he stared into her eyes then made a random gesture before saying to his man, “The rebels are gone. We will track them down later.”

“Are you sure?” his man began before Robert cut him off. “Have them group here as Lindsay suggested. Away from any direction she knew the rebels were heading.”

“How would she know what direction they were heading?” the man countered before Robert turned furious eyes on him and roared, “Have them group now, or I will cut you down where you stand!”

The man nodded briskly and left as Robert redirected his attention to Lindsay. He crouched in front of her and began touching her leg here and there, asking where it hurt.

Conall narrowed his eyes and scowled. His logical side might understand what was happening, but his emotional side was a blade whip away from taking the man down for simply touching her. Following his thoughts, Bryce put a comforting hand on Conall’s shoulder and shook his head.

“Is everyone in position?” he said into Bryce’s mind.

“Aye, all are ready to attack on yer orders,” he responded. “Graham and I saw to it.”

He nodded, grateful that they had managed to convince Simon Fraser never mind his men to attack when Conall said so.

“I will be all right,” Lindsay murmured, then flinched when Robert touched her knee.

He shook his head, scooped her up and leaned back against the rock. “You will stay off this until we have found you somewhere to rest.”

“Oh, that is not necessary,” she said softly, her voice and eyes equally demure as she blushed. “But thank you for seeing to me, m’lord.”

“How could I not?” There was nothing but worship in his eyes. “When you were treated so poorly by the rebels.”

More and more warriors joined them. Almost all by the looks of it. Every last one of them with wary, confused eyes. But an order was an order, and they were stalwart soldiers all. His biggest concern now was getting to Lindsay once the fighting started. She might have lured the Sassenach but what of her once war broke out?

“We’ll help ye every step of the way, Cousin,” Graham vowed.

“Aye,” Bryce agreed. “Run straight for her, and we’ll see none stand in yer way.”

He nodded his thanks as the last few Sassenach joined Robert.

This was it.

There was no more time to waste.

So he gave the signal, drew his blade and raced forward as his countrymen poured out of the forest and attacked. With nothing but Lindsay in his sights, his quick dash was as promised, well protected by his cousins as they cut down any who came too close.

In the meantime, Robert was wide-eyed as he tried to hold Lindsay while gripping his blade. Unfortunately, he was unable to accomplish both, and she plunked to the ground. Still, Robert took up arms in front of her, and he and Conall ended up crossing blades right over her head.

“Oh, goodness,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she scrambled back a few inches until she was against the rock.

“Can you disenchant him, lass?” Conall said telepathically as he did his best to steer Robert away but was met with a force he suspected was much like his. Passion meant to protect the one he loved.

So it was a vicious battle nearly on top of her.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “I’ve never tried.”

Conall thrust his sword at Robert, but he leapt to the side before leaping back. Robert swung his blade at Conall, but he blocked it. Then it turned into a fast, vicious swordfight without moving their position in the least. A fast paced feat made more extraordinarily difficult because they had to find absolute balance or Lindsay could get hurt.

Though it was clear his cousins tried to help, they were far too busy fighting off those trying to come to Robert’s aid.

“As ye’ve always suspected, Lindsay,” Grant whispered into her mind, words that Conall heard as well. “’Tis your eyes and hair that lend to the enchantment. Hide them both and Robert should be released.”

Lindsay swiftly covered her head with her fur then sank down lower. Seconds later, confusion flashed in Robert’s eyes, and he paused just long enough for Conall to gain the upper hand and kick him backwards.

Robert plunked down on his arse and scrambled back as Conall came at him. He knew full well he couldn’t kill this man. Not now. Not when he played an important part in Sassenach history and in effect, Scottish history. Though sorely tempted to end his life regardless for what he would do against Scotland, staying close to Lindsay and protecting her took precedence. 

Without the advantage they had before, the Sassenach fell quickly beneath the blades of their infuriated opponents. Caught in a trap with nowhere to run, the slaughter was quicker than Conall expected considering the Sassenach were more seasoned warriors. Yet when given a chance to finally take retribution and fulfill their bloodlust, it was amazing what a ragged bunch of Scots could do. Aye, many knew how to fight, but it was clear some had likely joined the rebel’s cause right off their farms.

As he knew they would do, his cousin’s cut down the men protecting Robert in such a way and in such a direction that Robert alone managed to scramble into the bushes and get away. They all knew it had to happen though none were pleased about it. Letting such a powerful enemy go was not easy. Not at all.

Conall fought very few before the vast majority had fallen and he was able to turn his attention to Lindsay. She remained buried under her fur with her knees pulled up to her chest. Though she was very still, he sensed it wasn’t out of fear but determination.

“Lass,” he murmured as he crouched. He pulled the fabric back enough so he could tilt his head and see her face. “All is well.” He smiled. “You did it. You saved us.”

Her wide eyes met his and the corner of her mouth tilted up. “Yeah?”

“Aye.” Despite how strange it felt to do so, he couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you, Lindsay.”

“You’re welcome, Laird Hamilton,” she whispered.

“Nay.” He shook his head, pulled the fur away altogether and cupped her cheek, so damn grateful she was still alive. “’Tis past time you call me Conall, lass.”

Their eyes held, lingered, before she nodded and whispered, “All right then, Conall.”

“I hate to interrupt the moment, lad,” came a strained whisper in his mind. “But...”

“Bloody hell.” He frowned and pulled Lindsay after him. “Grandfather’s hurt.”

By the time he made it back to Grant, he was in rough shape. He picked him up and started for the nearby village, muttering, “What ever happened to Aðísla?”

They needed their Viking ancestor and her ability to heal.

“I dinnae know,” Grant managed, weakened. “Any more than I know what happened to Adlin and Milly.”

Conall nodded and kept moving alongside his cousins as they headed for the village. It was small and far too close to the English border, but with any luck, they would find help. As if his prayers were answered, a large bearded madman with a mass of long curly hair partially covering his face came out of nowhere.

“Och, there ye are,” he boomed as he put a finger to his lips and approached. “I heard a rumor there was fighting about.” He shook his head and winked. “Are ye friend or foe?”

Conall and his cousins frowned.

“We’re friends,” Lindsay called out, a small smile on her face. “You can approach.”

Before Conall could say a word, she smirked at him. “That’s William Wallace.”

He couldn’t help a chuckle as Wallace approached. But of course it was, and well disguised at that.

“Let me have him,” Wallace said as he came alongside. “The village ahead has a good healer and is full of nothing but Scots sympathizers.”

“Many thanks.” Conall nodded and handed Grant off to William. “We will be right behind you.”

“Thank you, William,” Lindsay murmured, a pretty smile on her face as she looked up at him. “You came right in the nick of time.”

He nodded and winked. “I tend to do that.”

Conall frowned and looked between them. What was this?

He had no chance to further analyze it before Wallace spurred his horse and started through the forest. Soon after, Simon Fraser joined him, his hard eyes pleased no doubt because of their success.

“Once we have settled in the village, my cousins and I will help bury the dead,” Conall said softly. “They were brave men, all. We are sorry for your loss.”

“Aye, they were,” Simon agreed, eyeing all of them before he held out his hand to Conall. “Thank ye for yer offer, but as I suspected, yer far too important to risk being out in the woodland after dark. I’ve men that will see they’re properly buried.” His brows rose. “Mayhap just a toast later to those lost, aye?”

“Aye.” Conall clasped his arm, hand to elbow, and nodded. “’Twould be our honor.”

“Though none but I caught it...” Simon kept his grip, his eyes astute. “Ye fought to let Robert de Clifford go.” His jaw clenched. “Ye let a bloody bad man go. Why?”

“To send a message,” Conall said firmly, having expected this. “To let the Sassenach know what we are capable of if they continue forward. If they keep looking for Wallace.”

“Would carnage have not been enough?” Simon said softly, watching him closely. “And what would an arrogant leader the likes of Robert de Clifford say when he returns without his men? Would it not reflect poorly on him to tell the truth? That he was defeated by a band of rebels?”

“Actually,” Conall said. “If I were him, I would see it as the perfect opportunity to boast about how valiantly I fought.”

“They will see him as a coward,” Simon countered. “They will see him as having abandoned his men.”

“They will see him as a survivor caught in the midst of foolish council on his first-in-command’s part,” Conall said. “Because that is how he will tell it. He will use the weather, and foolery to his advantage then he will spin a decorated tale telling how much he learned about us in that short time. He will turn their doubt to awe as he recounts our every move and how such will help the English be better prepared next time.” He perked his eyebrow. “Because did he not see yer men at their verra best? Did he not see them fight with a passion that might verra well bespeak well-trained warriors?”

Simon frowned. “That will make them come at us harder.”

“Aye, mayhap,” Conall conceded. “But ‘twill also make them remain wary.” He considered him as though impressed by how Simon himself must have somehow planned all this. “Ye and yer men proved yerselves today in this forest. Rumor will travel now that ye are spirited beasties that come out of nowhere. Ye blindside warriors without them ever knowing yer coming.” He shook his head. “Ye created something fierce here today. Rumors that ye can manipulate if ye have yer men say the right things this eve in the village.” He winked. “To the barkeep, whores, stablemen, and what not.”

Simon eyed him for a long moment, and though it was clear he was not entirely convinced, he shook Conall’s hand again and finally pulled away. His eyes went to Lindsay. “Are ye well then, lass?”

“I am.” She nodded and offered a soft smile. “It was frightening at first, but I could not be more thankful for the help of you and your men.”

“Our pleasure.” His eyes stayed with hers for a moment before he nodded briskly. “I will see ye in the village.”

She had no chance to respond before he strode away.

They had just continued walking when his grandfather mentally cried out, and his magical distress nearly made Conall double over.

“We have to go, lass,” he managed as he pulled her after him.

“Why?”

“Because.” He clenched his teeth against the pain. “Something is verra, verra wrong.”