His Lady of Castlemora(26)

'Loose the horses. They'll only be in the way here.' As they moved to  obey he turned back to Isabelle and lifted her down. 'Do you and Nell  take shelter among the rocks, my lady.'

More than anything now she wanted to remain within the sheltering circle  of his arm but could only nod in mute obedience. Could he not hear her  heart beating from where he stood? For a moment more he looked into her  face and his own expression grew serious. Letting his arm fall from her  waist he drew the dagger from his belt and, reversing the blade, handed  it to her.

'Take this. It's little enough, but it offers you some protection.' He  did not add that it also offered a choice if things should go amiss.

Isabelle understood him well enough and took the knife without  hesitation. His sacrifice today was like to be the greatest any man  could ever make. Hers could be no less.

'I will use this rather than go with Murdo.'

His hand closed over hers and squeezed it. 'Be of good courage, my lady. All may yet be well.'

'God be with you,'

'God be with us all,' he replied.

Movement among the rocks below revealed the enemy closing in. Isabelle  counted a dozen men but knew there were many more. It was just a matter  of time before the rest arrived. The situation was hopeless. Oddly that  knowledge filled her with resolve and her hand tightened round the hilt  of the dagger as she hastened to join Nell. Behind her Ban and his men  drew their swords and waited.

The approaching horsemen grew larger by the moment, looming out of the  landscape like so many spectres of evil. Now it was possible to make out  the details of their horses and their arms, then their faces. Grim,  eager for the coming fight, they drew rein at the bottom of the slope.  When they saw the three men there they grinned, evidently considering  this to be no contest. Then they dismounted. There followed the chilling  sound of metal scraping wood and oiled leather as blades were drawn  from scabbards. With expressions of keen anticipation the mercenary  force advanced.                       
       
           



       

Ban had chosen his spot well. The ascent was not only steep but the  limited access meant that, at most, only two or three men at a time  could approach the sheltering fugitives. Nothing loath the first of them  began their approach.

'Well, here they come.' Jock's hand tightened round the hilt of his sword.

'There's an awful lot of them,' replied Davy.

'Aye, and it's only part of their force. It willna take the others long tae join them.'

'If Ewan's bringing those reinforcements, now would be a good time.'

'That it would, lad, but while we're waiting let's kill as many of the bastards as we can, eh?'

The first three mercenaries reached the level shelf below the crag and  raced forwards to meet them. The air rang with the clash of metal. Ban  lunged for his opponent's breast, a deadly stroke turned aside just in  time. It was returned in kind. Ban parried it and cut again and again,  the blade an arc of light so fierce was his attack. His opponent, forced  back, stumbled on the uneven ground. Ban's foot swung up and caught the  man hard in the groin. He heard the grunt of pain. Without giving his  opponent time to recover he sped him with a thrust to the gut. Out of  the corner of his eyes he saw Jock and Davy in fierce engagement with  their own opponents. He heard a cry but could not investigate for the  next man was on him. However, though big, he was no match for Ban with a  blade and was brought low with a thrust to the shoulder. No sooner had  he fallen than another rushed to take his place. There followed more  cries and curses as Jock and Davy accounted for their own. Even as these  fell more men rushed forwards but with no more success. Gradually the  rocks and sparse turf grew dark and stained with blood. All smiles had  vanished from the faces of the mercenaries now and were replaced with  grim intent to cut down the defenders and avenge their own.

Ban glanced at the bodies around and then at the advancing tide and he  knew it was just a matter of time before they were overpowered. Sweating  now, he could feel the strain in his sword arm. Beside him, Jock and  Davy fought on. He glimpsed blood on Jock's neck and chest, but since  the man fought unimpeded he assumed it was someone else's. Davy appeared  unhurt, fighting with single-minded concentration and zeal. As his foe  fell beneath his sword there came a pause and for a moment no more men  came forwards to challenge the waiting three.

Breathing hard they saw a familiar figure approaching.

'Murdo,' murmured Ban. He turned briefly to his companions. 'This one's mine, lads.'

The oncoming warrior was flanked by a dozen more. Pausing near the top  of the slope he scanned the scene swiftly, taking in the pile of corpses  and then the three defenders beyond.

'Surrender yourselves! You're heavily outnumbered and pinned down. You  cannot win. Give up the Lady Isabelle and I'll spare your lives.'

'Aye, right,' muttered Jock.

'If you want her you'll have to come and get her,' replied Ban, 'but to do it you must come past me.'

The thought of Isabelle in Murdo's clutches was anathema. Ban tightened  his grip on the sword. It wasn't going to happen; not now, not ever.

'It'll be a pleasure.' Murdo drew his sword. Then, with a curt gesture  to his men, he began to advance. Reaching the top of the slope he halted  a few yards from Ban.

'It will afford me much satisfaction to cut your throat,' he said then.  His cold gaze flicked to where Isabelle stood with Nell. 'Did you really  think to take what was mine?'

'I was never yours, Murdo,' she retorted, 'nor ever will be.'

'You are mistaken, Isabelle, as you will soon discover. When this is  done perhaps I'll take you here in front of your champion, before I run  him through.'

Isabelle paled, but Ban's lips curled in a sardonic smile. 'Come, braggart, you must catch the bear ere you skin it.'

Murdo half-turned and signalled to his men. Then they advanced. Ban hefted his sword, flanked by Jock and Davy.

'Get ready,' he murmured.

Jock eyed the approaching men with a jaundiced expression. 'We're ready. If we can just hold them off awhile longer...'                       
       
           



       

No one replied for even as he spoke they heard the distant thunder of  hoofbeats, and saw in the middle distance a rolling cloud of dust that  marked the approach of many men. The defenders exchanged glances, their  expressions grim.

'The rest of the mercenary force,' muttered Jock. 'This is about to get interesting.'

'Very interesting and very busy,' replied Davy.

Murdo glanced at the distant riders and smiled. 'Get ready to die, you Saxon dog.'

Ban made no reply. He had time only for a fleeting regret that he had  failed Isabelle, and then Murdo was upon him. The great blades clashed  with bone-jarring force. The warlord was skilled and strong and, as yet,  fresh to the fight. With each shuddering blow Ban felt his aching  muscles protest, but he could afford no respite. He fought instinctively  now, slashing and parrying in return, seeking a weakness in the other  man's play. It needed but one unguarded moment. However, Murdo was fit  and agile; each time it seemed as though Ban's blade must break through  his guard the edge was turned. Beginning to tire now, he knew mounting  desperation for, with each moment, the sound of advancing horsemen grew  louder. He dared not risk a look to see how close they were. His  opponent too had heard the sound and his expression of triumph spoke  louder than words.

Redoubling his attack he forced Ban to give ground. Unable to see where  he was putting his feet the younger man stumbled. Though swift to regain  his balance, Ban caught a glancing blow and felt the sword open a gash  across his ribs. He drew a sharp breath, gritting his teeth against the  pain. Warm blood flowed down his side. Seeing the spreading red stain,  Murdo smiled.

'Next time it'll be your heart.'

Breathing hard, Ban vouchsafed no reply. He had no breath to waste in  idle banter and swung once more into the attack. A bloody slash appeared  on Murdo's arm and he swore. Ban gave him no time to recover. Sheer  agility saved Murdo from the blow aimed at his ribs and he countered  swiftly. He wasn't laughing now and his play became a shade more  cautious.

Ban could feel his strength ebbing. Blood pounded in his ears. It grew  louder and louder and then, with sinking heart, he realised it was the  sound of horses' hooves. The rest of Murdo's force had arrived.

* * *

From her place among the rocks Isabelle watched the conflict in mounting  horror. She could see that Ban was tiring, weakened from his earlier  exertions and now loss of blood. Yet somehow he fought on. The defenders  had put up a magnificent fight but they could never win. Her fingers  tightened on the hilt of the dagger. It seemed they would all die here  today.

Suddenly Nell gripped hold of Isabelle's arm. 'Dear God!'