His Lady of Castlemora(27)

Isabelle followed the older woman's gaze. In the distance she could see  the roiling cloud of dust as another group of horsemen approached.

'The rest of Murdo's force,' she murmured. 'It's over.'

Unable to tear their eyes away they watched the riders draw nearer. They  were many, fifty at least, mounted on swift horses, the sun glinting on  spur and harness. The riders were clad in stout leather tunics and all  were armed with sword and shield. In the vanguard was borne the banner  that proclaimed their proud identity: a great bird of prey in flight  with curving talons outstretched.

'Wait!' Nell's hand trembled and a tremulous smile hovered on her lips. 'Not Murdo's men. Merciful heavens, it's Glengarron.'

Hardly daring to hope, Isabelle strained to see. 'Are you sure?'

'Look at the banner. Does it not bear the device of a red kite?'

'On my life I think it does.' Isabelle clutched her companion's sleeve. 'Oh, Nell. Ewan must have succeeded.'

The sound of hooves grew louder. By now the mercenaries lower down the  hill had also seen the threat for warning shouts echoed across the  slope. Sunlight glinted on steel. Murdo frowned and glanced that way. It  was for a split second only but that moment's inattention was enough  and the edge of Ban's sword caught him in the side. Murdo gasped and  disengaged, falling back a pace or two, his free hand clutching the  wound. Blood seeped through his fingers. He looked around in cold fury  and, assessing the situation at once, he began to retreat, shouting at  his men to do likewise.                       
       
           



       

As he stumbled away down the hill two of his men stepped out from among  the rocks to cover his retreat. Seeing the bows in their hands Isabelle  cried out. It mingled with Ban's warning shout. Davy flung himself flat  but Jock was too slow. Before their horrified gaze he stood motionless a  moment and then his legs buckled and he fell, the feathered shaft  buried in his breast. Ban uttered a great shout of rage. Raising his  sword he flung the blade with all his might. The archer shrieked and  fell. The second man lifted his bow and let fly the shaft. Ban felt a  savage, fiery pain deep in his shoulder. His assailant turned and fled  down the hill. For another second or two Ban looked on. Then he toppled  sideways into darkness.

'Ban!' Isabelle ran to him and fell on her knees at his side, her hand seeking his. 'Ban! Look at me, I beg you.'

No reply was forthcoming. He was quite still, his face pale, the turf  around stained with blood. Struggling with a rising sense of dread she  sought for some sign of life; a breath, a movement, anything that would  show he lived. She discovered none.

'Dear God, no. Please, no.'

Below them the tide of battle was turning and already many of the  mercenary force were dead. The rest were in full retreat. Some had  already broken away and were riding hard for the hills, a detachment  from Glengarron in hot pursuit. The rest of the arriving force was  heading towards the crag. In the lead was a man on a big dapple-grey  horse.

The mercenaries who had been on the slope with Murdo were now trapped.  Aware of the danger they broke and ran for cover among the rocks.  Undeterred the riders dismounted and moved forwards in pursuit. Isabelle  watched in stricken silence. What should have been deliverance had  become something from nightmare. Ban was dead and Jock too. They had  given their lives for her and in that moment she wished with all her  heart that it had been she who had died.

Running feet announced another arrival and looking up she saw Ewan. He  reached the top of the slope and checked, his horrified gaze taking in  the scene of carnage. Then he saw the bodies of his fallen companions  and his cheeks grew ashen.

'Holy Mother.' His gaze met Davy's and held it. 'I've come too late.'

Davy, pale too, clasped his shoulder. 'It's no your fault.'

Ewan shook his head and looked miserably at Isabelle. 'I'm sorry, my lady.'

Before she could reply they were joined by another man, a tall,  dark-haired warrior carrying a great sword. As her gaze took in the  details of that imposing figure she realised who he was.

The Lord of Glengarron paused, his dark gaze resting on her a long moment. 'Lady Isabelle?'

As she nodded his image splintered through her tears. He glanced at Davy  and Ewan now standing grim-faced with Nell, and then looked down at the  still form beside Isabelle. Recognition and shock registered in his  face and with a muffled oath he hastened forwards.

'Ban!' Swiftly sheathing his sword Lord Iain knelt and drew off his  gauntlets, his fingers searching Ban's neck. For a moment his expression  was grim. Then he drew in a deep breath. 'There's a pulse but it's  weak.'

Isabelle's heart lurched. 'Oh, thank God!'

'We must get him back to Dark Mount as soon as may be.' He turned to  Davy and Ewan. 'Get some help to carry him and Jock down to the horses.'

As they hurried away to do his bidding, Iain turned back to Isabelle.

'You are not hurt, my lady?'

'No, my lord; thanks to you and Lord Ban.'

'Would that we had arrived sooner,' he said.

Just then one of the Glengarron captains appeared. 'Beg pardon, my lord,  but the remnant of the mercenary force has fled; some ten or a dozen  men in all. Do you want us to go in pursuit?'

'Aye, and bring me their leader, that or his body.'

'Murdo was wounded,' said Isabelle, 'but not badly enough, I fear.'

Lord Iain turned to the captain. 'If they are carrying a wounded man it  will slow their progress. Search thoroughly. We need to find him.'

The man nodded and hastened away. Isabelle shivered as the implications  hit her. Correctly interpreting that expression Lord Iain's tone grew  gentler.                       
       
           



       

'Have no fear, my lady. We'll find him eventually, dead or alive.'

They made their way down the slope to the horses. Isabelle looked in  horror at the carnage all around her. The air stank of blood and  slaughter. Horror was followed by guilt and remorse. All these men had  died because of her. Ban was critically wounded. Reaction set in then  and she trembled, feeling sick to the core of her being.

Iain surveyed her critically. 'Can you ride, my lady?'

She nodded, unable to speak now.

'Come then,' he said.





Chapter Eleven


Afterwards Isabelle had only the haziest recollection of the ride to  Dark Mount and then, on arrival, a confused impression of men and horses  and shouted orders as the injured were taken indoors. She craned her  neck to try to see Ban but caught only a brief glimpse of him as the men  bore him away. Then she was conducted to the great hall. Servants  bustled around in obedience to Lord Iain's commands. Isabelle stood to  one side, trying not to get in the way. In spite of Nell's presence, she  had never felt more alone in her life.

Then a different woman appeared, a very beautiful woman with tawny hair  and deep-blue eyes. She was in the advanced stages of pregnancy. In  spite of this and her small stature she had about her an aura of natural  authority. Isabelle quailed inwardly, knowing this must be Lady  Ashlynn. She looked pale and no wonder. Ban had said they were close.  How would she receive the woman for whose sake he had been so critically  hurt?

Seeing his wife approach, Lord Iain stepped forwards to meet her. 'We have a guest, my love. Lady Isabelle of Castlemora.'

Heart hammering, Isabelle curtsied. Ashlynn inclined her head in acknowledgement.

'You are welcome, Lady Isabelle. You need not be afraid; here you are among friends.'

The tone was unexpectedly kind and it brought a lump into Isabelle's throat. Somehow she murmured an appropriate response.

'You've had a terrible experience,' Ashlynn went on. 'You must be exhausted.'

'Do not be concerned about me, my lady.'

'I cannot be anything else since I know what it is to be hunted by those who intend only harm.'

Knowing something of the woman's history Isabelle recognised the words  for truth. She also knew it must have taken enormous courage to face  such perils alone. Just thinking about it engendered respect.

'Had it not been for Lord Ban I would never have escaped at all.' Her eyes met Ashlynn's. 'Is he... Will he be all right?'

'The healers are with him now.'

'I see.'

'When you are rested we will talk again. In the meantime a chamber has been prepared for you. Morag will show you.'

* * *

The chamber was spacious and well appointed and its window afforded a  fine view of the glen. However, Isabelle barely took it in. Nell  regarded her in concern.

'You need to rest. You look exhausted.' She paused. 'It will not help matters if you fall ill yourself.'

'I know. It's just that it seems wrong to sleep while Ban is in danger.'

'He's in good hands. The healers at Dark Mount are famed for their skill.'

'I fear for him all the same. He's lost so much blood.'

'He's a fighter in every way. He'll not give up the ghost just yet I think.'

'I pray you're right.'

'I've seen a good many fighting men in my time. I know a survivor when I see one.'