“Aye,” Malcolm whispered. “Why would Hugh camp on MacKintosh land? He will expect us to ride right into it. Use stealth, and take care.” He knelt once more before his foster son. “Can you watch the horses by yourself? It is a very big responsibility.”
A look of determination came into Hunter’s eyes. He nodded. Malcolm and his men led their mounts over the rise and secured them, leaving Hunter with his bow strung and an arrow notched at the ready.
“Gareth, join the others,” Malcolm signed. With that, Galen, Robley and Gareth melted into the trees, fanning out in search of their enemies.
Hugh and his men had left an easy trail of broken brush. Malcolm crept along, careful to keep to the shadows, careful not even to snap a twig, alert for any sign of Hugh’s men. Soon, he heard movement. Edging closer, he remained hidden—until the sound of ripping fabric snapped his control.
Drawing his sword, he broke through the brush. The sight before him turned his vision red with rage. Alethia had been staked to the ground, spread-eagle. Hugh, his back to him, stood above her with a dagger in hand, slitting her garments from bodice to hem.
Malcolm grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hurled him across the clearing. “Your life is forfeit, Hugh. Pick up your sword.” Two men leaped into the clearing and came at him. He cursed as he noted the Comyn plaid they wore. Hugh hung back—the coward counted on others to do his dirty work. The men he fought were ragged and hungry, fueled by desperation.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hugh sneaking around the perimeter of the clearing, edging closer and closer to True, with his sword drawn and a dirk in his other hand. Malcolm gave a shrill whistle, a signal for anyone close to come to his aid. The sound distracted his opponents enough to give him the upper hand.
Malcolm plunged his sword into one man and kicked the other in the chest to buy some time. He took the dagger from his belt, flipped it in the air to catch it by the blade, and whipped it straight for Hugh’s heart. He spared only a second to watch the stunned look come over Hugh’s face before he fell.
Malcolm drew his sword from the corpse on the ground and spun in time to see two more Comyns come at him, Robley right behind them.
“Malcolm, there are a score of men or more surrounding us.” Robley huffed as he met his enemy’s ax with his sword.
“You’ll not be so fortunate this day, MacKintosh,” the man fighting him spat out.
“Aye, a score or more you say?” Malcolm could feel the fatigue creeping over him. He had worked his way over to stand protectively near True. Robley had done the same to flank her other side. “Four have fallen here,” Malcolm said as he deflected a blow. “How many have our lads taken, Robley?”
Robley had done battle with him countless times and knew his mind. He meant to intimidate these leaderless men into fleeing. Another man appeared from the forest. Malcolm was beginning to worry. He delivered the killing blow to the enemy before him and turned to meet his new adversary.
“I took three before I reached this clearing, and Galen and Gareth have at least that many each.”
“That does no’ bode well for them, eh?” Malcolm continued to banter with Robley, praying his strategy would work. His new opponent came at him with a war club and sword. The sound of other struggles going on in the shadows of the forest came to him. Worried for his men, and for True, Malcolm feared he wouldn’t last much longer.
He heard the thunder of horses on the trail, and his heart skipped a beat. They’d not survive this day. He’d failed True.
A familiar war cry rent the air, a MacKintosh promise of victory. His father had come. And by the sounds of it, half their garrison as well. He gave them a shrill whistle to guide them, and the noise of warriors crashing through the brush sent the Comyns fleeing just as Malcolm buckled to his knees.
“Cover True. The men will be here in a trice,” Robley hissed.
Malcolm pushed himself up with the aid of his sword and reached for her cloak lying at the base of a tree. He’d just made it back to her when his father broke through to the clearing. He covered her nakedness first and then bent to cut her free.
“God’s blood.” William froze at the edge of the clearing to survey the scene. “This is my fault.”
“Nay, Father. The fault lies with me.” Malcolm’s voice broke as he slid his arms under True’s head and knees to lift her.
“Does she…is she…?”
“She lives.” Malcolm found he could not manage lifting her, and so he settled her against his chest and sat to catch his breath. He swallowed hard several times and blinked to clear his vision. Sweat must have gotten into his eyes during the battle.