Highlander Enchanted(65)

The rain had not stopped once during the long, dreary ride from the bluff where John had been hiding. Soaked and cold, Isabel observed what she could from the scene below them, growing more concerned.

“They have few warriors,” John said and leaned forward on the withers of his horse. “Laird Duncan will destroy them.”

“The seillie are no’ ken fer warring,” came a gruff voice from nearby. One of the MacLachlainn kin melted from the bushes marking the edge of the forest. “Lady Cade.” He dipped his head to her.

“’Tis a shame, since men like Cade make for worthy warriors,” John said.

“We wish t’laugh no’ fight. Some o’us are born with the warrior fire but most are no’.”

She offered a smile at the troubled warrior. If his seasoned age were representative of those left to fight, there was no hope at all for the clans.

“Father Henry will want t’see ye, Lady,” the warrior said. “D’ye bring word of our laird?”

“I do not,” she said. “No word has reached you?”

“We heard the keep was on fire and Laird Duncan marching towards us. He comes with English knights.”

Her breath caught. You all will be slaughtered. Had they truly believed they would be safe to come here? That Laird Duncan would not hesitate to cross into MacCosse lands as he did the lands of every other clan?

She had no doubt the English knights were none other than Richard’s men, though she had not thought him to possess many outside of Saxony’s, whose vassals and lands he was quick to claim as his own.

“You need to be farther into the MacCosse holdings,” John stated.

“We doona listen to English,” came the stubborn response. “Lady Cade, I am Douglas MacLachlainn, appointed t’protect our kin by Laird Cade. I await yer command.”

She was quiet, not expecting the clan leadership to fall to her so quickly. Did they assume Cade was dead, and this was why they did not wait for him? She found it close to impossible to breathe when she thought of Cade dead.

John nudged his horse closer to hers. “Command them to move beyond the valley, closer to the ocean. The valley forms a trap, and Laird Duncan will command the high ground.”

Her gaze went to the direction he indicated. “But where do they hide?” she challenged. “There is only forest and the ocean.”

“Isabel, if the battle reaches them, they will be at Laird Duncan’s mercy. But if we use the valley to trap his men, the seillie will have a chance to flee if the battle is unfavorable.”

She fidgeted with the reins. Never had she thought such a decision would fall to her. In an English household, it never would, unless every male member of the family were gone.

Douglas waited for her decision.

“We need to move close to the ocean,” she told him firmly. “At once.”

“Yea, my lady,” he said with a hard look at John.

“Send Father Henry to me with my writs,” she added.

He nodded once and trotted down the hill, towards the forest.

“What writs?” John asked.

“Those granting me MacCosse land,” she replied. “And the protection of my father, should I wish to claim them.”

“You think to summon the king’s own men?” John asked.

“I do,” she said. “And I would be further aided in my claim by the rightful Baron of Saxony. You could bid our uncle to send his men and Saxony’s gold.”

His gaze went to Fatima, who trailed them, and then to the people trapped in the forest. While his expression was hidden beneath his mask, he was unable to hide the tightening of skin beneath his eyes.

“I cannot,” he said gruffly. “But I will help you defend them.”

“Thank you, John.”

“We must find shelter where they can hide.” He maneuvered his horse away, headed towards the ocean. Fatima remained with Isabel. During a full day of riding, they had spoken often, and Isabel found her brother’s quiet wife enamored by the man whose face was scarred, which endeared her even more to Isabel.

“I saw John fight in the Crusades,” Fatima said. “He is a natural leader. He can help.”

“Can you not speak to him about Saxony?” Isabel asked. “You would be comfortable there. Both of you.”

“It is his decision. He feels great sorrow when he thinks of Saxony. I do not know that he will ever wish to return.”

Isabel fell quiet. Her tormented brother was ashamed to return to his home after their father’s death, and nothing she had yet said to him had convinced him otherwise.

“This seillie magic …” Fatima was staring at a tree whose boughs were being reshaped to provide a home for one of those who had newly arrived. “… what is it?”

“I do not fully understand it. They harness nature. It is a God-given gift yet they do not believe in the one god.”

“It is not evil?”

“They use it for good. I do not think it can be evil,” she replied.

Members of the seillie clan were gathering around one of the spits. One had a harp, another a lute, and they began playing while the others danced. Isabel glanced towards the sky.

“’Tis said they love twilight,” she said, noticing their darkening surroundings for the first time.