The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(13)

It was a chilly morning, and as the day drew on, it became even colder as the gray skies descended around them. Though she and Meg both wore hooded cloaks, Rosalin decided to purchase a couple of extra wool plaids for the ride back to Berwick.

Cognizant of the time approaching for them to meet Roger and the other soldiers, she quickly picked two weaves in soft blues, greens, and grays. She had just finished bundling them both up when she heard a strange shout.

Normally, she wouldn’t have paid it any mind—fairs were often loud and boisterous—but something about it sent an icy chill trickling down her spine.

Meg must have sensed something unusual as well. “What was that?”

They were standing at the far end of the high street, near where they were supposed to meet Roger, and it was difficult to see through the crowds and stalls to the other end of the village where the sound had come from. “I don’t know, sweeting. Probably nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. No sooner had she spoken than more cries rang out. In an instant, the already chaotic and crowded fair broke out into utter pandemonium.

She grabbed the arm of a woman who was running past her. “What is happening?” she asked.

The woman’s face was white with fear. “An attack, m’lady. The rebels are raiding the fair!”

Stunned, Rosalin immediately released her arm and the woman disappeared in the sea of people who’d flooded the street and were pouring toward them. It couldn’t be an attack. Not in the middle of the day. Not in Norham. Not even the Scots would dare flout her brother’s authority like that.

But they had—were. Oh God, what was she going to do?

She froze, having never been so scared in her life. A shout of “fire!” only added to the fear.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug on her hand. “Aunt Rosalin?”

Gazing down into the small, trying-not-to-look-frightened but obviously terrified face of her niece, Rosalin’s head instantly cleared. She schooled her features, showing none of the fear she felt inside. Meg needed her. “There is nothing to worry about, sweeting, the bad men won’t hurt—”

She stopped. Her mouth gaped. Dear God in heaven. Behind the sea of moving people, she caught her first glimpse of the invaders and everything she’d been about to say—everything she thought she knew about warriors, knights, and soldiers—fizzled out like a torch dunked in water.

She would have made the sign of the cross if she thought it would protect her. But nothing could protect her from these men.

Brigands. Pirates. Barbarians. She’d thought the names for the Scot warriors an exaggeration. But they weren’t. The raiders looked nothing like the gleaming mail-clad English knights with their colorful surcoats and banners. They wore darkened helms and crude black leather warcoats, some riveted with bits of steel. A few wore mail coifs, but those, too, were blackened. But most terrifying of all were the weapons that seemed strapped to every inch of their massive chests. She’d never seen so many poleaxes, swords, hammers, and spears in her life.

If the knights were figures of faerie tales, the Scots were creatures of nightmares. They looked rough, violent, and utterly deadly. No wonder the Scot raiders had been compared to the Vikings. The terror her ancestors must have felt watching the longboats approach their shores must be the same her countrymen felt now seeing the wild Scots ride across the border.

She could see only a handful of them, but it was enough. All thoughts of getting out of the way or hiding fell to the wayside.

“We have to get to the castle,” she said to Meg and the terrified servants. Behind the castle walls they would be protected. Norham Castle was one of the most impenetrable strongholds in the Borders, nearly as impenetrable as Berwick Castle. “We’ll be safe there,” she assured the wide-eyed little girl. “With Roger and the rest of the men.”

Unfortunately, Roger wasn’t in the castle.

No sooner had Rosalin grabbed Meg’s hand and plunged into the crowd, the two attendants following, than she heard the fierce pounding of hooves ahead of her.

Oh God, no, please don’t let it be…

But her prayer wasn’t answered. In the blur of knights and men-at-arms riding past them, she caught sight of her nephew near the rear of the party. They must have been already approaching to meet her and Meg when they realized what was happening.

How many of Cliff’s men had accompanied them? She hadn’t counted earlier. Twenty? Maybe a few more?

Against how many of the enemy? She didn’t know; she just prayed it would be enough.

The crash of steel on steel was deafening—and much closer than she’d anticipated. A few women in the crowd let out terrified shrieks. One of the serving women started to cry behind her. The smoke was thickening, turning the skies to night.

Rosalin glanced down the street and not forty feet away, her brother’s men were exchanging blows of their swords with the attackers. She heaved a sigh of relief, seeing that the Scots were outnumbered by about two to one. And thankfully, Roger, at the rear, was nowhere near the fighting.

But her relief didn’t last long. Within an instant, two of her brother’s household knights fell beneath the enemies’ swords. She cried out in horror. Some of her brother’s fiercest champions had just been cut down like butter.

She forced her gaze away. Though she desperately wanted to watch and make sure Roger was all right, she had to get Meg to safety.