The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(113)

“They’re hiding high in the rocks on a steep hillside,” Arthur said. “It would be easy to miss them if you aren’t looking for them.”

From the looks MacLeod was giving the scouts, Arthur knew—understandable or not—there would be hell to pay.

“You said you have a plan?” the king asked.

“Aye.” Arthur knelt down and drew a map in the ground with a stick. “We can beat Lorn at his own game. A few hundred men are positioned here.” Arthur marked the position halfway up the hillside. “The rest of his army will attack at the mouth of the pass, as you are trying to flee—catching you from above and from below.” He pointed to a place a little above Lorn’s men. “If you send a group of men above them, Lorn’s men will be trapped. When the ambush fails, Lorn will be overwhelmed.”

Bruce frowned. “Are you sure we can get men up there? From what you describe, the terrain is steep and treacherous. If they discover us before we are in position it will not work.”

“My Highlanders can do it,” his brother Neil said. “They know this ground.”

“You’re sure of it?” Bruce asked.

“Aye,” Neil said. “They fight like lions but they move like cats.”

“I’ll lead them,” Arthur said. “I know the terrain well.” Neil was still one of the most formidable warriors in the kingdom, but he was fifty and not as fleet-footed as he once was.

Bruce’s gaze swept over him and Arthur could read his uncertainty. Though he’d washed most of the blood and filth from him before donning his borrowed battle garb, wrapped his hand and wrist, and ate and drank enough uisge-beatha to put color back in his face, he knew he still looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out by a rabid beast from hell.

Before the king could deny him, he added, “I can do it, sire. I look worse than I feel.”

It was a lie, but not much of one. The knowledge that he was close to the reckoning with Lorn had invigorated him.

“You’ve earned the right, Sir Arthur,” the king said. “Without your information, this could have been a disaster.” Arthur knew the memory of Dal Righ, two years before, where Lorn had sent him fleeing for his life, was still too fresh on Bruce’s mind. Bruce called forward one of his youngest but most trusted knights, Sir James Douglas. Douglas’s chief rival, the king’s nephew and former turncoat Sir Thomas Randolph, was with MacSorley in the west, readying the sea attack should it be necessary. “Douglas, I want you to go with him.” He motioned to one of the other warriors. Gregor MacGregor, Arthur’s original partner in the Highland Guard, stepped forward. To him he said, “Arrow you’re in charge of the archers.” To Arthur he ordered, “Take as many men as you need.”

“Better toss some MacGregors in there, Ranger,” MacGregor said to him, as the king turned to confer with Neil and MacLeod. “We can’t let the Campbells claim all the glory.”

Arthur managed a smile. God, it was good to be back. Good to jest about the ancient blood feud between the MacGregors and Campbells that had once made them bitter enemies. “That’s just like a MacGregor, wanting credit for a Campbell’s hard work.”

“I need something to impress the lasses with,” MacGregor said.

Campbell laughed. MacGregor didn’t need anything to impress the lasses; his face did it for him—it was also a subject that provided plenty of fodder to prod him with. “If you want help with that pretty face of yours, I can send you to the guy who did this.” He pointed to his own.

MacGregor winced. “The bastard was thorough, I’ll give him that.”

“I’ll make sure to compliment him for you when I catch up with him,” he said dryly. They both knew that would not be a long conversation.

Neil had finished with the king and pulled Arthur aside as he was going to ready the men. “Are you sure you’re all right, Arthur? Everyone would understand if you don’t feel up to it. You’ve done enough already.”

I would understand, he meant. Arthur could see it in his brother’s face. But they both knew this wasn’t the end. “I’ll be fine,” he assured him, “when this is done.”

Twenty-five

Arthur’s plan worked. With Douglas, MacGregor, and a small force of his brother’s men, he led the war band to a place high on the slopes of Ben Cruachan above Lorn’s lying-in-ambush clansmen. As Bruce’s army came marching through the narrow pass below, the MacDougalls unfurled a hail of arrows and rolling boulders down on the “unsuspecting” soldiers.

But the MacDougall “surprise” attack was met by another. The MacDougall warriors gazed up in horror as Arthur and his men let unfurl a hail of arrows of their own and descended on them like wraiths.

Having lost the element of surprise, and the strategically important higher ground, the MacDougall ambush became a rout. Trapped from above and below, the men were crushed. When Lorn launched his frontal attack at the mouth of the pass, instead of confronting an army in disarray, he was met with the full force of Bruce’s powerful army.

Arthur raced down the steep mountain, joining in the fray, cutting through the swarm of battling soldiers with one purpose in mind: finding Lorn. He caught sight of Alan MacDougall across the hillside, rallying his men and valiantly attempting to wage another charge. But valiance wouldn’t be enough. He hoped for Anna’s sake that Alan recognized this before it was too late.