The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(5)

Fortunately, David didn’t raise an objection to being woken in the middle of the night, covered in a scratchy wool cloak, and rushed out into the stormy night. Being raised in England as a virtual prisoner—albeit a favored one—had made him very good at keeping his thoughts to himself. Too good. Her young son was an enigma to her.

Cailin swept her in a big bear hug when he saw her. She had to bite back a smile. Janet was right; with his round, jovial face and equally hearty belly, he did indeed make a good monk.

Exchanging the horse Janet had purchased for two in her own stables—she would ride with Davey, and Janet would ride with Cailin—they set off toward the eastern seaboard.

It was slow and treacherous going, the road muddy and slippery from all the rain. The rain was too heavy to keep a torch lit, so it was also difficult to see. But far worse was the constant fear, the taut, heightened senses and frazzled nerve endings set on edge, as they sat readied on constant alert for the sounds of pursuit.

Yet with every mile they rode, some of the fear slipped away.

She knew they must be close when Janet confirmed it. “We’re almost there. The birlinn is hidden in a cove just beyond the bridge.”

Mary couldn’t believe it. They were going to make it! She was going home. Scotland!

But as they crossed the wooden bridge over the River Tyne, she heard a sound in the distance that stopped her cold. It wasn’t the pounding of hooves behind her that she’d feared, but a clash of metal ahead of her.

Janet heard it, too. Their eyes met for a fraction of an instant before her sister flicked the reins and jumped forward with a strangled cry.

Mary shouted after her to stop, but Janet, with Cailin behind her, raced ahead. Mary tightened her hold around her son in front of her and surged after her, plunging into the darkness, the sounds of battle growing louder and louder.

“Janet, stop!” she shouted. Her sister was going to get herself killed. Somehow the English must have found the Islesmen, and their sister-in-law’s clansmen were fighting for their lives.

Fortunately, if Janet wasn’t thinking rationally, Cailin was. He forced their horse to slow, enabling Mary and David to catch up to them.

Janet was trying to wrest the reins from the older man. “Cailin, let me have those.” Mary was close enough to see the frantic wildness in her sister’s eyes. “I have to go. I have to see.”

“You’ll not help the men any by getting yourself killed,” Cailin said sternly—more sternly than Mary had ever heard him talk to her. “If you get in the way, they’ll think about defending you, not themselves.”

Janet’s eyes filled with tears. “But it’s my fault.”

“Nay,” Mary said fiercely. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine.” And it was. She never should have let it get to this. She should have fled months ago. But when it was clear Bruce’s cause was lost, she’d trusted her husband to come for them. Had he spared a thought for what would become of them, when he raced off to glory?

“Who is fighting, Mother?” David asked.

Mary looked into the solemn upturned face of her son. “The men who brought your aunt to us.”

“Does that mean we aren’t leaving?”

Her heart pinched, hearing the hint of relief in his voice. But could she blame him for not wanting to leave? England was the only home he’d ever known.

God, how they’d failed him!

She didn’t answer him directly, but looked at her sister. “We have to go back before we are discovered.”

They would never be able to make it to Scotland on their own.

“Don’t give up yet, lass,” Cailin said. “The MacRuairis know how to fight.”

But how long did they dare wait?

The decision was made for them a few moments later when they heard the sound of horses coming toward them. The English were fleeing! But unfortunately, the soldiers were headed for the bridge, and they were right in their path.

“Hurry,” Mary said. They raced back toward the bridge before they ended up in the middle of the fleeing Englishmen and the Islesmen, who from the sound of it were pursuing them.

She had just made it to the other side of the bridge when she heard Janet cry out behind her. Mary looked around just in time to see Cailin fall off the horse, landing with a horrible thud on the wood planks.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Janet pulled to a stop, jumping down in the middle of the bridge to help him. Cailin had landed facedown, an arrow protruding from his back. Mary glanced behind her sister, seeing the hillside they’d just escaped now swarming with men. The fierce war cries of the Islesmen pierced the night air. The pursuers had caught up with their prey, and the riverbank had become a battleground.

Mary yelled through the din of swords to her sister. “Leave him! You have to leave him.” The English were heading straight for her, trying to evade the Islesmen. Janet was going to be trampled.

Their eyes met, spanning the distance of the forty or so feet that separated them. Mary knew Janet wouldn’t leave Cailin. She was trying to lift him under the arms, but struggling under his weight.

Mary turned her horse, intent on forcibly dragging her sister off that bridge if she had to, when she thought she heard a voice shout “no” behind her. But then her horse reared as a terrifying boom shattered the stormy night.

She screamed, clenching David and holding onto the reins for dear life, trying not to slide out of the saddle. She’d nearly gotten the animal under control when a blinding flash of light crashed on the bridge before her. Lightning? And the strangest thunder she’d ever heard.