The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(56)

Outwardly, Kenneth showed no reaction to the taunt, but inside was a different matter. He would love nothing more than to prove to Felton just how wrong he was, but Bruce had warned him to keep a low profile. To do nothing to bring attention to himself or his skills. Besting Percy’s champion would sure as hell do that.

Kenneth had newfound sympathy for MacKay, who’d been forced to do much the same thing in the face of Kenneth’s taunts last year.

All he could do was grit his teeth once again. “Just be ready.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Kenneth’s Highland Guard brethren—or the majority of them at least; MacLeod, MacRuairi, and MacSorley had stayed with the king—arrived about an hour after dusk to take their positions. Campbell and MacGregor had passed within a few dozen feet of the English position, as they’d ridden south to supposedly scout the arrival of the provision train. Kenneth knew they’d been spotted, although the two warriors gave no indication of it. Campbell was too good to miss them. The clear night and full moon provided enough light to see the signs on the landscape left by fifty men.

Not long after Campbell and MacGregor passed by, they heard the clomp of horses and the clatter of carts being pulled along a bumpy road. Felton motioned to one of the soldiers in the carts as they passed, alerting them that the place was near, but taking care that he could not be seen from the road ahead.

The air was thick with tension now as the train rumbled by them. They would not be able to see the attack, but they would be able to hear it.

The minutes tolled slowly. Kenneth could see the anxiousness on the faces of the men around him as they waited for the first sounds. The familiar battle scent of fear laced with anticipation hung in the air.

Finally, a fierce battle cry tore through the night, and a moment later, there was the answering clash of steel. Felton sprang from his position on the opposite side of Percy and began barking commands. His men took off in all directions, fanning around the attack to cut off all means of escape.

Kenneth, Percy, and Felton approached slowly, taking care not to alert Bruce’s man of their presence.

Percy’s men were good, he’d give them that. For Englishmen they were doing a damned find job of imitating Bruce’s “furtive” methods. If this had been a real attack, the Highland Guard might have been in trouble.

But his friends knew what was coming, and they’d be ready.

Finally, Kenneth and the English reached a turn in the road where they could see the battle. About a hundred feet ahead of them, pandemonium reigned. Swords, pikes, axes, hammers—a symphony of weaponry flashed like a lightning storm in the night air before them. If he hadn’t known better, the sight of Bruce’s “phantoms” would have taken him aback as well. Wrapped in dark plaids, with their blackened faces, helms, mail coifs, and cotuns, the Highland Guard did indeed look like wraiths, flying through the night air in a whirl of death and destruction. He noticed more than one man startle beside him.

“They’re only men,” Percy reminded them softly, but there might have been a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Then he stood, brandishing his sword about his head. “For England!” he shouted, leading the charge.

Only Kenneth hesitated. He looked around to where Felton had instructed the young earl to remain, protected by a half-dozen soldiers who would prevent the Guard from escaping to the south. “Remember,” he warned the lad. “Stay back, and out of the way.”

Wide-eyed, transfixed by his first glimpse of battle, David nodded.

Kenneth raced forward, taking his position on the east flank where Percy was shouting out his commands. The Highland Guard had already fought their way through the first line of defense—the soldiers protecting the cart—and Percy was ordering the outer line forward, tightening the noose.

The plan was for the Highland Guard to create a hole in the defense and slip through before the English were in position. It should have been simple enough. With Percy’s remaining men spread all around, the eight guardsmen could easily defeat the dozen or so closest men and slip into the cover of darkness.

But something was wrong. The Guard was taking too long.

It took Kenneth a minute to realize that one of the Guard had been injured—Seton, maybe?—it was too dark to tell. The guardsman nearest him—this one he had no problem recognizing, Boyd’s powerful form being impossible to mistake—was locked in battle with three of Felton’s men and couldn’t break free of them. MacKay was trying to make his way over to help them, but Felton had seen what was happening and ordered a handful of his men to stop him.

Unfortunately, Seton—he was sure it was he now—Boyd, and MacKay were on the opposite side of the road from the rest of the Guard, and the time for creating that hole was quickly disappearing. The noose was tightening and would become harder and harder to break through.

Timing was everything, and they were losing it. Kenneth was trying to think of a way to help without making it obvious, but his own position on the outer line beside Percy hampered him.

Then things went from bad to worse. Improvising, the Guard decided to make two holes. MacGregor, Campbell, MacLean, and Lamont broke through the line in the northwest and escaped along the planned route through the high pass. MacKay, Boyd, and Seton would take the backup route along the river. Splitting up made sense. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that between the three guardsmen and escape was the young Earl of Atholl.