Chapter 15

Daemon cursed as the attackers emerged from the shelter of the woods. He'd hoped there might be one or two – a number he could easily handle – but a dozen was too many for him. Worse, they moved together in a manner that spoke of combat readiness and training. These were warriors from another clan, not ruffians.

He drew in a deep breath and roared, "Attackers at the stable postern gate! MacMillan tae me!"

Shouts from the wall, and the sound of the warning bell told him he'd been heard. Reinforcements would be coming soon. He needed to stay out of reach until help arrived, and keep Lyla safe. Fortunately, none of the attackers seemed to have bows, or if they did, were unwilling to use them in the twilight conditions.

The gate opened. Ryan and Cai, along with five other warriors, came running toward him, swords drawn. Daemon pushed himself to run just a tiny bit faster. To his surprise, Lyla kept pace with him. Together, they passed the defenders and sprinted into the shadow of the gates and the safety of MacMillan Keep's heavy stone walls.

Daemon slowed to a stop, and nudged Lyla in the direction of the healer's cottage. "Stay with the healer. Alyn will be there soon, if she's nae already. Listen tae her. I've got tae aid me men."

Cai and Ryan were slightly outnumbered, but more than that, an attack like this was a message. A message for him, as the laird. He needed to find out what that message was, and who was sending it, though he suspected he already knew the answer to both questions.

Thankfully, Lyla had enough sense not to argue with him. She nodded once and hurried toward the cottage. Daemon turned and dashed back to where the small battle waged. One man stood apart from the others, clearly giving commands, and well protected. Daemon made that man his target as he hammered into the knot of combatants.

Two of his warriors were down, but the wounds weren't life-threatening. The rest were holding their own. Daemon slammed in among the fighters, dispatching one of the men before a sharp command from their leader made the rest of them pull back slightly. Cai and Ryan immediately moved to flank Daemon, the last three men taking up a defensive position at their backs.

The leader of the attackers stepped forward. "Laird Daemon MacMillan."

Daemon nodded curtly. "Aye. And what business dae ye have, attacking me on me lands?"

"A warning from our laird. Dinnae get involved in the MacLean feud with Ranald Clan, if ye ken what's good fer ye and yers. ‘Tis nae affair o' yers, and yer interference is nae appreciated."

Daemon scowled as his suspicions were confirmed. Clan Ranald was trying to warn him away from helping his allies. "And what business o' yers is it, if I aid MacLean?" He was certain he knew who had sent the men, but if he could get spoken confirmation, all the better.

"Laird Ranald doesnae want others interfering with a private quarrel. ‘Tis a matter o' family honor between him and Laird MacLean, and doesnae concern ye."

Daemon's lip curled in anger and disdain. "Clan MacLean and Clan MacMillan are allies, and I'll nae be foresworn by leaving an ally without aid in time o' need. But even were that nae true…" He glared at the man. "...ye came tae me home, and attacked me, along with me guest. ‘Twas an unprovoked assault on a laird, and grounds fer MacMillan tae have its own grievance with Ranald Clan. Did ye think I would ignore the insult o' such behavior?"

"Laird Ranald didnae think ye'd heed a different sort o' warning, with yer reputation, Devil's Servant."

Daemon sneered. "I'm less like tae heed a warning delivered through violence. Ye can tell yer laird that yer message has been received, and me answer is that he can go tae hell."

The man's expression hardened. "That answer isnae acceptable tae our laird."

"I dinnae care."

"Then we're ordered tae ensure yer absence in another way." That was all the warning Daemon got before the man gestured his remaining warriors forward to attack.

They were outnumbered two to one – not the worst odds he'd ever faced, but not the best either. It didn't help that their opponents were well-armed and armored, while his three guards hadn't been able to do more than take up their weapons to defend themselves.

The situation descended into chaos, a melee of blows, made more difficult by the lack of good light. The moon – nearly full and now over the horizon – helped some, as did the lantern he had and the firelight from the walls of his keep, where the watch-fires stood. But it was still difficult to see his opponents, and harder still to keep from accidentally attacking his own men, when darkness bled the color from the tartans they all wore.

He managed to cut down one warrior, then two, and was engaged with a third when it happened. Someone or something got behind him, and slammed into the back of his head. Stars exploded into his vision, his head ringing as he staggered. Everything went hazy in front of him, the world consumed by the pain that blazed through his skull.

"Daemon!" Someone – Cai, he realized, it was Cai – crashed into his shoulder and knocked him sideways. The shove sent him stumbling out of the melee, and briefly to one knee in the dirt before he managed to regain his feet and whirl around.

He was just in time to see the man he'd been fighting slash his blade down, cutting a diagonal gash across Cai's chest from just under his shoulder to his waist on the opposite side. Cai staggered and collapsed.

Daemon saw red. He was on the man before the warrior even had time to register there was another opponent, his sword slamming through armor and into the man's chest with brutal force. Daemon stepped back, kicked the man off his blade, and executed a side step and spin maneuver that not only blocked the blow from his next opponent, but whipped him around to face the leader.

The man was decent with a blade, but he was nowhere near Daemon's level of skill or strength. Daemon knocked his second block aside with brute force, grabbed his wrist in a grip like an iron manacle, and put his sword to the man's throat. "Hold or he dies!"

The remaining members of Ranald Clan came to a ragged stop. Daemon glared at the leader for a moment, head throbbing and chest heaving as he fought to control the murderous rage that surged through him. Part of him wanted to simply kill the man. But he needed a message delivered.

"Tell yer laird that I'll nae bend tae his demands, nae matter what sort o' tricks he pulls. And fer this attack, MacMillan declares feud with Ranald." He risked a glance to where Ryan and another warrior were lifting Cai from the ground. His second-in-command was still breathing, but his face was white, and an alarmingly large section of his clothing was dyed crimson with his blood.

He turned back to the man he held prisoner. "If he dies, ‘twill be blood feud."

He released the man, then lifted his foot and kicked him in the gut, shoving him backward. "Get ye gone."

The man backed up four steps, then turned and hurried away. His remaining warriors followed, and within a minute, there was no one on the path save Daemon and his men. Daemon sheathed his sword and turned. "Let's get him tae the healer."

His head still throbbed, and he felt unsteady on his feet, but he set his jaw and walked forward to help with Cai, who needed immediate aid. His injuries could wait.

* * *

Lyla waited with Alyn and the healer, a young woman named Maeve, her heart in her throat and her stomach twisting with guilt.

Why had she let her shyness get the better of her? They would have been safe if she hadn't insisted, they go somewhere private for the lessons. Now Daemon was fighting, might even be hurt, because of her. Cai and Ryan were also in danger.

She could hear the faint sounds of combat, and feared what it might mean. Alyn caught her eye and offered her a smile that might have been reassuring, save for the worry in her eyes. "Dinnae fret. Daemon, Cai and Ryan are all braw warriors. There's few who could best them, and nae any one o' them would be coward enough tae attack him like this."

"I understand. But I cannae help fretting."

"Ye can watch the fire and the boiling water, if a task will help take yer mind off the fighting." Maeve pointed to an open bucket over the fire. "I'll need it, and cleaned tools if aught goes wrong."

Lyla started to move toward the fire, when a commotion made her turn to the door, along with the other two women. Seconds later, the door was shoved open, and three men came staggering in.

Daemon and Ryan were supporting Cai, who looked barely conscious. Blood leaked from a long slash across his chest, and his face was pale.

Lyla and Alyn gasped in dismay, but Maeve went to work at once. "Lay him on the cot, me laird, and get that shirt off him. ‘Tis fair ruined in any case." She glanced at the two other women. "Alyn, fetch me needles and some catgut thread. He'll be needing stitching up, with a wound like that. Ye lass, hot water and a clean cloth tae wash the blood away, and start the makings o' a poultice fer the wound."

Lyla and Alyn both hurried to do as they were told, while the men laid Cai on a cot and removed the rags of his shirt. The healer washed some of the blood away, and took a closer look. "'Tis long, but nae deep enough tae get past the muscles and intae the gut. Once he's been stitched, he'll recover well enough so long as there's nae infection in the wound."

Lyla breathed out a sigh of relief. The healer poured a concoction down Cai's throat, along with a potent liquor, to make him sleep, then began the stitching. Lyla turned away, and found herself facing Daemon. He was watching the healer tend to Cai, while Alyn checked the rest of his men.

His hair near the back of his head was streaked with crimson. For a moment, she thought it might be from Cai. Then she saw the slightly glazed look in his eye, and the spot were fresh blood slid sluggishly down the pale strands of his ice-blond hair. "Daemon, ye're hurt!"

That made Alyn and the healer both look up sharply, but Daemon shook his head. A brief spasm of pain flashed across his features before he spoke. "'Tis only a bump on the head. Naething serious. Tend tae the rest o' the men."

Lyla didn't believe him, not for a moment. She'd seen men with head injuries like that before, and though the bleeding was likely to be nothing serious, a man whose skull had been rattled could have other problems as well. She also knew that trying to pressure him into treatment was unlikely to go well. Daemon was a proud and stubborn man, and he clearly worried more about his subordinates' health than his own.

She sighed and pointed him to another cot. "Sit down, at least." She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to argue. "Ye and Cai appear tae be the worst off, and he's in a cot already. With a lump like that on yer skull, I dinnae want tae risk having ye hit the floor."

He glowered at her, but he did step back and sit down. Satisfied for the moment, Lyla joined Alyn in checking the other four men.

Ryan had a cut across the arm, and some bruises, along with a bloodied mouth where he'd caught a backhanded strike of a reinforced glove. The other three had minor injuries, save for a turned ankle and a bruised knee, both of which would mend after a day or two of rest.

By the time they'd finished with the men, the healer had finished stitching Cai's wound. She coated it liberally with the healing paste that Alyn handed her, then had two of the men prop Cai up while she wound bandages expertly around his shoulder and torso. Once he was bandaged, she put a blanket over him, and turned to Daemon. "Let's see yer injury then, me laird."

Daemon grimaced, but sat still while the blood was cleaned from his hair to reveal the large lump on the back of his skull. He hissed when the healer prodded it. "Did ye lose consciousness, me laird?"

"I didnae. But the world went gray, and it feels like ‘tis swaying like a ship at sea."

"Pain other than the place ye were hit?"

"In my forehead, a wee bit. And me vision doesnae feel right."

The healer nodded. "Rattled yer skull good, me laird, this blow did. Ye'll need tae be careful, and be watched fer swelling inside, or more damage than bruising."

Daemon scowled. "I'll nae be staying here. The clan doesnae need the panic o' kenning the laird is confined tae the healer's cottage."

Maeve sighed. "If ye must leave, ye must, but ye'll need someone tae watch over ye, in case yer head gets worse. Knocks this bad can dae more harm than ye realize at the time."

"Lyla and I can watch over him in shifts, if Ryan will help us get him tae bed." Alyn spoke up. Lyla nodded in agreement.

"'Twill dae. But if me laird's condition changes, with a worsening headache, dizziness, or vision problems, fetch me immediately. The same if he starts tae burn with fever." Maeve mixed up two packets of medicine. "These are fer ye, me laird. The first should be put in a poultice tae ease the wound and keep it from infection. The second is a tisane, which will dull the pain and aid ye in sleeping. ‘Tis a strong infusion o' willowbark and ‘twill be bitter, so ye can have it with mead, if ye wish. But nae more than one tankard, and naething stronger."

"As ye will. ‘Tis nae me first knock on the skull."

"Aye. But these things can be dangerous, whether ‘tis yer first or your hundredth."

Alyn took the medicines, while Ryan aided Daemon in standing. The MacMillan laird wavered on his feet, and Ryan looped an arm around his back as well. "Come on, Daemon. ‘Tis time we put ye tae bed."

Lyla watched as Ryan carefully escorted his laird out of the cottage and toward the keep proper, then went to talk to Alyn about how they would divide the watch duty.