Chapter Twenty-One

Perhaps he shouldn't have said what he had, but the words bubbled out of his insides before he helped her into the tree. None of them knew how this battle would end, and he had to make his feelings known. Hell, but she was a beauty, and she'd felt like heaven his arms… Well. He had to pray he'd have the chance to experience it again.

They had to send the English running first, then he'd apologize to Eli for yelling at her earlier in the day.

Willum took up his position next to him. "They're everywhere. Pay attention, Grant, and Godspeed to all of us! Thea! I love ye!"

The archers were lined up perfectly with the English cavalry racing toward them. Within moments, arrows sluiced through the air, taking several of the English out before they ever reached the Scots.

"Son of a bitch, but they can shoot!" one of Douglas' men shouted just as two more soldiers fell. "She got one right in the heart! Where did they train?"

Maitland laughed and said, "Gwyneth Ramsay. And they'll save yer arse more than once this day. Ye'll see."

Then Sir James's voice rang out. "Charge!"

Their horses leapt forward, closing the distance between Scots and English in the blink of an eye.

Alaric found himself in the middle of the biggest battle he'd ever been in, the ring of clashing swords echoing across the meadow. There was no place to hide, but the English were not strong.

They had poor weapons, and their blows were slow and weak—evidence of their starvation. But still, they outnumbered the Scots.

Every time Alaric knocked one to the ground, another one replaced him. There were more English than he and Eli had seen. Where the hell had they all come from? He swung and swung his blade until all the muscles in his back were strained and screaming for him to stop.

But he couldn't.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the archers dropping to the ground and running to trees that were closer to the fighting. One of the English soldiers went after them, smart enough to realize they should be taken out, but too stupid to think through how. An arrow from one of the women—Alaric didn't see which—knocked him off his mount before he was even close. The lasses scrambled into trees and out of reach.

"Come on, ye rat bastards!" He laughed a little wildly. Loki had said how good it felt to call the English that term. He was right.

He took two more out, one with a stab to his belly and the other a hit on the side of his head with the flat of his sword, knocking him off his mount.

The thud of his landing brought Els's fall to mind.

A group of three Englishmen, shields held over their heads, went straight for the trees where the lasses perched.

"Willum, come with me!" Alaric shouted.

Eli's voice rang out. "Ye want one between yer bollocks, ye hedge-born piece of filth?" She fired, catching one soldier in the leg, though he managed to keep his seat. His yell of pain made one of the others lower his shield, and Eli's next arrow hit him in the chest, knocking him to the ground in a heap. Willum took care of the third man with a swift slash across his middle.

The injured man must have been driven mad by pain or battle. He jumped off his horse and ran at Eli's tree, his sword raised over his head and screaming like a banshee.

Eli got him exactly where she told him she would.

He screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Alaric dismounted and put the man out of his misery.

"Well done, lasses," Maitland called.

Alaric took a moment to catch his breath before swinging back into the saddle and turning back to the melee. Sir James, his position marked by his standard-bearer, looked to be going after the leader of the English, Sir Edmund. The two met and their swords thrust and parried. Others tried to take Sir James down, but Alaric pushed them back. Maitland joined him, protecting their leader while he fought. Alaric lost track of time in the constant chaos, but Sir James finally took down the English knight.

A roar went up, and for a moment, the English surged toward where their leader had fallen. Alaric was hard-pressed to keep them back. But then something broke in the English force. Some of the English turned tail, and the Scots pushed the remaining fighters back, across ground littered with bodies. Bit by bit, the fighting eased.

Alaric glanced about, seeing Tevis, Willum, and Maitland ahead of him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he set his eyes on Eli and the other lasses, and he returned to what remained of the battle.

Maitland was up near the front of the line, fighting the few remaining English who refused to turn tail with their comrades. Alaric saw a flash of steel, and Maitland yelled in pain, his sword falling to the ground.

Alaric raced forward, getting his horse in front of Maitland's to block any attack while his friend was unarmed. Maitland had pulled out a small dagger, but that would not help against a sword.

Alaric took up the fight with the soldier who had wounded Maitland, striking him in his chest. Blood spouted as he fell off his horse.

"Maitland, I'll get yer weapon. Get away, and I'll handle the stragglers."

The last bit of fighting did not last long. The rest of the English soldiers turned tail, leaving the field of battle.

Alaric turned his horse around to follow Maitland who was staring at the ground and leaning dangerously to one side. "Menzie, stop."

"My sword. I cannae find my sword."

Any Scot would feel the same need to find his weapon. The feel of your own hilt was better than any other.

"Stop. I'll find yer sword, but I must slow the bleeding in yer arm first. It's bleeding heavily."

Maitland looked at him, very confused.

Alaric didn't like that, so he grabbed the reins of Maitland's horse, leading him to a spot to the side so he could tend to his wound.

Maitland fell off his horse before he could get to him.