Eoin gave him an emotionless stare. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead, you daft Highlander.” He backed away and stood between Fergus and Samuel. As far as he was concerned this battle of wills was over, but he didn’t trust MacIain to let it rest. “Now, I’d like to get some sleep afore I ride into battle.”
The firelight was bright enough for Eoin to see the faces of Aleck’s men. They were unshaven and haggard—each one looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a sennight. Not that this night would be restful. “You all look like shite.”
“The MacIain Clan can withstand a night without sleep,” Aleck rasped. “And I will not take orders from a MacGregor.” He pointed to the horses tied at the edge of camp. “We’ll be collecting our horses and we will beat back the MacDonalds without the likes of you.”
Fergus stepped beside Eoin, gripping the hilt of his sword. Eoin sliced his palm through the air. “Let them go.”
“You’re serious?” The henchman dropped his hand.
“Aye.”
After Aleck had ridden off with the horses, neither Eoin nor his men could sleep. They all sat around the small campfire staring at the flames as if mesmerized.
“Why didn’t we fight them?” Fergus asked.
“You want to spill blood for naught?” Eoin studied the faces of his men. They all questioned him as Fergus had. “Over the past month have you found MacIain’s men disagreeable?”
“Nay, just their leader,” said Samuel.
“Exactly.” Eoin shrugged. “Let them venture down to meet the MacDonalds. The grade is steep and it won’t be any faster going with horses than on foot. We’ll wake as planned and we’ll cover their backs…if they need us.”
Fergus chuckled. “Oh, I’ll wager they bloody will need us and in short order.”
Eoin stood and headed toward his patch of grass. “As MacIain said, let them fight their own battles. Besides, while Clan Donald is toying with the chieftain, they’re not threatening the king at the moment. And that’s the reason we’re here—to subvert any action against the crown.”
He flopped down and pulled his plaid over his shoulders. The only problem with Eoin’s current plan was that he was too far away from Mingary. He could hardly believe Aleck hadn’t at least left a few seasoned soldiers to guard the keep.
He lay on his back and a rock poked straight into his spine. Worse, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Helen. No matter how much he wanted to be there to protect her, it wasn’t his place, dammit. And blast her for refusing to pursue an annulment.
From the outset, he knew the king shouldn’t have sent him to Ardnamurchan. He was doomed the day he arrived. The first person he saw when his galley sailed ashore was Helen Campbell and, ever since, he’d been able to think of little else.
Even worse, he’d had no recourse but to bite his tongue and witness MacIain’s deplorable treatment of the lady. And she was so frail. When she was young, she was smaller and more delicate than her sisters. Lady Helen needed someone to revere and protect her—not issue a slap at every disagreement.
Eoin slapped a hand to his forehead. Ballocks. Did he have to kiss her after they’d found shelter from the rain? What the hell had he been thinking? But, God almighty, she felt like heaven in his arms. What was a single man to do when a soaking wet woman’s succulent body was pressed against him? Protect her you stupid lout.
But Lady Helen wasn’t going to make it easy for him to safeguard her. Oh no, and Eoin didn’t blame the woman. She was right to worry about her daughter. What Eoin feared the most was as soon as the bairn reached an age where she would be playing about the castle, her father would behave like a tyrant. MacIain had already proved he had no qualms about striking a woman. What reprehensible things would he do to a child?
Eoin didn’t want to find out.
And when the time came, he didn’t want to leave Lady Helen alone to endure her miserable marriage. But he couldn’t force her to seek an annulment…and she was right. If Aleck MacIain discovered she’d even thought about approaching the Pope, he’d lash out at her. She’d said he’d already threatened to kill her.
Eoin tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Why the bloody hell did the king send me here?
Eoin did eventually fall asleep, because after Fergus stirred him awake, he could have sworn someone had bludgeoned him between the eyes. But once the men were up and on the trail, the pounding in his head ebbed.
God, he loved the Highlands. The crisp morning air filled his lungs with vitality, as the frost-kissed grass crunched beneath his feet. The men headed down the mountain at a steady jog, Eoin’s legs brushing the heather. Though it would be a month or so before it was in bloom, brilliant green grass peeked everywhere. At one with nature, this was Eoin’s favorite part of his membership in the Highland Enforcers. He was meant to live off the land and sleep under the stars. Breathing the fresh clean air away from the stench of humanity revived his soul.
As the sun rose, the path ahead grew clearer and the men sped their pace. Eoin and his band of warriors could continue all day, only stopping for water and food.
They’d traversed about six miles when the orange glow completely receded from the wisps of clouds above and the sun fully illuminated the path ahead. Eoin estimated they’d nearly reached the place where he’d planned to set a trap for the MacDonald reivers.
Ahead, voices rose in a battle cry. Had Aleck opted to wait until daylight? Most likely, the witless Highlander.
“It looks as if you’ll have your fight after all,” Eoin said, taking a deep breath.
Fergus chuckled. “At least…they’ll wear them down first.”
With any luck, the MacIains would send the MacDonalds running for their mothers.
But when they ran atop the ridge, Eoin’s wishes were dashed. Blood splattered everywhere. Some horses were down along with their riders. Clad in a full set of battle armor, MacIain spun his mount in the middle of the mayhem, bellowing curses as he wielded his sword like he was hacking with an ax.
The sheep-headed maggot is going to get himself killed. What the chieftain lacked in skill, he made up for with the pure aggression reflected in his technique. But no one could last long, brandishing a sword as vigorously as MacIain with such little effect. The men attacking him on either side dodged Aleck’s enormous blade each time it swung their way. As predictable as the tide, the chieftain didn’t even bother to change the cadence or direction of his swings. Above all, he could have benefited from a bit of training in the courtyard.
Eoin motioned for his men to fan out. “It looks as if the MacDonalds have the upper hand. We’ll not let them keep it.”
Bellowing their battle cry, the MacGregor warriors pounced like phantoms from the hills. If there was one good thing about Aleck’s dull-witted decision to ride ahead, it gave Eoin and Clan Gregor the element of surprise.
When the MacDonald men realized they’d been surrounded by yet another army, Eoin caught the panic in their eyes. Their movement became more urgent, exerting desperate strikes while they fought to gain any advantage.
Aleck remained mounted in the center of the fight, roaring like a wounded bull. Clearly tiring, he wielded his weapon with sluggish hacks. The two men attacking him on either side grew more daring. If Eoin didn’t reach him quickly, the MacIain Chieftain would be dead. But why am I saving his arse? Eoin battled his way toward Aleck. Because that’s what King James expects of me.