Mayhap if Eoin saved his arse, Aleck would be more humble—develop some respect for Clan Gregor. Eoin reached the chieftain just as a MacDonald drew back for a killing thrust of his sword. Eoin caught the assailant’s arm and used its momentum to throw the varmint to the ground.
“I do not need your help, MacGregor!” Aleck bellowed.
“Aye? Then stop chopping wood and bury that sword in someone’s gut.” Eoin spun and faced the man he’d sent to the dirt. With a bellow, the warrior charged—straight onto the point of Eoin’s razor-sharp sword. With a grimace, Eoin kicked him back and yanked his blade from the dying man’s flesh.
Aleck’s horse reared. Shrieking, the chieftain flew from the saddle, then crashed to the ground in a heap. A MacDonald man sprang over the MacIain with a high-pitched wail. Lunging, Eoin swung his sword up in time to deflect the man’s deadly blow.
The guard regarded Eoin with a grating chuckle.
The two circled, their eyes assessing one another. The MacDonald man sucked in heavy gasps, while he bled from the nose. “Ye come to be killed?”
“Nay. But you did.” Eoin sprang forward. Years of perfecting his trade had turned him into a lethal killing machine, and he quickly dispatched the man, and the next, and the next. When blood changed the dirt from brown to red, the MacDonalds turned tail and ran for home.
Eoin knelt beside Aleck and removed the big man’s helm. He was out cold, but still breathing. Eoin had seen far too much of the bastard whilst out cold—though he preferred comatose to the usual braggart. Beneath the lower vambrace plate, MacIain’s arm rested at an awkward angle. Aye, he’d broken the limb during his fall no doubt.
Eoin inclined his head toward his henchman. “Fergus, bring me a couple sturdy sticks. I must fashion a splint.” He then tore a bit of cloth from his shirt. The same one Lady Helen had recently stitched for him. He hated to do it, but Aleck’s arm needed to be set straight away. Eoin unbuckled the armor guard from Aleck’s forearm.
Fergus came over with the sticks. “Jesus, that’s a nasty break.”
“Aye. Good thing the varlet’s unconscious, otherwise setting it would hurt like hell.” Eoin motioned for Fergus to move beside him. “I’ll do what I can to straighten the arm out, then you slide the splints in place.”
Fergus nodded.
Eoin glanced at a pair of onlookers. “You men, hold him down just in case he wakes.”
Eoin grasped either side of the break and tugged. Then using all his strength he used the heel of his hand to force the bone back in place.
Aleck bucked and bellowed. “Bleeding, bloody, pox-ridden ballocks!”
“Quickly. The splints!” Eoin yelled.
Fergus clapped the sticks in place and held them firm while Eoin tightly wrapped the bandage.
Aleck bellowed like a bull in the castrating pen. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Nay,” Eoin said, tying the bandage. “Just saving your arm, you ungrateful boar.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Eoin smirked. “Mayhap next time I should let them kill you.”
Aleck hissed through gritted teeth. “I was wearing them down, you smug bastard—I always win in the end.”
Eoin clenched his fist around the bandage, close to smashing his knuckles into the bastard’s face just to shut him up again. “Och, you would have been run through after you fell from your horse and were out cold.”
“Aye,” Grant said with a hint of admiration in his voice. “I’ve never seen a man move so fast. Sir Eoin arrived in the nick of time. Any later and you would have been skewered for certain, m’laird.”
Aleck turned a shade of green as if he’d swallowed a vile tonic.
Biting his bottom lip, Eoin choked back a laugh while he finished securing the splint. Once he’d tied off the bandage, he stood and looked to Grant. “Any dead?”
“Three of ours. Six of theirs.”
“Only six?” Eoin asked, a little surprised. He’d killed four of them. “And the injured?”
“Scrapes and cuts—the usual,” said Samuel.
“Any injured men ride the horses. I ken you’re all tired, but we cannot leave the keep guarded by a handful of aging soldiers.”
He prayed there would be no more surprises. Though he was a trained killer, every time he took a life, a piece of his heart tore away. After many a battle, Eoin had taken to the seclusion of the Highland mountains just to be alone with his demons. He saw every face in his dreams. Men all looked the same when they faced certain death—stunned and terrified until their eyes turned vacant.
Chapter Fifteen
Helen cradled Maggie in her arms and sat in the rocker while humming a madrigal. The bairn cooed and gurgled as if she wanted to sing with Helen too. Reaching up, Maggie grasped at Helen’s linen wimple, her eyes wide as if the bairn liked the feel of the cloth.
“’Tis soft, is it not?” Helen took the bairn’s hand and guided her fingers over her woolen kirtle. Maggie’s eyes rounded with surprise and she laughed. “You like the different textures?”
The babe reached up and tugged Helen’s veil until it nearly came off. “And you’re a strong lassie if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Aye she is,” Sarah said from her perch in front of the hearth. “And almost as bonny as her mother.”
“How sweet of you to say.” Helen smoothed her hand over Maggie’s curly black locks and gazed at her daughter with warmth filling her heart. “I daresay this little one will be far more beautiful. Who could possibly resist those enormous blue eyes?” As soon as the words came out, Helen could think of only one person who wouldn’t be entranced by Maggie’s eyes, and that was the bairn’s father. If only that man would take the time to simply look at her. He would fall in love just like everyone else.
The back of Helen’s neck prickled. It shamed her to think about the incident with Eoin in the shed. I never should have allowed him to kiss me. Even after a day, her lips still tingled…her senses still filled with his woodsy scent.
Helen instinctively cradled Maggie tighter to her breast. Aleck had struck her three times now. There was no longer any doubt his animosity toward her was growing worse. She touched the bruise on her jaw, still tender from his slap. What if he took out his anger on their daughter? He’d already said he’d use Maggie to foster an alliance—garner more lands for himself. Of course that was the way of things…but could Helen trust Aleck to act in their child’s best interest rather than his own?
Deep down, she knew the answer to her questions. And that realization tied her stomach in knots.
The ram’s horn sounded. Helen held her breath as her gaze shot to Sarah.
It sounded twice more.
“Dear Lord, no.” She sprung from the rocker and carried Maggie to the window. A lead ball sank to the pit of her stomach. Two galleys rounded the point of Ardnamurchan.
Sarah stepped in behind her. “Are those MacDonald ships?”
“I’ve no reason to think they’re not.” Helen turned. “Take Maggie and bolt the door behind me. Do not open it for a soul until I return.”
“They’re aiming to attack?”