Richard was half tempted to send Rory back to the keep for more men, but thought better of it. Raibeart, Colyne, and Daniel were somewhere within the forest and might be in desperate need of help.
They stopped just at the forest’s edge and glanced at one another.
“I dunnae like it either,” Rory whispered.
Richard said naught. With a slow nod of his head, he urged his horse forward and prayed.
Raibeart was no match for the dozen men who had surrounded Colyne and Daniel. Instead of rushing in with his sword drawn, he hid near a felled tree, trying to size up his surroundings and the men. If he moved too quickly, he risked being killed. If he didn’t move fast enough, Colyne and Daniel could be killed.
His heart banged against his chest, blood rushed in his ears as he fought hard to still his nerves. Lord above, he wished Richard was here. He would know just what to do.
But Richard wasn’t here; he was all alone and he needed to do something to save his little brother and his friend.
“Stop kickin’ me, ye little shite!” The tall man with the ginger hair had wrapped both arms around Colyne’s waist and lifted him off the ground. Another man, with dark hair and a long beard had grabbed Daniel. Daniel had been terrified to silence. Colyne, however, was cussing like a drunken Highlander who had just lost at a game of chance to an Englishman.
“I’ll kick yer ballocks into yer teeth!” Colyne shouted. “Ye bloody bastard!”
Raibeart worried his brother would anger his captor so much he’d end up ringing his neck. Had he not been so busy trying to find a path of rescue, he would have shouted at him to settle down.
Suddenly, the man yelled and cursed and dropped Colyne to the ground.
Daniel, having a closer advantage point had seen what Colyne had done and followed suit. His captor screamed and cursed right before dropping the boy. Both lads scrambled to their feet and took off running. Raibeart knew at once that the boys had each bit the men who had hold of them.
“Get him!” One of the mounted men called out.
Each of the lads’ captors ran after their prey.
“Not the blonde one, ye fools! Get the MacCullough brat!”
The dark-haired man quickly gave up his pursuit of Daniel, veered to his left, and went after Colyne. Raibeart cursed under his breath. Both boys were running in opposite directions. There would be no way for him to save both boys.
Colyne darted left and right, jumping over felled trees, dashing around bramble bushes, and was heading right for Raibeart! Three more men jumped down from their horses and joined in the hunt.
“Do nae let that brat get away or I’ll have yer heads!” shouted the apparent leader.
Colyne ran like the devil was chasing him. The group of men chasing after him fanned out in hopes that one of them would intercept the fast as lightning boy.
The ginger haired man tripped over his own two feet and fell to the ground right in front of Raibeart. ’Twasn’t until he rolled over that he caught a glimpse of Raibeart hiding behind the skinny log. His eyes grew wide as he struggled to his feet and tried to unsheathe his sword at the same time.
Raibeart’s short training and instincts kicked in. He jumped over the log and thrust his sword deep into the man’s chest before he even had a chance to fully disengage his sword from its sheathe.
With all his senses heightened, Raibeart spun in time to see another man coming right at him. This was nothing at all like any of the training sessions he’d had. This was real and terrifying.
Sweat beaded his brow, his upper lip, and neck, but he refused to give up. Deftly, he clashed his sword against his opponent, meeting it strike for strike, blow for blow. In a matter of several terrifying heartbeats, he realized there was a pattern to his opponent’s movements. Left, right, down, left, right, down. When the man lifted his sword to bring it down in an arc, Raibeart ducked low, swung out one leg, and knocked the man on his arse. A harried breath later, and Raibeart was slicing his sword across the man’s throat.
Two down, ten to go.
Raibeart had no idea where Colyne or Daniel had gone; all he knew was that he had to fight and fight hard in order to survive. Deep down, he knew these men were far more experienced than he, but he couldn’t give up. He’d rather die than give up.
Another man, much larger and taller than himself, was running across the uneven ground right towards him. Terror began to settle into Raibeart’s bones, but he shrugged it off. If this is to be the end of me, then so be it. Ye will die with honor.
Much like the last opponent, Raibeart fought bravely and deftly, matching every strike, every thrust, every blow. More than once, he could see surprise flash in his opponent’s eyes when Raibeart was able to deflect his strikes. Seeing that tiny glimpse helped to fuel Raibeart’s determination and will to survive.
Suddenly, he heard a familiar war cry rent the air! Caught off guard, he was momentarily pulled away from his own battle to glance over his shoulder. It was the mistake that very nearly cost him his sword arm. His opponent took advantage of his distraction, swung out in a wide arc. Raibeart couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. The tip of the sword caught his upper arm, slicing through his tunic, into his flesh. It burned like hell!
Grunting, he lunged forward, sweat pouring into his eyes.
“Run!” Rory yelled as he headed towards him. “Run, Raibeart!”
Rory’s voice distracted his opponent just long enough for Raibeart to strike the man’s chest with his sword. Furious, the man started to push him back with wide swings.
Just as Raibeart was defending one of the man’s jabs, someone came up from behind and slammed something hard against his head. The pain was unbearable and sent him to his knees. The world around him began to spin out of control. Then his entire world went black.
“Stop right there, MacCullough!”
Richard was fending off two attackers when a voice he didn’t recognize ripped through the air. “Stop or I’ll kill him!”
The two men he was fighting took cautious steps back. Richard took the chance to look at whomever was calling to him. His heart seized at the sight before him.
A man with dark hair and even darker eyes was sitting atop a horse. And he was holding a dirk against Colyne’s throat. “I’ll slice his throat, MacCullough, dunnae think I won’t.”
“If ye do, ye will be dead before ye hit the ground,” Richard seethed.
“But yer brother here will still be dead, won’t he?”
Richard didn’t recognize any of the faces that surrounded him, but he was quite certain they were Chisolms and Farquars. There were four of them, all in varying ages and sizes. He felt confident that he and Rory could have taken them all on. But he did have to consider Colyne’s safety.
“Aye, but ye will also be dead,” he challenged, trying to give himself more time to figure out a solution.
“Richard,” came Rory’s voice from behind.
A glance over his shoulder told him all he needed to know. Rory been captured. Two large men stood on either side of him, tight holds on his arms. One man stood behind him with his hand fisted in Rory’s hair. Each of them had dirks to his throat.
There was no way out for any of them. One wrong word, one wrong move and they’d all be dead.