To Love a Warrior by Lily Baldwin

Author:Lily Baldwin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Highland
Published: 2014-11-21T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The Mountains of Argyle, Scotland

Summer 1313

Garik stared up at the sky through the canopy of leaves overhead. The mountain air was cool and fragrant. He inhaled deeply and then closed his eyes, conjuring Nellore’s image from memory. His eyes grazed over her long waves of black hair. The richness of her laughter soared through his mind, fueling his courage for battle.

“Seven years ago, our king and his fledgling army sought refuge in these mountains, but they found no respite,” Angus Og said with his arms raised, directing the gazes of his men to the towering, jagged peaks that rose above the earth like grand sentinels. “Scots, Highlanders like ourselves, attacked our king. ‘Twas the bastard MacDougall, the very chieftain who tried to steal MacDonald land.”

Garik scanned the surrounding army of MacDonald and MacKinnon warriors. He stood out among the plaid clad men in his black leather jerkin, helmet, and mail, but then again, he was both Highlander and Viking; the ferocity of both peoples fed his blood.

“The fight for Scottish support of our King ends now, for the MacDougalls are the only remaining Scottish clan to give their fealty to the English king.”

Nellore’s image dissipated, drifting away on the breeze as Garik felt the immediacy of battle grip his body. His heart pounded, his hunger for justice stoked by his commander’s every word.

“Ye’ve been given your orders,” Angus Og cried. “Go now. Take to the mountains. Tear down these traitors to the Scottish crown.”

Jagged boulders cut the mountainside. The narrow, steep passes and patches of dense wood would keep all English armies at bay, but they weren’t looking for knights. They hunted for men not unlike themselves in appearance—Highlanders—but that was where all common ground ceased. Dishonorable conspirators to the English crown, the MacDougalls chose to make enemies of their own countrymen, but the end of their treachery was nigh.

Angus Og led the largest band of warriors straight up the mountain, their number sure to draw the enemy into battle. Under the command of James Douglas, Garik and a smaller band of only twenty men moved like shadows up the steepest side of the mountain. Running where the terrain allowed and scrambling over rock, they at last took position on the cliffs over the highest mountain pass where they hunkered down to wait.

Garik gained the ear of their leader. “Angus Og said the English have taken to calling you the Black Douglas,” Garik whispered.

James grinned. “We’ve succeeded in scaring the English.”

Logan appeared from behind and sidled next to James. “Lord Douglas, ‘tis the MacDougall’s,” he said. “They are closing in on Angus Og.”

“Ready yourselves, lads,” James said.

Garik gripped his axe and waited. Every thought, breath, and beat of his heart trained on the forest below as he waited for the battle to begin. Then suddenly the forest came alive with terrific cries. They rose to their feet and with their own battle cries tearing from their lips they descended, pouring forth from tree limbs and rocks onto the MacDougall’s below.

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