Page 30 of The Chieftain
He dove to the side as one of the men swung at him, and the blade glanced off his arm instead of piercing his chest. As he came up, Connor pulled the dirk from his boot. His opponent’s arm was still extended with the force of his swing when Connor sank his dirk between the man’s exposed ribs.
The last warrior charged at him with a roar before Connor could recover and block the attack with his claymore. He felt the wind of the man’s sword on his back as he dropped to the ground. Before he could get up, his opponent raised his blade over his head and brought it down with all his force. Connor managed to roll to the side in time to avoid being split in two, but the blade caught his thigh.
Connor was on his feet again, and he had only one opponent left. When he could, Connor showed mercy. But this was not one of those times. He swung his great two-handed sword in deadly, rhythmic arcs, forcing his opponent back and back again.
Finally, the MacLeod warrior swung with all his might into Connor’s injured leg. Connor had anticipated the move and jumped over the blade. When his opponent’s sword met with no resistance, the force of his swing threw him off balance long enough for Connor to deal him a deathblow and end it.
As he leaned on his sword to get his breath back, Connor noticed that the family had crept out of their hiding place and were watching from the tall grass. He signaled for them to stay where they were and started dragging the dead bodies off the path. If the other MacLeod warriors came this way and found their comrades, they would be far more vigilant in their search.
“Just keep your children quiet and off the path,” Connor told Malcom when he offered to help.
By the time he had dragged the five dead MacLeods into the bushes, his head was spinning.
“I must return to the castle, but ye should be safe if ye stay hidden,” he told the family. “Don’t go back to the cottage until it’s daylight and ye can be sure that they’ve sailed away.”
“Let me take care of your wounds before ye go,” the woman said.
Connor only now realized that his sleeve was soaked with blood. He remembered being struck in the leg as well. That would explain why he was light-headed.
“Help me bind them, and I’ll be on my way,” he said.
Using Connor’s dirk, she cut two strips from the bottom of her skirts. She tied the first around his arm while he tied the second strip around the gash on his thigh.
“’Tis a long way to the castle, and the path is overgrown and difficult to follow in the dark,” Malcom said. “I’d better take ye.”
“I’ll manage,” Connor said. “Stay with your wife and children.”
“Mind ye don’t enter the faery glen,” Malcom said. “The path circles around it. Don’t be tempted to cut through it to make your journey shorter.”
Faeries were the least of his worries.
“If ye do find yourself in the glen, ye must have a token to leave for the faeries,” the wife said. She reached into her pocket and brought out a stone that glittered in the moonlight. “Sometimes a gift will appease them, though ye can never tell with faeries.”
Connor did not want to insult her, so he thanked her and put the stone in the leather bag tied to his belt. He had miles to travel, and he was anxious to be on his way.
“I see now why they say ye are the hope of our clan,” the woman said. “May God watch over ye. We need hope.”
CHAPTER 12
Connor walked for what seemed like hours. He was grateful for the quiet of the night, even if the sense of peacefulness was false. He needed the time to think, and for once he was not accompanied by his guard. As chieftain, he was always surrounded, and yet always alone.
Which of his men had betrayed him? He considered each man who had come with him and dismissed each in turn. And yet, the traitor had to be someone who knew their destination.
After a couple of hours, Connor grew too light-headed to think anymore. He kept walking. Twice he lost the path and had to retrace his steps. Ahead of him, he saw the outline of odd, conical-shaped hills.
He stumbled ahead. As he drew closer, the night fog that lay between the strange hills transformed the moonlight into a soft glow. Above the mist, the tops of the hills had rows of ridges along their sides like ripples on the surface of water.
His mind was working slowly, but he had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something important. Something the woman with all the children had told him. The bindings on his arm and leg had loosened as he walked, and he was aware, in a distant way as if it were happening to someone else, that he was losing too much blood.
He sat down to tighten the bindings and dropped his head between his knees while he gathered his strength to do it. Then, forcing himself to stay alert, he retied the strip on his arm, using his teeth and one hand. Next, he unfastened the blood-soaked strip on his thigh and pulled that binding into a tight knot. With that done, he decided he could let himself rest for a moment before he got to his feet again.
Connor awoke shivering and realized he must have dozed off. With an effort, he lifted his head. The moon had not traveled far across the sky, so he could not have been asleep for long. He told himself he must get up and return to the castle before daylight. If the MacLeods—perhaps assisted by one of his own men—were searching for him, it would be safer to travel under cover of darkness.
His mind was thick and slow, but eventually it came to him that he was sitting in the midst of the faery glen. Though he had never been here before, the conical hills were just as they had been described to him. Strangely, the realization did not alarm him in the least.
Connor turned his head and saw the flickering light of a small fire through the mist. Friend or foe? A distinctly feminine form crossed in front of the fire. Whether she was a faery or a human, he did not know.
Was he imagining her? Connor blinked several times, but she was still there. Her slender, alluring shape was draped in a translucent, gossamer cloth, just like an angel. Or a faery.
