Page 47 of A Laird and a Fugitive

Chapter 18

The air was on fire. It smelled of blood and death. Ryan was standing in the same position as his father and brother had been all those years ago. The fighting had taken them close to the Gilmour Keep, and they had been slain in a nearby field. Ryan was not a man easily prone to fear, but standing in this place, knowing that his family met their end here, filled him with misgiving. What if this was an accursed land, and he would end up meeting his doom? Every arrow that whistled past seemed to speak his name.

He steeled himself against these feelings, thinking about why he had come here, thinking about Caroline. She soothed his anguish and helped him gain clarity. He was fighting not for vengeance this time, at least not entirely, but to protect her and ensure that they had a future together.

He rode his horse hard. His men were at his back. Thunder crashed through the land as he led his army to the Gilmour keep. The villagers rushed inside their homes, cowering to avoid the attack. Archers greeted them with arrows, and then scurried back to the keep. Ryan heard the yelps of men as they were taken from their horses, their bodies scattered about the road behind them, arrows protruding from their chests and stomachs.

Good men were going to die today, and Ryan had to see to it that their deaths were not in vain. His Keep still bore the charred scars of the fire that the Gilmour Clan had set. His heart was still gashed by the injury that had been dealt to him as a teenager. It was a wound that had never fully healed, and now he was taken back to that moment when he had learned that his father and brother had been killed.

Pure, blistering rage ran through him and narrowed his field of vision to the Gilmour Keep. It stood tall and proud in the distance, dominating the landscape. His lips curled as he looked at the windows, knowing that Gorram Gilmour was standing there, watching his approach, likely sneering at him.

Ryan was going to wipe that smile off his face.

They reached the Keep, but the place was barricaded with various barrels and crates and wagons, making it difficult for the horses to move around. Ryan gave the order for the men to alight from their animals. He slapped his horse on the rump, sending it running away, protected from the rigors of battle.

As soon as this happened, Gilmour soldiers came pouring out of the Keep and roared as they threw themselves into battle. Ryan scanned the men for any sign of Gorram, but the coward was not joining his men in battle. Ryan was forced to engage the soldiers. He raised his sword and felt the pleasing reverberation of steel against steel. It clanged in his ears, and was as delightful to him as the pealing of bells. Growling, he pushed the man in front of him away and then slashed his sword across his chest. A crimson line appeared, and the man slumped to the ground. Ryan unmercifully stepped across the fallen soldier and engaged the next target.

It was clear to Ryan that the Gilmour soldiers were under strict instructions to kill him. Whenever they caught a glimpse of him, they came rushing towards him. Ryan’s men circled him and created a barrier, but it was not impervious to the enemy.

Ryan twirled, his sword flashing as he turned, parrying blows and evading swipes. He fought back savagely, drawing on all his training and his righteous fury. These were no bandits to toy with, but trained soldiers whose lives had been spent learning how to deal death. Ryan searched for weaknesses and when he found them he struck without hesitation, leaving a trail of dead or wounded soldiers behind him. His sword was soon dripping with blood, and his heart was soaked in the fury of battle.

Sweat trickled down his temples and itched under his skin. He rallied his men as more soldiers poured out. As they neared the Keep, he looked up when he heard someone shout. Pots of burning oil were being tipped over the castle walls. The thick liquid splashed down, hissing as it hit the ground. Some of his men were made victims of this. He would never forget their heart-wrenching wails as they clutched their faces, trying to prevent their skin from melting.

The Gilmour men rushed towards him, beating back his guards. Ryan found himself fighting three men. He didn’t have time to make any offense because he was so busy defending himself. He shifted his feet quickly, turning blade against blade. One of the guards managed to nick him. Pain bloomed in his arm, and he felt the warm flow of blood. He gasped, and the soldier smiled, thinking to himself that he was going to kill a Laird.

Not if Ryan had anything to do about it. He shook off the pain and swung his sword like a hammer, pushing the men back. He ducked low and swept the legs out from beneath one of the men, thumping the man’s throat with a heavy fist. There was a sickening crack and then a gargle as the soldier found it impossible to breathe. He quickly rose, driving his sword up through the chest of the other man.

He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling, while he radiated this air of fury as he turned to the last of the three soldiers. A maelstrom raged in his eyes as he glared at the third soldier, who gulped and whose face was lined with fear. Ryan flicked his sword through the air, knocking the other man’s out of his hand. Then he barked like a wild dog, and the soldier went running. Ryan laughed and turned his attention to the keep.

“Their Laird is nae gaeing tae join us! Let us take the fight tae him. Get intae that Keep!” he roared, and led the charge.

He had to stop his approach as another wave of hot oil was poured down. He managed to stop short, and then leaped over the tide, fighting with the sea of men who were emerging from the keep. There were many of them, but he had the advantage as he pressed them into the narrow opening of the door.

He thrust his sword forward, skewering the men and seeing them fall before his eyes. He pulled them all out to clear the way, leaving a pile of bodies beside him. He was a madman, driven to savage heights by a desire to stop Gorram and bring an end to this grisly clan. To protect Caroline, he had to kill what she loved, to rip out the weeds of her family. It was the only way she was going to be safe.

He ran inside with a few men and battled with the guards inside the Keep. They offered little threat. He directed his men to open the portcullis, which allowed the rest of his forces to enter. There was much cheering, and hollering as the Knox army entered the Keep. This was something even his father and brother had not been able to do, and while Ryan was never going to consider the possibility that he was superior to them, he was not blind to the fact that he had achieved a great deal.

The Gilmour guards regrouped and tried to fight off the invaders. A shrewd leader, Ryan reminded his men to concentrate on their training and stick together.

“We hae them pinned back. There is nae need tae rush through the Keep. Remain disciplined, and we will track them all down like the rats that they are,” he ordered.

There was one rat in particular that he wanted for himself, however, and so he peeled away from his men and went searching for Laird Gorram.

Ryan entered the main area of the Keep and held his sword in front of him. All of his senses were focused, and he was ready to defend himself at the first sign of danger. His gaze searched the shadows for figures waiting to come out and attack him, but everyone seemed intelligent enough to keep out of sight. The sounds of battle echoed through the castle’s hallways, the screams, and the clash of steel echoing towards him, almost as though it were happening in a far-off land.

It wouldn’t be long now, he thought, until he returned to Caroline and gave her the gift of this Keep.

He came to the main chamber. He believed that this was where Gorram would be waiting for him. He took a breath and then kicked the door in, charging forward, but the chamber was empty. Ryan snarled. Where was this man?

“Gorram! Come and face me, ye coward. I know what ye did. Come and meet me like a man, and we will settle this matter with our swords. I am here tae claim this clan and I will nae be denied my justice for the crimes ye hae committed against my kin!” he yelled, but the words echoed in the hollow hall and there was no response from Laird Gilmour.

Ryan marched up to the long table, and the high seat, just in case there was anyone hiding there, but it was empty. A picture hung behind it. The portrait depicted a woman who looked familiar. Ryan could see traces of Caroline in her features. She was regal and strong, with a penetrating gaze.

He deduced that it was Caroline’s mother. He pursed his lips and controlled his anger. Gorram wanted him to be unfocused, unbalanced. This was all a game to him.

Ryan gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and left the throne room. He marched up another level of the castle. He could hear footsteps running away from him, so he gave chase. He spied heels fleeing around a corner and increased his speed, crashing into the figure and sending them flying against a wall. It wasn’t Gorram though, it was just a servant. He cowered and clasped his hands together, shaking his head and practically weeping.

“Please dinnae kill me. I dinnae know how tae fight. I dinnae want tae die!” he pleaded.