Page 9 of Beloved Enemy
“Artur,” Eoin began, “do ye recall that—"
Eoin quieted abruptly a split second after an arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself in the ground mere inches from Reid’s horse. The beast reared, and Reid fought to steady it.
“Ambush!” someone shouted.
“Truce, my arse,” Tavish hissed.
The men raced for cover, which could only be found in the sparse brush and larger boulders through which they’d passed. Reid spared a moment to consider the angle of the arrow that had been driven into the earth.
“North side,” he called out, determining its origination. “Up top!”
And he and his men took positions against the north slope, making themselves more difficult targets as they stayed close to the rising crags.
Another arrow flew, this one grazing the arm of Artur as he changed direction. Reid's eyes narrowed as he scanned the rocky heights above.
“Hold yer positions!” Reid commanded. “'Tis nae a large party. We’ve but one archer against us.”
His mind raced as he tried to gauge their enemy’s position. The arrows came sporadically, one at a time, rather than in a deadly hail. The sporadic nature of the shots suggested caution rather than confidence, confirming his suspicion of a lone attacker.
“Tavish, take five men and flank to the left. Eoin, Seumas, Lachlan, on me, around and up this way. We’ll flush this coward out.”
Reid and others dismounted, moving swiftly into position. The lad, Simeon, carefully gathered the reins of the steeds, as the horses would be of no use climbing stealthily.
Reid glanced upwards as he moved along the base of the slope, eyes locked on the rocky outcrop where he suspected the archer was hiding.
Another arrow flew into the glen, missing its mark, whizzing by the rump of one of the gathered destriers.
Where the slope allowed, Reid began to climb, east of where he imagined the missiles were coming from. He did not unsheathe his sword yet, at times needing two hands to climb, gripping brush and embedded shelves of rock to pull himself upward. At the first plateau, he ducked and ran, sprinting further north. Eoin was close on his heels and Lachlan and Seumas not far behind.
They came up to the same bend in the cliff face as they would have encountered below if they’d kept riding through the glen. There, Reid climbed higher, knowing he’d rather be above than below the enemy. He was able to walk upward, carefully picking his way through the ground that was naught but loose rocks here but was caused to stop his march when voices came to him, seemingly just around the bend.
“Bluidy hell, and why would ye fire on them?” A gruff voiced complained. “They might’ve ridden right on by, ye eejit.”
“To the horses,” another ordered, with less distress. “Bring the woman.”
“Out and down is our only hope now,” someone suggested.
“Ye started this, Bones,” the first voice said. “Ye keep 'em locked in down there till we’re clear.”
Standing on a rocky ledge no more than two feet wide, Reid turned at a tap on his shoulder.
Eoin was there and made motions with his hands that he and Lachlan would climb further but that Reid and Seumas should carry on along the ledge.
Reid nodded, knowing Tavish and his men would likely be waiting for this party further along if they should manage to run off when they realized their intended victims were closer than expected.
“Careful the woman,” Reid whispered, in regard to what they’d just overheard.
Seumas took Eoin’s position directly behind Reid, who waited to a count of thirty to give the other two time to climb a bit further. Slowly as to make no sound, he withdrew his sword from its scabbard and scanned the ground, deciding upon the best track, judging which rocks appeared least likely to shift or turn under his feet.
With a glance over his shoulder and a nod to Seumas, he surged ahead, around the bend, taking in the scene with a swift and searching glance. What was deliberate movement turned frantic when his presence became known. A group of men, perhaps a dozen, scrambled now upon a broad, treed plateau. They were rough looking, with mismatched armor and weapons. The rocky ground gave way to a gentle slope, where the trees thickened and climbed further up the side of the mountain, the dense canopy creating a patchwork of light and shadow. The terrace emptied as these men—reivers, he thought—either ran for their steeds or clambered uphill, into the trees, to escape.
Reid gave chase, vaulting over a tall clump of hardy grass to pursue the enemy into the trees. The first man he caught up with howled and then dropped as Reid sliced his blade deeply across the back of his legs. He didn’t stop to finish him but kept on, pursuing the next closest one.
He spied a thick man running eastward, dragging a person alongside him.
The woman mentioned, Reid assumed, who seemed to be struggling against the man, slowing him down.
As he neared, the man released the woman’s arm and ran faster, unencumbered now, meaning to save himself and not the woman, it seemed. The woman continued on, her gait awkward and her arms unnaturally still at her sides, and Reid guessed her hands must be bound. She stumbled and tripped, and the tail ofher dark auburn hair swung wildly about her as she went down, face first.
