Page 149 of Bride of Fire
He heard a yelp and peered over the edge. One of the Englishmen had been knocked flat by the cauldron. The commander beat a retreat as more rocks and pottery hailed down upon them.
The lasses celebrated their moment of victory with silent glee, their eyes shining as they ducked back from the wall to let a second wave of women take their place.
Even if he didn’t approve of the risk, Morgan had to admire their cleverness. Not only had they made the English believe they were confronting a larger army of men, but they’d managed to fend them off with their makeshift weapons.
The strategy wouldn’t work forever, of course. The English quickly perceived that the falling objects might be annoying, but they were fairly harmless. Soon they began shooting back at the culprits who were dropping them.
Morgan had to act to keep his clanswomen safe.
Suddenly, from his left flank, he heard a familiar female voice. “Fall back!”
Damn the wench! Why was Jenefer standing at the embrasure, directly in the line of fire? It was far too risky. Anything could happen.
No sooner did he have that thought than he saw something fly past her shoulder.
An enemy arrow. Sharp. Deadly. And far too close.
Chapter 63
Morgan’s heart seized. His breath caught. His knees turned to custard.
Jenefer, however, didn’t even flinch.
“Archers, move in!” she ordered.
His jaw went slack. He didn’t know whether to be mortified or outraged. How dared the lass interfere with his command? What gave her the authority to tell his men—and women—what to do?
“Take your best shots!” she shouted.
His brows collided. He whirled toward her with clenched fists.
But Jenefer, fully engaged in battle, was blind to everything but the war being waged on the ground below.
Before he could bellow at her to go back to the great hall, he heard the random twang of bowstrings, followed by distant groans of pain. He ventured a glance over the battlements. To his surprise, the mac Giric archers had wounded several of the attackers.
He looked at Jenefer in wonder.
“Second wave!” she called out.
Though he was tempted to haul the lass off the wall, Morgan couldn’t argue with the effectiveness of her strategy. While the English, unprotected by their shields, attempted to recover from the archers’ attack, the lasses rushed forward to hurl stones, cups, and pots down at them.
As the English flinched and dodged the projectiles, unable to form an effective wall of shields in the confusion, the mac Giric archers took over again, stepping in to shoot at them.
To further confound the enemy and make their arrows harder to defend against, the archers didn’t release all at once in a volley. Instead, Jenefer had apparently directed them to choose a specific target and shoot when they had a single victim squarely in their sights.
Once their arrows were spent, with very few of them wasted, the archers withdrew from the battlements.
“And again!” Jenefer shouted.
The lasses moved forward in unison to pelt the foe with hammers and pans and platters. Those English who were foolish enough to fight their way through the falling objects were subsequently picked off when the archers took over.
It was ingenious.
Morgan looked at the lass with new respect. Shewasa warrior maid. Not only could she handle a bow. She could wage war. Indeed, he’d never seen a more capable commander.
He was about to tell her so when a sudden hard impact made the stones shudder beneath his feet.
Jenefer turned and caught his eye. “The doors!”
