Page 74 of Cottage in the Mist
Iain fought off to his left, and Ranald off to his right. There was no sign of Frazier, and Bram’s gut twisted with worry, but there was no time for further thought. Iain struck a death blow, then both he and Bram ran for Ranald, who was still engaged in the fighting. He deftly fended off one man, only to have another rush him from behind. But Iain reached Ranald in time, drawing off the new attacker.
Iain and Ranald were back to back now, their opponents circling around them, crouched and ready. Behind them, a man on horseback urged his mount closer, clearly intending to push the odds into Comyn territory. Bram jumped onto a large boulder, lifting his claymore and swinging as the man rode by. The blow glanced off his thigh, but had the intended result. He swerved away from the two circling men just as Iain made his move, lunging forward to take out the man on the right.
Almost simultaneously, Ranald rushed the other man, their swords clanging as they jockeyed for position. The first man was down, most likely dead. And the horseman—apparently the leader—seemed to realize that the battle had swung in favor of Iain’s men.
Wheeling his horse around, he let loose a cry that resounded off the rocks.
Men scrambled to horses and melted into the trees. Retreat.
One minute the clearing was ringing with swordplay and the next it was resoundingly quiet. Bodies littered the ground. Mostly the enemy, praise God. But Bram could see that at least some of Iain’s men had been injured or killed. He walked quickly through the carnage, searching for Frazier.
“Bram,” a voice from the trees called. “I’m here, lad.”
He hastened into the cover of the trees, following the sound of Frazier’s voice. “I’m coming.”
The woods were gloomy after the faded light from the meadow and he stopped a moment to get his bearings. “Frazier, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
“Not mortally,” came the reply. “But I need your help.”
Bram pushed through the undergrowth, whacking at saplings and bushes with his sword. “Hang on. I’m almost there.”
Ahead of him, in the distance, a shadow loomed against a large tree. It shifted, and then he caught the glint of a sword. “Frazier, have a care,” he called. “You’re not alone.”
Running now, mindless of the undergrowth, he hurried to aid his father’s man. He burst into a small clearing by the burn. Frazier was standing by the tree, his weapon in hand, blood dripping from his leg. Frantically, he looked for signs of an attacker. Frazier took a step closer, his face pinched in pain and anger.
“Where’s the other man?” Bram asked.
Frazier took another step. “I dinna ken. He was here and then gone. Mayhap you scared him.”
Bram nodded, still on alert as he moved over to his father’s captain. “Can you walk?”
“With yer help,” he said.
Bram lowered his sword and moved closer to Frazier.
“’Tis how it must be, ye ken,” he whispered as Bram reached out to give him support.
“Iain, they’re over here,” Ranald called as he came into the clearing.
Frazier’s eyes narrowed, and then he sighed, squaring his shoulders, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.
“Are either of you hurt?” Ranald asked. Iain followed on his heels.
“I’ve got a cut on my side, but I dinna think it’s anything to worry o’er.” Bram’s gaze moved to Frazier. “But Frazier’s been sliced at the knee. He needs help to walk.”
“Nay, lad.” Frazier shook his head, pride flashing in his eyes. “I think I can manage well enough.”
“No point in suffering,” Ranald said, coming to Frazier’s other side. “Hand me your sword.”
For a moment there was silence, and then Frazier nodded, handing the claymore to Ranald. Then Iain and Bram propped up the older man, and slowly the four of them walked back toward the camp.
“Truly it isna as bad as it looks,” Frazier said. “Just a flesh wound, I’ve no doubt.”
“Still, it can’t hurt to take the weight off it until we’ve had the chance to look and be sure.”
Frazier grumbled his acquiescence. And Iain grinned at Bram over the old man’s head.
“Seems odd they’d retreat the way they did.” Ranald frowned. “Not that I’m sad to see the backs of their sorry hides. Still, I’d have expected them to make a better show.”
