Page 57 of Fallen
“The pestilence?”
“Could be.” Craeg drew his claidheamh-mor, the scrape of steel echoing over the hillside. “But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.”
He shifted his attention from Gunn then, back down the valley. MacKinnon was riding away, cantering back to join his men.
Swiveling on his heel, Craeg’s gaze swept over the ranks of men who’d joined him from all over the territory. He saw the fierceness on their faces, the glint in their eyes. They were ready to fight for him, to die for him. Craeg’s pulse accelerated. He raised his claidheamh-mor high then, drawing their gazes to him.
“Long have we prepared for this day.” His voice rang out across the hillside. “Ye all know what ye must do … I won’t remind ye of it.” He paused then, his chest swelling. “Ye know of the bad blood between MacKinnon and me … but remember this fight is about much more than just vengeance … it’s about freedom. Long has MacKinnon’s iron fist crushed ye all into the dust. His Guard came to yer villages, took all yer savings, and robbed ye of yer last sack of barley—the only thing between yer families and starvation. And then when ye fought back, he called ye criminals and put a price on yer heads.”
Craeg broke off here, breathing hard as fire caught in his veins. He wasn’t used to giving speeches like this. But his men needed to hear these words. His gaze swept the ranks then, and there, near the back, he glimpsed a lone woman.
Coira stood watching him, her eyes gleaming, her jaw set. He didn’t want her to fight—didn’t want her to risk her life. But she had her own score to settle with MacKinnon today, and he wouldn’t take that from her.
His belly twisted all the same, when he thought of her facing men swinging claidheamh-mors. Although he’d witnessed Lady Leanna with a longbow, he hadn’t seen Coira fight. What if she’d overplayed her abilities to him? What if, in the heat of battle, her nerve failed her?
Craeg swallowed the lump that suddenly rose in his throat. He wouldn’t be able to help her. Once the fighting began, Coira would be on her own, and she knew it.
Pushing the realization aside, Craeg forced his attention back to the ranks of warriors watching him.
“The yoke breaks today!” He shouted, thrusting his broadsword high into the air. “Today, we take back our lives!”
A cry went up among the outlaws, rippling out across the hillside.
Craeg’s skin prickled at the sound. Turning, he looked back across the valley and saw that MacKinnon’s warriors had urged their horses forward. They were now careening down the slope toward the bottom of the valley.
Craeg’s heart leaped. “Archers!” he yelled. “Ready!”
And then, as he and his men had planned long before this day, Craeg dropped to one knee. Beside him, Gunn did the same—as did all the warriors in the first three lines.
But the row of men behind them—those bearing longbows—didn’t crouch. Instead, they notched arrows and sighted their quarry.
Craeg held his breath, his gaze tracking the line of horses that thundered toward them, and then a shout tore from his throat. “Loose!”
I’m taking them all to their deaths.
Leading the way up a steep hill interspersed with wildling pines, Mother Shona tried to ignore the guilt that dogged every step, yet it hung over her like an oppressive shadow, darkening with each furlong they journeyed east.
She’d made her choice; there wasn’t any point in regretting it now.
Although the women traveled fast—alternating between a brisk walk and a steady jog—worry had begun to form a hard knot in the pit of the abbess’s belly.
They’re on horseback … we’ll get there too late.
Indeed, the urgency that had driven her to call the Sisters of Kilbride to arms had faded, and in its place grew a gnawing worry.
Things hadn’t started well at dawn. Once she’d gathered the sisters to her, it had become evident that three of the nuns were unwell: Sisters Anis, Fritha, and Morag had all come down with fevers and coughs overnight. A chill had settled over the abbess as she’d sent the nuns back to the dormitory to rest—she’d feared that MacKinnon had brought the sickness with him to Kilbride, and she’d been right. She’d left Sister Magda to tend them; ‘Old Magda’ wasn’t agile or strong enough to join the others anyway.
Mother Shona frowned as she pushed aside a pine branch. She didn’t want to leave the nuns behind with only an aged woman to tend them, yet she had no choice.
She had committed to this now.
Breathing hard, the abbess pushed herself up the last few yards toward the tree-lined brow of the hill. Like the other nuns, she’d adjusted her clothing for this journey. Under her skirts, she wore woolen leggings, and she had knotted her underskirts and habit, tying them around her hips with twine. It wasn’t an ideal solution, yet it enabled the nuns a far greater freedom of movement.
Although she was one of the oldest women in the group, she had deliberately led the way. The sisters depended upon her strength and guidance. She could not lag behind.
Fortunately, the hard, physical toil of a nun’s life prepared the abbess for this journey. Even so, as she shouldered her way between two embracing fir trees, Mother Shona noted that her legs now ached and her lungs burned from exertion.
However, when she stepped out of the trees, and her gaze alighted upon the valley beyond, the abbess came to an abrupt halt.
