Page 31 of Rebellion's Fire

“Take him,” the knight said.

There were times to fight and times to live. Cailean spun around and legged it. A foolish attempt when attacked by mounted men, but he at least had a chance if he could make the cover of the forest.

He couldn’t. His feet slid out of control in the mud, slowing him as he sought to keep both balance and speed. Inevitably, horses thundered past him, wheeling around to block his path.

Panting, Cailean slowed, spinning to take in the men encircling him. They dismounted, advancing on him. He swiped his dagger through the air in a wide arc, by his suddenness catching one man across the throat and forcing the others back. But he had to keep turning, keep sweeping his dagger—which was a poor weapon against swords and armor in any case. He ended by dropping it and using his feet and fists instead, but the outcome had never really been in doubt since the knight had seen his face.

Hot with exertion, fury, and shame, he found himself bound and led by a rope, staggering after one of the horses along the edges of the wood. The patrol was returning home with its prize. He wished he’d just paid attention, been aware. He wished he were faster, stronger. He wished he were dead.

He fell more than once, dragged through the mud by the horse before he could find his feet and pound faster. The ridicule of the soldiers, the pain of his abraded skin, was nothing compared to his own self-disgust.

And then, without any warning, a massive tree branch crashed outward and downward, landing square on the rope that joined him to the soldier in front. The soldier was dragged from his horse, landing heavily on the ground with an astonished cry.

Cailean, who’d barely been able to keep to his feet as the rope suddenly dipped, made a frantic effort to tug the whole rope free of the branch. Someone landed in front of him, sword plunging down. For an instant, in the midst of his sudden, desperate hope, Cailean thought he was dead.

Adam MacHeth cut the rope cleanly. At almost the same time, a dagger in his left hand cut the bindings between Cailean’s wrists.

“Run,” Adam said.

Cailean obeyed from pure instinct. Adam had come back for him. Adam was risking himselfmassively, forhim. After the first, staggering pace, he glanced anxiously over his shoulder.

“I’m right behind you,” Adam said. His sword sliced into the nearest attacking soldier, who cried out and fell. Adam’s flying boot sent another crashing into a third, and then he was pounding after Cailean into the cover of the wood.

Cailean laughed with pure joy, caught the answering grin on his lord’s face. Here in the forest, their feet had more grip on the ground, which made little sound as they ran. They could play hide-and-seek for hours here with the heavily armed, blundering soldiers.

Not so blundering. The whine of an arrow made Cailean duck behind a tree. Something thudded on the ground behind him. Already running again, Cailean glanced back and pulled up short.

Adam was on his knees by a puddle, an arrow through his shoulder. The world tilted and stilled.

“Go on,” Adam shouted, yanking the arrow free. Blood gushed from the wound, splashing over his tunic. To Cailean’s further amazement, he hurled himself, good shoulder first, the rest of the way to the ground and rolled in the mud. “I’ll catch you,” he said, splattering his face and hands with it.

Would he? Like that? Cailean doubted it. So did Adam, or he wouldn’t be disguising his distinctive looks. Cailean stumbled on.

“Run.” If Adam couldn’t escape, then running was the only way to save him, surely, to find the men, to tell Donald and get him back…

In deeper cover, Cailean halted and peered back through the trees. The rain had finally gone off, and during the forest chase, the sky had begun to lighten. Steel glinted in the dappled, very watery sunlight, even before the clash of sword on sword. Adam was fighting. Already injured, he was fighting, surely for his life, and Cailean couldn’t see how the hell he could win. Neither Donald nor his men could change that now.

He, Cailean mac Gilleon, was the only one who stood a chance of it.

A damnably faint chance.

With a roar, he surged back through the forest. Taking the nearest soldier by surprise, he leapt on him, snatching his sword by the hilt and booting him hard. The man flew across the ground into undergrowth, and Cailean entered the fray with the sword of his victim.

Adam was hard-pressed. His back to a thick tree trunk, he wore what Cailean thought of as his battle face, the reason, he suspected, some called him a berserker. It was almost as if he went to another place, and Cailean began to understand why. Neither compassion nor pain could touch him there. And right now, defending against three armored soldiers, he needed to fight through agony.

Cailean took out one with a clean thrust straight through his armor.

“Damn it,go!” Adam snarled.

Cailean didn’t answer. He was too busy defending himself from the furious attack of the second swordsman. They needed to end this fast and tend Adam’s wound. Perhaps, if they could just get back to the shepherd’s wife…

Burning pain seared his chest. Perhaps it was just the sinking of his heart, caused by the close neighing of horses, the crashing of hooves and feet in the undergrowth. They had no time to do this. The world felt shaky, sore.

I’m wounded, too. I didn’t save him. Now I’ll die knowing I’ve caused his death as well…

Horses broke through the trees, spreading out, surrounding them once more.

“Enough!” the knight commanded, piercing Cailean’s fading consciousness. “Yield.”

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