Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love by Allie Palomino
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The following evening
She sat quietly on a knoll, drinking wine, and eating cheese and fruit. A veritable princess, she was.
She smiled.
Alas, revenge would be hers. It was so close she could almost taste it on her lips.
It was crying. It wouldn’t stop crying. Was it hungry?
She shrugged. It was a necessary annoyance while she waited for its mother. Hopefully, or mayhap not, it wouldn’t die before she reached them.
She turned her head. She heard them- both contingencies.
She looked to her left and saw the armor of the English. She looked to her right and saw the Scots off in the distance, led by the blind oaf who’d shunned her.
Fine day for a battle, was it not?
She smiled.
Especially when those to her right didn’t know those to her left were coming.
She just loved surprises.
“Halt!” Cameron roared. The men slowly came to a stop.
“What is it, Cameron?” Keith asked, looking into the distance as Cameron was doing.
“There.” He pointed. The nearly setting sun was briefly reflected by metal. Two hours, three at the most, was all they had left of light.
“Reflections,” Aidan whispered.
“They ride.” It was Keith who said it.
“How far do ye think they are?” Aidan asked.
“About a thousand paces,” Cameron said.
“How did they know?” Keith asked.
Cameron shook his head. “Abby was right. He must have found out somehow and rode at a neck-breaking pace to surprise us. Surprise he did.”
He broke away from his men and turned to face them.
“Haynsworth is but a short distance away! They ride to us,” he said, and they quieted, surprised by this news. He waited until he had all of their attention. He looked over his shoulder once and saw the English had gained much distance.
“Yes, they ride to us!” he repeated, turning back to his men. “But they ride to their deaths!” he roared and they cheered. He waited for them to calm down and continued. “At my signal, archers, stand aside and prepare to discharge flamed arrows. Riders, unsheathe yer swords. Those on foot, ready for attack. Hurt their mounts, make them fall!” he bellowed.
When they quieted, he continued.
“Ready yerselves,” Cameron said, mounted on his great black warhorse. He rode in front of his men.
“See it in yer minds!” He pointed to his head. “See the battle!” he roared so his two hundred men would hear him. They cheered as they heard his words.
“See their blackhearts,” he bellowed, his horse kicking some dirt into the air as Cameron touched his chest. He pulled the reins to ride down the front line.
“See their defeat!” He pointed to his eyes. The men cheered in chorus.
Cameron’s eyes were steel, forged from strength, revenge, and ruthlessness.
“We. Will. WIN!”
He turned back to the approaching English amid the shouts of his men.
He knew the English bastards had at last seen them. They were less than two hundred paces away and he saw the leader bring them to a halt.
Haynsworth was not there.
That was no surprise. The rat was probably hiding, doing what most rats did.
Cameron raised his massive broadsword in the air. He looked at the English, all in queue.
He gave the battle cry, and he and his men rushed forward.
Finally!
She sat on her knoll, restless. How long had it been? She had grown irritated and gritted her teeth.
Dear Lord, sometimes she wished she were a man. Certainly she would have moved faster!
At the battle cry, she clapped!
Yes, yes! A battle. Nothing like a good battle to bring her loins afire!
She took a moment to imagine the activities she would participate in with the English victor. She’d heard they were like cold fish in bed, but she had sampled one of them days earlier when she’d ridden to Haynsworth.
Cold fish her arse!
Her eyes rolled as she remembered that night. Surely he was the best she’d had.
Well, perhaps not the best. The second best. The best she’d ever had rode unknowingly to his death.
Hmmm.
If the best died, wouldna that make the second best, her best best?
It was sad. She shook her head. It could have been a good life for her and Cameron. It was almost two years ago that Abby had first entered into his life. Two years was a long time to stay angry. It felt as if it were a mere two months.
She shrugged.
“Ehh…two years, two months, is there a difference?” she asked herself, and looked over to the baby who’d fallen quiet.
At hearing the clashing of the swords, she sat straighter.
She was getting flushed looking at the men fight. She hoped it would be over soon, but not too soon.
She couldn’t wait to sample those English goods again.
The battle had begun with groans and roars. Cameron’s men, although outnumbered, were cutting the English down rapidly.
The archers had caused numerous Englishmen to hit the ground in anguished yells. Distracted by the flaming arrows, the Englishmen made it easy for Cameron’s men on horseback to lead the way through the crush of men, allowing those on foot to remain protected while wielding their swords.
Cameron was angry that Haynsworth wasn’t there. He would have to travel to his damn holding to kill the cowardly bastard! That meant more time away from his wife and son, which would be time they’d spend worrying about him.
Damn he’d been stupid in not listening to his wife. He had known that she was right about her father. Damn his pride. He should have waited a little longer- not because he feared losing, but out of respect for his wife’s sentiments.
Looking around quickly, Cameron saw that few of his men had fallen but many more of the English had, too.
The blood pumped hot and rapidly through his veins. Four men approached Cameron. They all had grins on their faces and murder on their minds.
Until Cameron smiled back in response.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but instead hardened them, making them burn in the dimming daylight.
The men lost their smiles and charged at him. Immediately, Cameron slashed two and then engaged the other two in combat. After numerous punches, ducks and kicks, the two English soldiers fell.
Cameron picked up his sword and rolled his shoulders and neck. Nothing like a hand-to-hand fight to warm-up yer muscles.
On they fought until there were barely any Englishmen left. Cameron smiled, pierced the ground with his sword, and flexed his arms to stretch them. His muscles rippled and the sweat droplets followed the mountainous crevices of his arms and back.
He’d been looking down at the ground and finally looked up. A large English force was heading towards them. The group was larger than the one they’d just defeated. Cameron roared to his men, alerting them of the surprise force, just as the skies opened up and rain pelted on his face.
Abby shuddered as the rain fell on her. Lightning crashed and she was so frightened she nearly fell off the horse. She hunched closer into herself, having no cloak to offer her comfort.
She hated storms and all they brought with them- unrelenting rain, clapping thunder, and dangerous, bright lightning. She knew her fear came from that horrible night years ago when she’d been ambushed but fortunately, she never remembered anything of it. She hoped she never would.
She approached the clearing and inhaled sharply.
Bodies! Dead bodies everywhere! And still, as the lightning illuminated the ground below it, more were battling. She heard them fighting still but there wasn’t sufficient light for her to see how many of Cameron’s men stood. She thought she’d seen the majority of his men still fighting, but there were so many more English.
She brought her hand up to her mouth and sobbed. She shook her head as her mind played a trick. She blinked rapidly.
She thought she’d seen Elliot coming towards her with a knife.
She laughed uneasily to alleviate her nerves.
Squinting in the darkness, she knew her father would be conniving. It was obvious he’d found out about Cameron’s intent to seek vengeance.
But how?
Abby walked slowly and quietly. The path of herbs stopped at this point. As she looked to the right, she saw a knoll. Sitting on it was the worst person she’d ever had the misfortunate to encounter. Abby had the advantage. Gillyanne didn’t know she was there.
Where was her son?
Her heart leapt out of her chest.
Abby’s eyes wildly sought out his small form. She saw him a ways away under the shelter of a tree. To her relief, she saw his arms flail, and he was crying.
He was alive.
She had been scared because she knew that Gillyanne would not hesitate to hurt a baby. Fortunate Cameron was that this whore never conceived.
Heartless cold bitch.
There was nothing more she wanted than to go to him and hug him close. Her hands opened from their clenched fists, and she itched to reach him. The tree offered some refuge from the rain, however. By going to him first, she’d be risking both of their lives. Gillyanne clearly wanted to kill her. She would attack Abby, and having Trystan in her arms would also place him in that immediate danger. She needed to subdue Gillyanne first.
Abby needed to proceed with her course of action. It was high time Gillyanne atoned for all that she had done. She wiped the hair out of her face. Annoyed, she looked down and ripped a part of her dress and used it as a tie for her hair.
Abby quietly walked towards the hooded whore who looked on at the battle below. Standing ten paces back, Abby felt her ire rise. She gripped her dirk.
She wanted to push her off the damn hill, but that would be too easy and Gillyanne deserved worse.
She would be the one to give it to her.
“Wasn’t taking one child from me enough, Gillyanne?”