Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes briefly, then pushed herself to her hands and knees. Her arms shook, weak from that small effort, and the bottom of the cart seemed to swim before her eyes, but she took a deep breath and managed to ease back to sit on her haunches. Raising her head determinedly, Kyla peered around as the clang of metal against metal joined the shouts and shrieks already filling the quiet glade they had been passing through.
The miserable burning in her back and her pounding head were immediately forgotten as Kyla took in the activity around her. They were under attack. What made her mouth drop open and her eyes widen incredulously was the unbelievable fact that the mad savages attacking her chain-mailed escort actually appeared to be winning!
Several members of her escort had already fallen from their mounts. The rest were attempting to urge their horses closer to the wagon to form a tight circle around it to defend from, but their attempts were hampered by the panicked rearing of the now-riderless horses that suddenly seemed to be everywhere.
Swallowing the fear tightening her throat, Kyla peered slowly around the glade with a sort of stunned apprehension. Her men were dropping like flies at summer's end. Already a third of them lay injured or dying on the muddy ground.
A roar drew her eyes as a great mountain of a man slammed into the back of the cart, struggling with one of her men-at-arms. With no time to prepare herself for the jolt, Kyla was sent sprawling onto her stomach again in the bottom of the wagon, her chin slamming hard into the floor of the cart despite the cushioning furs.
Cursing, she started to push herself back to her haunches again, but had barely lifted her head when one of her escort rode up to the side of the cart. He forcefully shoved her down again, ordering her to be still before riding off into the fray once more.
Frowning and muttering under her breath, Kyla did as she was told . . . for all of a heartbeat. She popped back up into a sitting position again.
"What's about?"
Remembering the woman who had been resting beside her throughout this journey, Kyla tore her gaze reluctantly from the fray and sank slowly back into the wagon. Rolling carefully onto her side, she peered worriedly at the wrinkled, old face of the woman who had been a maid, nurse, and mother figure to her for as long as she could recall, then lied, " 'Tis all right. 'Tis nothing. Go back to sleep."
A bloom of pale color tinged wrinkled old cheeks with anger and Morag's black eyes narrowed. "Yer lying, girl. Ye never could fool me."
The maid began to rise, determined to see for herself, but Kyla quickly pressed her back down. "Nay, do not rise."
"Then tell me!" she ordered sharply. "And the truth this time."
"Aye." Kyla sighed, searching briefly for a way to lessen the old woman's imminent terror, then shrugged. There was none. "We are under attack."
"What?!" Gasping in horror, Morag began to struggle upward again.
Kyla was trying to push the woman back down into the safety provided by the sides of the cart when a second jolt gave pause to them both. Stilling, they spun to stare at the warrior now standing on the back of the wagon. He was the same man who had first landed in the cart and as she had before, Kyla found herself memerized by the sight of him. Tall. Strong. Magnificent. He stood poised for a moment surveying the battle, the sweat on his body gleaming in the sunlight, then, just as suddenly as he had arrived, he lunged off the cart again, sword swinging ferociously.
"Gor!" Fanning herself with her good hand, Morag collapsed back against the skins in the bottom of their cart. "Savages!" she muttered crossly. "Highlanders. And 'tis one of them yer Catriona is wedding ye to. Yer dear departed mother must be rolling in her grave."
"Aye," Kyla agreed, then scowled as Morag pushed herself back up so that she could peer over the side of the cart.
"What are you doing?" Kyla hissed, sitting up to pull her back.
"Watching to see if we win."
Kyla opened her mouth to say that it mattered little--even if Catriona's men won, she would not be the winner--but before she could comment on that, two battling Scots crashed into the side of the wagon sending both women tumbling sideways against the far wall. Just as Morag would have raised herself again to continue her watch, a sword swung over their heads, then caught in the wood of the wagon. A man cried out in agony.
The Scot who had landed briefly in the wagon earlier peered over the side at them, a fierce glare on his face. "Keep yer heads down, ye lack-witted harpies!" he bellowed in Gaelic.
When Kyla's eyes widened in confusion, the man then repeated the order in English. Obviously he'd thought she had not understood the order the first time, but in truth, her confusion was due to the fact that he had given it at all. He was not one of her escort, but one of their attackers. What the devil did he care if she lived or got herself killed?
Frowning, she peeked over the edge of the wagon again, dismay overwhelming her as she saw that every single one of her mail-armored escort had fallen. Not one still stood among the battling men. Even the driver of the wagon was now sprawled on his seat, bleeding badly from a shoulder wound. The only warriors between herself and capture were the Scots her betrothed had sent to meet them at the border. There seemed few of them left.
Peering around at the fighting men, she estimated that perhaps fifteen of her escort still stood. Fourteen, she corrected as another man fell. Thirteen.
"What's about?" Morag rasped anxiously. Kyla bit her lip as she glanced down at her companion. Once the last of their defenders were slain, the attackers would no doubt turn their attention to them. Kyla was not willing to contemplate what would happen then. These savages bore no resemblance to the knights of her brother's court.
Muttering under her breath, she ignored Morag's question as well as her own aches and pains and began to move. Climbing over the lip of the cart, she crawled onto the seat beside the slumped driver, grabbed the reins from his slack hands, then gave them a sharp snap. Unnerved by the smell of blood and the battle that raged around them, both animals were more than happy to fulfill her silent order. After a brief spate of snorting and wild rearing, the beasts set out, hooves tearing into the moist earth beneath them as they drew the cart quickly away from the melee.
Movement to her side brought Kyla's eyes around in time to see the previous driver tumble from the bench seat, dislodged by the lurching motion of the wagon. She winced at the thud as he hit the ground, but set her teeth and snapped the reins over the horses again, urging them to greater speed.
"Damnation!" Pushing herself up weakly, Morag peered out the back of the cart. Behind them, their attackers seemed not even to notice their escape.
Kyla scowled and reached back to push her gently down onto the floor of the cart. "Stay down, Morag. You are not well."
The woman snorted at that, but sank down among the furs willingly enough, though not before muttering, "Oh, aye, but ye are, I suppose?"
Disregarding the sarcastic comment, Kyla concentrated on steering their cart through the trees they had entered. They hadn't gone far when she spotted the horses. About twenty of them. No doubt belonging to their attackers. She was just worrying over the idea that they may have left someone to mind the animals when Morag's earsplitting scream rent the air from the back of the cart. Kyla turned just in time to see a figure drop from a tree branch.
He was huge. A veritable mountain that made the whole wagon shudder as he landed in the back of it. Kyla's gaze found the shiny blade he held in one hand and she panicked. With a broken arm and cracked ribs, her nurse maid was helpless against such a brute.
Dropping the reins, she stood, turned, drew her own dirk from her waist, and lunged--all at once. It was really quite amazing that she hit her target, but not only did she hit him, she sent the attacker backward right off the cart.
It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do, Kyla realized. With nothing to hold on to but the person she was tackling, she went tumbling off the wagon with the man. Driverless, the cart continued on its merry way, Morag sc
reeching frantically from the back.
The savage's body cushioned Kyla from the worst of the fall. Yet despite this bit of luck, her landing was jarring and, for a moment, she could only lie atop the man, trying to regain her breath. It was the shine of sunlight reaching delicately through the summer leaves overhead to touch the tip of the blade she had dropped that moved her to action. She had just managed to grasp the dirk when the brawny man she lay on suddenly released a loud roar and rolled her onto her back, a move that sent all of the air rushing out of her lungs.
Gasping in agony, Kyla blindly jabbed her knife at him. Much to her relief, the great bear cursed and moved off her at once. Taking advantage of that, Kyla rolled quickly away from him and onto her stomach, sighing as the pain that had been ripping at her immediately eased a bit. Still, her vision wavered slightly as she eyed him where he now sat, gaping at her with amazement as he grasped the wound she had made in his side. It really wasn't much of a wound from what she could see; once he got over his surprise at her aggressive action, he would no doubt come at her again.
Turning her head, Kyla peered about, her gaze fastening on a good-sized fallen branch a few inches away from her right hand. It was leafless and pale brown from time spent in the elements. The bit nearest her was obviously the tip, but it widened out as it went, growing until it was thicker around at the end than her upper arm. Stretching, she closed her fingers over it, dragging it toward her even as she began to struggle to her hands and knees. Then, grasping it in both hands, she used it to help lever herself back to her feet.
The man recognized her intent the moment she lifted the stump of wood in her trembling arms and turned toward him. He immediately started to rise, but Kyla was already swinging for his head. The wood connected with a crack, the dead branch snapping in half as it slammed into his head. For a moment, Kyla feared all she had managed to do was anger the man further, then, a gurgle of surprise slipped from his lips and he sank back to lie in the leaves and grass.
Kyla felt nausea rise up inside her, then Morag's screams reached her through her dismay. Turning away from her enemy, she hurried after the fleeing cart, her heart nearly stopping when another figure dropped from the trees directly in front of the wagon. Spooked, the horses reared, the cart tipped, and Morag tumbled out with a cry that turned Kyla's blood cold. The cart righted itself and the horses stopped, stomping fearfully at the ground.