Tyler, Lynn - For Her Honor [For Her] (Siren Publishing Classic) (32 page)

Unable to make his voice work, Robbie shook his head, the tears again slipping free. Jamie gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him close until he rested his forehead against his brother’s.

Jamie said nothing as he held Robbie, simply squeezed his shoulders as Robbie collected himself. Distantly, they heard the lone piper play the call to arms. “Perhaps you should stay with Jocelyn,” Jamie murmured, pulling away from him. “A husband’s place is with his wife.

“A laird’s place is with his clan. Jocelyn knows this,” Robbie said thickly, leaving his hand to rest on the butt of his sword. “Let’s away to the great hall.”

The hall was buzzing with activity as Robbie walked in with Jamie informing him of what had already been done. Each man, each woman, was ready for battle. Colin had quickly divided them into groups, the archers already in place at the top of the towers. Each had a quiver full of arrows, ready to shoot as soon as the order was given.

Still more warriors clutched their swords, ready to cleave the heads off the first Campbells they saw. The women were armed to the teeth with knives, dirks, short swords, and anything else they had been able to scrounge up. All that was left was the order.

“For the MacGillivrays!” Garret cried hoarsely, ready to avenge his parents’ deaths.

“For our children!” one of the women screeched, waving her weapon dangerously.

Robbie gazed around at his clan and felt the bloodlust rise within him. Heaving his sword into the air, he let out a thunderous battle cry. “For Jocelyn!” he yelled, tipping his head to the heavens.

One single slice through the air with his broad sword was all that was needed. The inhabitants of the MacGillivray keep and the surrounding village sprang into action.

Robbie raced to the wall and gazed at the gathering troops. This would be a simple matter, he thought. There were only forty Campbells to deal with, and at least eighty of his own people were gathered in the bailey alone. But it was time to send the Campbells a message. If they wanted a blood feud, they would have a blood feud.

He couldn’t help but notice that Henry was not present. He had always thought Eileen’s brother to be stupid, but not a coward. “Ian!” he hollered. “Where is your laird?”

Ian joined him at the wall to survey the area outside of the bailey. “He would have doubled back to collect more warriors,” he said. “They will not be far behind. We have quite the fight ahead of us.” The man quieted for a moment and looked Robbie straight in the eye. “And, if it is all the same, Henry is not my laird. I would swear my loyalty to you, if you will have me.”

Robbie inclined his head and shook Ian’s arm. “You saved my wife,” he said. “You are always welcome as a warrior in the MacGillivray clan.”

Ian grinned and pumped his arm. “Thank you, my laird,” he replied. He turned serious and looked out over the members of his former clan. “They follow him only because he has the blood right to the title of laird. The Campbells want peace as much as any other clan. But they will die if he tells them to.”

Robbie nodded his understanding. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no other course. It looked as if there would be a bloodbath shortly. He only hoped his clan could hold out against the much larger Campbell clan. Bracing himself for what was to come, Robbie turned to face his archers.

With one downward sweep of his broadsword, the arrows flew.

* * * *

Jocelyn stood at her window watching the arrows fly from above her. The time of reckoning had begun. Blood still flowed from her womb, but she knew it probably would for some time. Her pain was manageable, and she felt a certain tug in her heart.

She should be out there, defending her people. She should be defending her husband. She let the window covering fall back into place and paced the length of the room restlessly. She wasn’t used to feeling so useless, so helpless. With a firm nod of her head, she made up her mind.

“My lady?” the midwife called anxiously.

“I will be of more use tending to the wounded than being coddled up here,” she said as she fetched her medicinal box.

The midwife fluttered around her, clearly nervous about what was going on. “My lady, Laird MacGillivray said—”

Jocelyn sighed irritably and strapped her dirk, which Robbie had laid on the table, to her thigh. “I know what he said,” she answered shortly. “Have you not heard I am the wild MacKenna lass? That no man will ever command me?” She could tell from the smile tugging on the midwife’s lips she had heard the rumors. “Now will you help me?”

The midwife nodded and grabbed her own satchel. Together they walked out the door and down the stairs. They were met by chaos.

Women were running through the great hall hauling barrels of kitchen waste toward the ancient trebuchet so the men could fling it over the walls.

Archers were gathering in long lines, awaiting arrows that the fletcher couldn’t make fast enough. Bow makers were re-stringing bows as fast as they could.

The wounded were gathering at one side of the hall, doing their best to tend to their injuries without getting in the way. Jocelyn directed the midwife to the wounded and darted out into the inner bailey.

More wounded were huddled against the wall of the keep, seeking shelter as they made their way inside. The majority of the wounds were arrow piercings, but Jocelyn was relieved to see that none looked very serious.

A great shout and a peal of laughter sounded as chunks of rotten meat, slimy vegetable peelings and moldy hunks of hardened cheese were launched over the wall and onto the attacking clan. She shook her head at their amusement. She was quickly learning that men found the oddest things funny.

It was clear the Campbells were quickly overpowering them. There were so many of them and so few MacGillivrays by comparison. But the MacGillivrays were not about to give up easily.

The archers kept showering arrows outside of the wall, but the arrows were glancing off the thick wooden shields the Campbells bore. They needed to make them more dangerous. She ran back into the keep, sidestepping piles of waste that had been spilled from the barrels.

She found the cook gathering up as many scraps as he could find. “Caleb, what do you use to start the fires with in the morning?” She gasped, bending over as a stitch ripped through her side.

“Whisky,” he answered. “Why?”

Jocelyn smiled grimly. She hurried over to the pile of kitchen rags and pulled them out from under the workspace. “I need you to start soaking these rags in whisky. When they are wet through, bring them to me in the great hall.”

She dodged the midwife on her way out of the kitchen. “I have run out of medicinals, my lady,” she panted, twisting her hands anxiously.

“Go to my apothecary and look in my stores. Use whatever you need. Is anybody seriously hurt?” she asked.

The midwife shook her head. “There are a lot of arrow piercings, and one man fell and broke his arm while he was rushing up the stairs, but that is all.”

“Good,” she said over her shoulder as she ran down the hall. She saw Jamie pacing the wall just outside one of the windows, calling out orders to the archers directly above. “Jamie,” she called.

He turned and paled when he saw her face. “Jocelyn, you should not be up and about,” he said urgently.

Jocelyn flicked her wrist impatiently and wrinkled her nose. “This is no time to be lying about. How many archers do we have?”

His brow lined as he concentrated above the noise and confusion reining below. “Sixteen, two in each forward facing tower. Why?”

There was no way Jocelyn could carry out her plan on her own. “Come,” she called. “I need your help!”

Jamie hauled himself through the window and hurried after her. “Jocelyn, what in the hell are you doing?” he bellowed as she released a flaming torch from its bracket and handed it to him.

“I have got Caleb dipping rags in whisky,” she explained as she liberated another torch. “We will wrap them around the arrows and light them before shooting.”

Jamie stopped and stared at her, his mouth hanging open. “What are you doing?” she asked irritably when she realized he was no longer following her. “Trying to catch flies?”

He rushed to catch up with her, accepting yet another flaming torch. “Jocelyn, if my hands were not full of blazing torches, I would hug you. You are brilliant. Why have we never thought of that?”

Jocelyn cleared her throat and bit down on the facetious comment that was rising in her throat. “We will need the women to stand between the archers, ready to light the arrows for them.” She hastened back to the great hall where the women were gathered, ready to help with any injured men that came in. “Lassies,” she called loudly. “I need eight of you who are not afraid of fire.”

She instantly had eight volunteers, whom she handed the torches to. Caleb entered the hall with whisky-soaked rags, and together, Jamie, Jocelyn and the volunteers ran up the stairs to the towers. Quickly telling the archers what they were going to do, they set about wrapping and lighting the arrows. Soon, the sky looked as if it was raining brimstone on the Campbells, and the enemy began to run for cover, their wooden shields quickly going up flames. Still more volunteers stamped out the flames in the inner bailey caused by any stray arrows that didn’t make it over the wall. Jocelyn stood in the tower with Adam, lighting the arrows for him.

Finally, there were just a few Campbells left. It was clear this battle had been won. Robbie, who was standing on a battlement, turned to the towers, raising his fist in victory. Suddenly an arrow whizzed toward him. Time seemed to slow as Jocelyn screamed a warning too late. The arrow caught Robbie in the fleshy part of his back, down near his hip. He staggered and fell to his knees, narrowly avoiding falling to his death. Several warriors rushed to his aid and hauled him off the wall.

Jamie roared in anger as Adam strung one last arrow and let it fly. It landed short of the offending Campbell. A rage like Jocelyn had never felt shot through her, and she screamed furiously. She grabbed Adam’s bow and lit an arrow herself. She let it fly expertly, and it hit the man squarely in the chest. He hit the ground, hopefully dead before the flames swallowed him. The remaining Campbells fled into the forest, the hooves of their horses ringing as they abandoned their cause.

With a cry of distress Jocelyn flung the bow aside and rushed down the stairs and met the men in the great hall. They sat Robbie up at his direction and looked to Jocelyn for their instructions.

She took a deep, calming breath and reminded herself she was a healer. Her husband needed her. She bent over to look at his side and blanched at what she saw. The arrow had not strayed close to anything vital, but its tip was firmly lodged in his flesh. She couldn’t pull it out without risking much more damage. The arrow would have to be pushed through to the other side.

Looking up, she saw the understanding in his ashen face. “Make it quick, imp,” he rasped, gripping Jamie and Colin on either side of him. The two men grasped him tightly, ready to hold him still for his treatment.

She pushed on the arrow with all her might, feeling it slide through Robbie’s flesh and muscle. His jaw tightened, and his hands fisted against the pain, but he did not move. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the tip pierced through the flesh of his lower abdomen.

Allowing him a few moments to catch his breath before finishing, she grasped the shaft just below the arrowhead. It was slick with blood, and her palms slid sickeningly as she tried to find purchase on the thin shaft of wood. A quick flick of her wrists, and the wood snapped, allowing her to pull the rest of the arrow out through his back smoothly.

She immediately packed his wounds with linen bandages, pressing tightly against the gaping holes to slow the flow of blood. They sat like that for over an hour, Jocelyn never letting up on the pressure, until she deemed it safe to be bound.

Robbie rose unsteadily to his feet and managed to make it to their chambers under his own power. Collapsing onto the bed, he accepted the potion Jocelyn held out for him and fell into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

Afraid of infection setting in, she poured some dried herbs into some hot water Caleb had brought up and let it steep. Unbinding the bandage, she was pleased to see the bleeding had slowed significantly. Using a clean rag, she gently washed his injuries. Alcohol, she knew, was excellent at warding off infection, and she poured a generous amount over each wound, wincing when Robbie awoke to accuse her of killing him.

Rebinding his injuries, she hunched her shoulders as her emotions finally caught up with her. Her head aching, she laid down near Robbie’s good side. She just needed time to think and a few days of indulging in her depressing emotions. She would figure out what to do then.

Chapter
20

Robbie slumped in a chair near the hearth, his gaze resting on his sleeping wife, a mug of ale clenched in his fist. It had been six weeks since the battle with the Campbells, but it seemed as if six months had gone by.

His abdomen still ached slightly where the new skin stretched over the healing wounds. He had been up and about after two weeks, ignoring Jocelyn’s pleas to spend another fortnight in bed.

Jocelyn had refused to comply with the traditional confinement after her miscarriage. She had gone about her responsibilities as a dutiful wife should, tending to his and the others’ wounds carefully, organizing and reorganizing the dwindling rations, and directing the staff. She did everything expected of her and more, but she no longer had the smile on her face or the sparkle in her eye. She was pale and withdrawn, given to snapping at people for the slightest of irritations.