Suddenly the noise on the field began to fade, starting from the back of the attacking army and moving to the front in a slow wave of silence. Harcourt looked for what had caused it and began to swear viciously. Behind the army that was already defeating them appeared even more soldiers. These were mounted men, each wearing pieces of armor and mail they had undoubtedly taken from the bodies of some defeated foe. At least twenty of them sat on their heavy warhorses behind Sir Adam’s men, swords in hand. It was hard to see through the many shadows cast by a setting sun but Harcourt suspected there were more men behind the ones he could see.
Then the one mounted on a huge gray gelding gave a signal to the others and started to ride forward, his men keeping pace on his flanks. Ten more mounted men came out of the shadows to join the arc of steel and warhorse moving toward and around Sir Adam’s army. The first of Sir Adam’s men they reached were swiftly cut down, surprise and uncertainty making them slow to see the threat. The others immediately began to fight, or, in the case of any who were outside that arc, run.
Shock held Harcourt silent for a moment. This was all he could have hoped for yet would never have expected to get. Although it was obvious these men were not allies of Adam’s, Harcourt could not be sure they would be allies of him, either.
Then the man on the gray gelding bellowed out, “For Glencullaich and Sir David!”
The battle quickly grew even more fierce and bloody. Seeing only an ally now, Harcourt ordered his men down off the walls even as Nathan ordered someone to open the gates. Once in the bailey and the gates had finished opening, Harcourt led them out to attack the enemy from behind. Their enemy was now pinned between two groups of men eager to kill them. For the first time since he had seen the army at the walls, Harcourt could taste victory and it was sweet.
Chapter Nineteen
Covered in sweat, dirt, blood, and a few things he preferred not to look closely at, Harcourt stood and watched the man on the gray gelding dismount and walk up to Sir Adam who was encircled by men who had ridden with him. The man tore off his helmet and tossed it to the ground. Sir Adam paled and staggered back a step. Harcourt had to stiffen his legs to stop himself from doing the same. It was David, he thought, and knew that was impossible. Either Nigel was not as dead as people had thought, or David had at least one other close kinsman who was willing to avenge him and stand by his family.
“Ye were supposed to die in France, ye bastard!” screamed Sir Adam and he charged the man.
Sir Adam did not lack skill with his sword, but he was clearly allowing his emotions to control him. The man who looked so much like David was coldly enraged but was not allowing his obvious loathing and fury at Sir Adam to cloud his mind and steal any of his impressive skill. It was not long before Sir Adam was bleeding from several wounds, struggling to stay on his feet.
“Ye should have died in France,” Adam repeated, his tone that of a child deprived of some sweet he wanted. “It was all planned and it was a good plan.”
“I ken it. Seven years, ye bastard. Ye stole away seven years of my life. I escaped two years ago but it has taken me this long to heal and get home.” The man easily knocked aside Sir Adam’s attempt to cut him with his sword. “I lost two good men, two friends as close to me as brothers, in that hellpit ye had us thrown into. And when I arrive home, it is to discover that ye had the world thinking I was dead, made certain no message from me e’er reached my brother. Ye left me to doubt him, to e’en blame him for what was happening.” He glanced up at the gravestone on the hill. “Then I discover that ye killed him ere I could apologize for those disloyal thoughts.”
“Aye! And I saw to it that the fool would ne’er produce an heir!”
“Actually,” said Harcourt, “I believe he was trying to get him killed but was probably nay so unhappy by what he got for his troubles.”
The man spit at Sir Adam’s feet. “Ye filthy bastard! Ye sent that crazed fool after David?”
“This should all be mine!”
When Sir Adam lunged at the man who looked so much like David, that man easily deflected his strike and ran his sword into Adam’s belly. He then gripped Sir Adam by the shoulder and yanked out his sword. Harcourt could not be sure, but he strongly suspected the man had twisted it a few times as he did so. Sir Adam fell to his knees, clutching his belly in a vain attempt to hold himself together.
“It was ne’er to be yours,” the man said. “David and I came before all others. Ye die here, Adam, on the land ye thought to steal and in full view of the grave of the mon ye had murdered.” He stepped back, turned toward David’s grave, and saluted it with his raised sword, a gesture his men repeated with an admirable precision. Then, with one graceful twist of his body and a swift swipe of his sword, he took off Adam’s head.
Harcourt looked around at the once beautiful fields. They were torn up by foot and hoof. Groups of survivors from Sir Adam’s army, guarded by either his men or their new allies, sat in the middle of it all. The ground was strewn with bodies, thankfully those of the enemy, and not all of them whole. He looked at the man who had killed Sir Adam only to find that man aiming his sword at him. Harcourt’s companions moved to flank him as did men from Glencullaich much to his surprise. If this was Nigel or another close kinsman of David’s he could be their new laird.
“Who are ye?” he asked the man.