Robert and the men watched patiently, waiting for the last of the foot soldiers to make it over the last mounding ridge, before they rode for the birlinns. He hoped the archers would keep the army occupied defending themselves and not take notice of the attack behind them. When the sounds of shouts and confusion echoed back to them, Robert knew the attack had begun and silently wished his men well, then signalled Gordon to go for the birlinn.
As quietly as they could, Gordon and thirty men made their way through the trees towards the coast, staying out of sight as long as possible, before they had to make an open attack. Some of the men were sitting in the birlinns, while others sat on shore. Blair was lying on the ground, resting against a fallen tree, joking with the men that it would take more than an arrow from a MacDonald to kill him. Talk turned to killing MacDonald's in the most heinous of means, each trying to outdo the last in the method they'd use. While the men laughed about torturing the MacDonald's, they themselves had come close enough to hear what they were saying.
Three hundred feet lay between the enemies, most of it open land, but a great deal was boggy ground, bared during low tide. The breaking of dried branches under the hooves of the horses alerted the men on shore, stopping the laughter. Swords were drawn and eyes searched everywhere for the cause of the sound. Knowing their cover was gone, Gordon gave the order to charge out of the trees, racing out with swords brandished and swinging in circles. Wild yelling filled the air and echoed off the steep slopes surrounding them. The men were caught off guard and never expected so many attackers. They raced for the birlinns and succeeded in launching two of them, all sixty men pushing hard, their feet getting mired in the boggy ground.
Gordon and his men raced towards them and suddenly found the ground was unable to support their weight and the horses began stumbling. Quickly they rose, covered in bog and made for the abandoned birlinn. Blair had the men row hard out to open water, as archer's arrows started finding their way into the craft. Sails were raised and oars were plied with all the strength the men could muster. The breeze coming out of Glen Sheil gave them much needed speed, as Gordon and his men finally pushed the mired boat off the boggy ground and set it afloat. The oars were set in their locks and quickly rowed, as the birlinn came around and raised it's sail. The count was given and the strokes measured for maximum speed. Spray began to rise over the bow, as the birlinn rode from one wave to the next.
Glendon led fifty men along the coast, wanting to catch up to the cannon and stop it from making its destination. Keeping the high treeline between them, Glendon made it past them unseen and set up a crossfire ambush. Captain Lockstone almost rode into the narrow gap, but turned his horse and rode back to the rear of the line. He looked back at the path taken and watched for anyone following behind. It was always on his mind to remember how the road travelled can change, when you leave a place and danger can become your travelling companion. Satisfied that no one was coming, he started back for the head of the line, when he saw the first archers rising up and taking aim.
Before he could shout a warning, ten arrows were let loose and sank deep into the sides and necks of the lead team. The cannon stopped and the line began to cascade into the rear, as the silent attack took them unaware. Lockstone shouted for muskets to the flanks and charge the archers. In the short time it took to scale the mounds, the archers were already gone, riding on to their next point of attack. The dead animals were unyoked and pulled to the side, while others were taken from the supply carts and used in their place. Soldiers were positioned on the flanks, their muskets ready for anyone who surprised them again. Lockstone ordered a rider to go ahead and scout for ambushes, or any place they could use for one. Men were put to the task of making up for the oxen lost and helped push the carts and cannon forward.
Glendon had six men dismount and take stations behind fallen logs and cover themselves with branches and leaves. Their chance of escaping would be harder this time, their only recourse being the thick woods around them and making it through it to their horses again. Each man readied his dorlochis so he could ready another arrow in the shortest time. Glendon had their horses tied a hundred yards away, keeping them far enough away to not be spotted, but also to give his men as good a chance of escaping as he could. He judged the distance visually, then said a quiet prayer in their honour, before quickly riding on.
The scouts came close a few minutes later, as they scanned the area carefully. Two stopped beside a hidden clansmen and discussed the possibilities of where an attack could come from. He lay motionless and held his breathing to an absolute minimum, doing his best not to give away his precarious position, hoping to God he wasn't seen and butchered where he lay. The sound of brush being cleared away quickly signalled him his other ambushers had decided to attack the scouts. He judged their position to him and rose to his knees quickly, as he took aim. The scout he had in his sights was facing away, but turned as he heard the noise. The clansmen let loose his arrow, the short distance travelled in less than a second. The point pierced the underside of the scout's jaw and entered his brain, before rising through the top of his skull and toppling him off his horse.
The other was taken down by two arrows in quick succession by two others and had him laying close beside the other. As the other two scouts rode back to defend their own, the other archers rose up and felled them as they rode by. As quickly as they could, they ran a sword through the fallen, then their bodies were dragged away and hidden, while their horses were sent running away into the woods. The clansmen made their way through the dense woods to their horses and mounted up with haste. Smiles were easily worn as they started riding away, but several shots roared out and took two away.
The enemy riders who were scouting higher up had spotted the attack and dismounted, making their way down silently. As the others continued to ride away faster, a couple turned their heads back in time to see their own have swords run through them, equalling their own deeds. Smiles vanished, loss bringing back the grim reality to them, as the four raced up into the hills and trees to the next rendezvous point. Glendon's face paled at seeing only four men return, then scanned the faces for his nephew, Daniel, only to feel his heart sink to despair at not seeing him. Gordon would be devastated to know of the loss of his eldest son and telling him would cause just as much grief to him as well. Sadly, he said nothing and stayed to the task at hand, but worried for his own son, Cavendish, who was back with Robert's men and unaware he had volunteered and been chosen to go ahead and ambush MacRae's forces.
"How many did ye take out?" he asked the men as they came to him.
"Four scouts. We were riding away, when muskets took out two of ours. Glendon, I'm sorry fer yer loss, we did'ne know they had riders up in the treeline watching fer us. Danny was one of them. They did him quick at least and no let him suffer. Same as Scott Kirkpatrick. He was dead before he fell off his horse. I was looking at him when he was hit, the shot tore through his chest and left a gaping hole in him." Jacob Pollock told him sadly, knowing how close Glendon was with his nephew.
"We've no more spots we can ambush from. If we try tae stop them, it's a full attack, man tae man and we don't ha'e enough men tae hold them fer long." Glendon told them.
