Grayson's eyes were locked onto Blair, never taking them off of him. The bow cast the spray into his face, his red hair becoming drenched, as the birlinn skimmed the surface of the dark water. Blair and his men could see them coming and rowed as fast as they could, the inability to steer making it more difficult. Blair could see his father and yelled out to him, but he was still too far away for any assistance in cover fire. MacRae sat on his horse and watched, as Grayson's birlinn closed on his son. He yelled for archers to fire upon Grayson, but none were able to cover the distance. Helpless to do anything, he watched as the last yards were covered and knew his son's birlinn was going to be rammed, leaving them too far out to assist.
"Steer for the men and crush them, Iain." Grayson yelled back to him and Iain set his course for them.
Blair heard Grayson call out his name and knew his suspicions were correct, MacLean had turned on them. With nothing else they could do, the men bailed overboard and tried to swim for shore, as the bow of Grayson's birlinn rode over the side of the battered birlinn and splintered the wood as it did. Grayson looked to see where Blair went, as the hull rode over and back into the water on the other side. Men fired arrows at the swimmers as they went past, hitting four and ending their chance of making it to shore.
Bring it back around, Iain." Grayson shouted and Iain swung the tiller hard over, bringing them about quickly and then the men began rowing again. "Run them down and take them out. Archers ready yer arras. Rowers, if ye can, knock them under wi' yer oars. No man is tae make it tae shore alive."
Grayson scanned the wreckage and the water surrounding it, looking for signs of MacRae. He could make out seven heads in the water, but didn't know one from the other, or which one was Blair. As he neared, it was his luck that Blair turned to face him and gave himself away. Grayson undid his belts and dropped his kilt and armour, keeping his dirk only in his hand. Waiting until he was close enough, he leapt from the side on top of Blair, driving him under water. Grayson couldn't get a good hold of him and Blair was able to break free and surface. As fast as he could, his dirk was out and looking for Grayson to surface. Not seeing him come up right away, he looked underwater in time to see Grayson's dirk heading for his chest.
Quickly he manoeuvred sideways and escaped the blade. He thrust his dirk down at Grayson, hoping to catch his unprotected side, but Grayson was prepared and grabbed his wrist and pulled him under. Blair grabbed Grayson's wrist in return and both men were locked in a stand off, sinking slowly deeper as they struggled.
James watched in frustrated panic, as his son went under, knowing there was nothing he could do to help him. The other men were methodically picked off by arrows and swords, some bashed over the head by oar blades. By the time the birlinn passed, not one man was swimming to shore.
Deep below them, the struggle continued. With the light fading, all Blair could see was the rage in Grayson's eyes and knew he was determined to kill him, or die trying. He kicked out and fought to come up for air, his lungs burning and his head beginning to fail in thinking. He kicked Grayson in the chest and broke free, making for the surface with all haste. Grayson swam after him and both broke the surface and gasped in air. Both lunged and swung their blades at each other, as they tried to stay afloat. Tips and edges grazed flesh and stained the water red around them.
James watched his son's struggle, helpless to come to his aid, as he tried to swim and slashed out at Grayson, trying to keep him from making it to shore. Blair made a bit of distance between Grayson and himself and used it to start kicking at him. With a lucky shot, he smashed his foot into Grayson's face, stunning him and giving him a break to swim. Blair's kilt weighed him down and made it hard to make good speed, but he strained with each stroke of his arms to make shore and the safety of his father's men. Grayson felt the pain in his nose and knew it was broken, but never paid any mind to it. His attention went back to Blair, now a good distance away. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the water and swam after him. Blood trailed from his nose, as he began closing on Blair. He could see him struggling to swim above him and began to rise to him, his dirk firm in his hand and ready to strike.
As Blair neared his father, he smiled at him, feeling safety at how close he was. James watched him and felt an ease at thinking he would make it to him. As both became assured of him walking from the loch, Grayson's dirk found the exposed belly of Blair and drove deeply into it. James could see the pain on his son's face, but didn't know what was happening. Blair suddenly rolled onto his back and the dirk could be seen embedded in him. Grayson surfaced and took hold of the dirk again and pulled it through Blair's abdomen, slicing it open and spilling his entrails into the water. James screamed in horror at seeing his son die before his eyes, then screamed again for every archer to fire at Grayson.
As the arrows released, Grayson ducked under the water and swam as hard as he could to get out of range of the arrows and back to his birlinn. Iain could see the danger Grayson was in and made a heading for where he thought he would surface. He used the birlinn as a shield for him and came into fire from the archers. The men used targes to defend themselves from the arrows, as they scoured the waters for where Grayson was. He surfaced a short distance away and swam for the side, then hands pulled him aboard and shortly after, oars were out and plied through the water, bringing them out of range and into safety once again.
Grayson looked back at the body of Blair MacRae floating on the water, as men went out to retrieve it. He looked on shore and saw James glaring at him, his eyes filled with rage and vengeance towards him. In his heart, Grayson felt a peace at knowing the man who had defiled his woman, had paid for his sins. He held his dirk up and then pointed it at James. insinuating he was going to use it on him too. James raged at his challenge and demanded he come and fight him. Grayson laughed loudly at him, as they made their way towards Donan and he re-dressed again.
James ordered the attack out of vengeful rage, his mind focused only on the death of his enemies and nothing more. Taking Donan became secondary, ending the lives of those he despised, becoming more of importance. Rennie didn't agree in his mind, but followed the command and gave the order for his cavalry to lead the attack. Taking Donan was his mission and he secretly made plans to countermand any order MacRae made, that he felt jeopardized the objective. His allegiance was to the Earl and the King of Scotland, so stated in his orders by Thomas Marlborough, not James MacRae. If killing MacRae accomplished his goal, then it would be so.
The heavy pounding echoed off the hills, signalling the beginning of the attack. Garreth's men were positioned two hundred yards away, the pits a scant fifty yards in front of them. Garreth had the men hold their positions, as the cavalry bore down on them, their spear tips glinting in the mid-day sun. The line began to spread out, as they made the clearing, widening their swath of attack, and closing fast on the pits.
MacRae and Rennie waited back until the cavalry was close to engaging, then began the second wave. James led the charge at full gallop, his sword brandished high and screaming his rage out. Rennie stayed close, but kept his attention on the hills, more than the line ahead of him. He could see the blind focus of MacRae on killing men and not being aware of any attacks from the flanks. The foot soldiers brought up the rear, now running at a good speed. The cavalry was to break through the front lines and open a path for the second wave, which were to ride to the gate and begin the attack. This would leave the way clear for the foot soldiers to mass on the castle and begin the siege. The cavalry made at full charge for Garreth's line of three hundred men, ready to trample them and engage with him and his one hundred men on horse behind them.
High up in the hills above, a lone figure watched the battle unfold before him. He focused on the second wave of attackers, the large size of the leader easily recognized. He kept his concentration on every move he made and what happened to him. Wanting a better vantage point, he carefully made his way down, keeping MacRae in sight as best he could. Lightly touching his chest, the painful sting reminded him of what he had to do. Kirklan Douglas had one mission in his life, see James MacRae dead, or kill him himself. He held the amulet he wore around his neck, given to him by the old woman, Leigh. Despite her homely looks that never granted her a place in a man's heart, she became a noted member of their clan as their healer and one who had helped bring most of the clan into this world and cared for them. Most thought of her as a mother, while the elders knew her darker calling as a witch. Many wore amulets and came to rid themselves of ails and demons, while others came for advice on how to vanquish a foe. Kirklan was one who wanted that advice.
Casting a spell on a clay effigy of MacRae, she cursed him to lose all he had, then embedding her powers into a smooth stone, etched with symbols, she blessed Kirklan with good fortune on his journey and safe passage, then placed the amulet around his neck. She told him he would be invisible to his enemies as long as he wore it and he believed in every word she uttered. He was standing there at that moment, unseen and unharmed as she had told him he would. He had followed MacRae's march to Donan on horseback from a safe distance behind, never seen or bothered by any who would do harm to him. He ate well and slept in relative comfort under the stars.
Holding the cursed, clay figurine in his hands, he had uttered the words she told him to say and he watched in amazement, as the curse took effect. One scene after another had played out before him and at each turn, MacRae was being defeated and losing all he had. She was good to her word and now had a new believer and follower of her dark arts. As much though as MacRae lost, Kirklan would never be satisfied until the blood of James MacRae ran upon the ground and stained it for ever more.
Coming fast from behind, Robert and his men were riding full speed, the element of surprise still to their advantage, as they rounded the last bend. The foot soldiers at the rear had no idea what was upon them, as two hundred and sixty swords and axes began felling them like crops at harvest. They kept riding into the midst of them, before they could go no further and began a standing fight. Quickly they were swarmed by four hundred men, only a third of the massive force who out-numbered them. Robert and the men began fending off two or three attackers at a time, many unable to meet the challenge and died from numerous points entering them.. The rest of the troops kept charging after the cavalry, most near the front not knowing of the conflict behind them. Seeing the attack begin, Iain and his two hundred savage farmers bolted from cover and began surrounding the attack, circling the enemy between forces attacking in and another attacking outward. An impenetrable ring of death began.
The numbers became more equal in strength, combatants now squaring off in pairs, giving others the chance to put the odds in their favour. Lochaber axes were thrust low past the front men, the razor sharp blades slicing thighs and calves of the men they battled, then hooks wrapped around ankles and tripping other men to the ground, where they were quickly dispatched with sword or axe. Slowly the middle band dwindled in size, as did the inner core and outer band as well. Horses trampled men underfoot, completing what a weapon hadn't done, while some horses were killed, their riders becoming trapped and set upon by numerous blades.
