Blood Of The Clans Ch 49

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.

Blood sprayed and poured from men, their limbs and appendages littered the ground, while entrails gushed from them, as their bellies were sliced open. The stench of death filled the air and the horses began panicking and trying to run, unable to be among the dead any longer. The men used it to their advantage and drove outward, thrashing and hacking with all effort, as the steeds reared and thrashed with hooves. The outer ring saw the move and kept the push forward going strong, compressing the fighting area and lessening the MacRae troops chances of escaping.

Without knowing who was truly the enemy, the MacDonald's inadvertently killed their new allies, the MacLean's. Iain watched with great sorrow at being unable to save them, their fates sealed with the pact made with MacRae. Grayson looked back at him and saw the loss take him hard. He knew in his heart that Iain was prepared to lose some men to regain honour and favour with his clan again, but seeing it happen, brought the sacrifice to his heart like the point of a sword.

They sailed away from the beginning fray and the attacking cavalry, landing closer to Donan. Iain felt the loss of each of his clansmen as they fell, but knew it was a small percentage, as most of his men made up the second wave of riders, now charging with MacRae. Grayson, Iain and the clansmen ran the birlinn into the shore and leapt from the sides. Garreth watched in wonder, as he recognized the pale, muted colours of the MacLean tartan and Iain, coming with Grayson towards him.

"So ye came tae yer senses did ye, Iain? I've warned the men tae no attack yer clansmen, but ye'll ha'e tae let those ones know they've changed sides. How do ye plan on doing that?" Garreth asked him pointedly, seeing them come around the point, just over a hundred yards behind the cavalry.

"I want everyone tae shout our battle cry, bas no beatha, (live or die). Me, and my men, will be out front fer them tae see our tartan and know it's not a trick. I'll gi'e them a signal they know and they'll break off from attack. God save me past this charge fer it tae happen." Iain fretted his worries, as the cavalry neared the first lines of men.

"Don't take such worry, Iain. In a moment, ye'll see why my men up there are so calm. Watch the cavalry as they approach." Garreth told him. "Best watch from o'er there." he told Grayson and the others, pointing to the nearby woods.

Word was quickly spread to the men on what to shout and awaited Iain's signal.

All faces were turned and watched the advancing chargers bearing down with lances on the front lines of soldiers. The first row suddenly started dropping from sight, the riders hurled onto the ground, or crushed by their mounts, the confusion of where to go putting the next row in a panic to find a way past. Riders tried leaping over the others, but their weight was too great for the horses to clear the pits, tripping them up and being crushed by the tumbling chargers. As some made it past the first set, they fell into the subsequent ones, lessening their numbers greatly, before they made it to the front lines. By the time they cleared the pits, the charging cavalry had lost over thirty riders, their ability to re-group impossible.

With the confusion of the moment, the front line of men readied their spears and charged forward. The multitude of points were aimed at the horse's chests, the ability to stop a horse being greater than the rider. The chargers turned towards the men bearing down on them in an effort to defend against them. Points met and men and horse were gored as they collided. Blades were drawn by the men and engaged the riders, dragging them from their mounts and delaying the rest from advancing through. The line held as long as they could, before the cavalry broke through and bore down on Garreth and his men in the next line. Grayson and the others on foot, ran for the woods to keep out of the way, as the thundering hooves came closer. One hundred yards was being closed fast, as the cavalry formed a spearhead attack to break open a swath.

Garreth had waited until this moment and then reached into his tunic and pulled out a large square of yellow silk, unfurling it and screaming out the clan motto, "Hold Fast". In moments, the men could feel the charge in the air, the energy surrounding them, making their skin tingle as a result. Grayson looked around him and couldn't believe what his eyes beheld, as their numbers seemed to be increasing to double in strength and more. The Fairy Flag glowed in the sunlight like a beacon, it's powers unleashed by the only one who could summon them, the chief of the MacLeod's.

The cavalry were committed to attack and ready to charge into the front lines, unable to stop the inevitable. What seemed like a single line of one hundred riders, had become a mass of rows, one after the other. With no other choice but disbelief, they continued the charge and broke through. Quickly swarmed, they couldn't break through the lines and began combat. Rennie and MacRae had watched the events unfold at the pits and quickly changed course to ride around them, taking them closer to the water.

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"Excuse me, Mr Stewart, but what's a fairy flag? It can't mean what I think it means." Sean asked, sparking thoughts off in the other's heads to what he meant.

With a laugh, Stuart told him it was an ancient artifact that was given to their ancestors by a fairy queen, not a banner for Gay Pride.

"No one knows fer sure where it actually came from, but the silk is from the near east, from around the fourth tae sixth century. They did tests on it years back tae prove its authenticity, but nothing came about other than that. To its powers, well, yer hearing about it now in this telling and that's been written about by many people. Every MacLeod pilot in WWII that fought in the Battle of Britain or the bombing raids on Germany came back. Not one was lost. They say its because every one carried a picture or a tiny piece of the flag wi' them on every mission. Does'ne seem possible, when ye look at the losses, but not one was killed. So there's something tae be said about its powers, whether ye believe it or not. Would ye like tae see it? It's in my office and I'll tell ye of the tales surrounding it. Might as well look at it and see it fer yerself. It's old and tattered and very fragile, so it's behind glass." Stuart told him.

"Sounds like me, so it does." Argus quipped and everyone laughed, as they headed into Stuart's office.

Two floors above in Deb's room, the women had set out all the material for her on the four poster bed. Quickly, Deb started picking samples up and held them to her body, as she looked in the mirror.

"These are absolutely gorgeous!" Deb exclaimed happily. "Ladies, how can I ever thank you enough for this." she spun around and told them, smiling out her joy to them.

"Then let's put them together and make a dress for you, Deb." Lisa suggested, seeing how well everything went together.

The call came from the women to get started taking measurements and pinning it together, so Deb excitedly started to undress,.Removing her blouse and casual slacks, eyes took notice of her body being bared and the sexy undergarments barely covering her. While Margret MacLeod opened her sewing kit and took out a cloth measuring tape, Deb heard the murmured whispers and noticed all the eyes in the mirror, looking at her body. Clad only in her lacy, pale, pink bra and matching thong panties, they barely had enough material to cover her modestly, the lacy triangle revealing her smooth, shaven skin underneath.

"What can I say? I love pretty underthings. I got this set at La Senza for my birthday, from Tom. He likes them too, but of course, if he has half a chance, they won't stay on for long." Deb acknowledged some of her intimacies, to add to their suspicions.