His uncle advised caution. He encouraged the laird to bide his time, size up his enemy, enlist reinforcements if it seemed prudent. They numbered less than two score of Cameron men after all. But watching the sun rise on that early spring morning, Ewen knew in his heart that he could not squander the element of surprise. Besides, Cromwell himself could rain one thousand men down on his Highlands and they’d still be no match for the warriors of Clan Cameron.
No, he would strike today. For perhaps the biggest incentive of all was that his Lily waited for him. He wasn’t keen on the thought of her alone at the keep, with just Robert, John, and a few servants at her back. More importantly, Ewen now knew with certainty that he would make Lily his, and that conviction drove him. He would have his people safe and his land under his control, and not loiter overlong fretting about the most opportune moment to strike. The sun was rising on a cloudless
Highland morning, his men, though few, were braw and ready, and he would heed his instinct and attack on the heels of daybreak.
“Hear me, men! ” Ewen’s baritone rang through their makeshift camp and the laird was at once surrounded by his clansmen, with grim resolve and an almost childlike eagerness for the battle ahead warring on their faces.
“We will strike this very morning, before the sun rises too high overhead.” Ewen silenced the muffled cheers of his men. “Silence, lads. Mark me. Some men fear to fight with England and her troops. But we are not those men. ” The men nodded forcefully, a chorus of “nay’s” sounding through the camp. Ewen continued, his voice intensifying, “S ome spy a redcoat and see a shining musket and the might of Cromwell’s coin. But a Cameron man sees different. A Cameron man sees only another man. ” The laird finished with a shout, “And this morning we will see that man, with sleep still fogging his brain and morning’s hunger gnawing at his belly. A man with breeches about his ankles and his morning bannock still in his throat. Just a man. ”
Ewen let the sentiment resonate and resumed, his voice low with subdued intensity, “But you are not just men. You’re Cameron men. And today we bear the words of our clan. The words that formed us when we were but knots in our mothers’ bellies. They were our lullaby when we were wrinkled bairns wrapped tight in bunting. The words that drove us as we cut our second teeth on cattle raids and wooden swords. The words that made each and every one of us a man, and more than a man. ”
“ Chlanna nan con thigibh a so ’s gheibh sibh feoil! ” he roared. His men cheered wildly, then were silenced as their laird continued in a dangerously quiet voice.
“These are the same words that we declare today, they are the lullaby we ’ll sing to Monk as we send his soldiers to their own very long sleep.
“Sons of the hounds … come here and get flesh. ”
Although prudence dictated the men should march slowly and stealthily through the woods on their way to engage the enemy, the Cameron warriors jogged quickly through the brush, eager to rid their land of its unwanted vermin in red coats.
The laird could tell by the sound of the man ’s panting that it wasn’t one of his more battle -weathered clansmen who ran up alongside. “Ew–… Ewen! ”
Dread knotted his stomach as the laird turned to see Robert, face reddened and chest heaving, standing by his side.
“We rest here, ” Ewen barked, as he grabbed his foster brother’s arm and pulled him out of earshot.
“What are you thinking, fool? I gave you but one task, and it wasn ’t to come chasing after us like a wounded pup. ” Robert did look wounded but stood tall, despite his wheezing. “Are you so hasty to judge, Lochiel? I am no wounded pup. Though I am feeling a bit of the wounded comrade with such an accusation. ” Raising his chin high, Robert announced, “I gave my oath that I would protect Lily and John, and I am bound by my word, sir. Meum pactum dictum! But I ’ve risked travel through the night upon horseback, forced to seek your counsel forthwith, and finally have I found you. I’ve grave tidings to deliver about the state of Tor Castle and the threat espied within its confines. ”
Impatient to return to his attack, Ewen snapped, “ Stop your prattling, lad, and spit out the news. ”
Robert proceeded with his report. “A MacKintosh is within the castle walls, spied in the apartments of none other than the mistress Rowena—I never have trusted that woman, maior risus, acrior ensis, you know. The bigger the smile, the sharper the knife. But that is—”
“You what?! ” Ewen growled. “Are you daft? You spied a threat and instead of fighting you capered down to find me here, leaving Lily and John to make do with the MacKintosh about? What were you thinking, Robbie? ”
“I … Lochiel ” … , Robert stammered.
“Losh, man! ” Ewen exclaimed. “The MacKintosh is an ill-bred skellum who’d barter his sister if he thought he could claim a spit more land in the bargain. ” Ewen rubbed his forehead. “But a Cameron, och, he ’d slit a Cameron throat in a crack for just a glimpse of the Loch Arkaig. ”
“There is no need to jump to such an ill -informed conclusion. Lily and I have formulated a plan. She and John have snuck out of the castle to spirit themselves out of harm’s way in a boat concealed in a cove off Loch Linnhe. ”
Incredulous, Ewen asked, “You sent them off in a wee boat?”
“I did. ” Robert looked proud of himself.
“Did you put them in this boat yourself?”
“I did not, but I trust that Lily is more than competent in that regard.”
“Aye. ” Ewen gave a quick nod. “The lass is more than competent. But did you give a thought as to where they might be headed in your dinghy? Or are they simply to float about the loch until this MacKintosh becomes bored and decides to go on his way?”
“I …well…”
“Och, lad, ” Ewen growled, “keep it. ” The laird inhaled sharply and looked toward some distant spot for a moment.
“You ’ve done what you think best, I see that. ” Resigned, he raked his hand through his hair and concluded, “That what’s done is done, aye? We ’ve a task at hand, we’ve no choice now but to finish what we ’ve begun and hope Lily and John are safe and away in your wee boat. John’s an industrious lad, he’ll know where to land. ” The laird nodded as if saying a thing could make it true.
“We ’re about to break our fast with some redcoats, and I ’ll not have you blundering through the woods and betraying our position.” The laird looked to a distant point in the trees uncharacteristic agitation knotting his brow. “Och, I don’t like it, but you’ll follow with us, lad. Stay behind and well away from the fight. Then I ’ll send some men back to the keep with you. ” Ewen clapped his foster brother on the shoulder, his anxiety fading into bluster. “The men will make easy work of it, aye? You ’ll be back to Tor in short order. ” He abruptly gripped Robert ’s shoulder with a small shake as he added, “And you ’ll do naught but find and keep Lily and John. ”
Robert could only nod in answer.
Ewen sprinted back to the impatient cluster of Highlanders. “We ’re off, men. We ’ve wasted enough of the morning. ” Once again the Highland warrior, he looked slowly from man to man then thundered, “There ’s bonny weans in red frocks who ’d hear a Cameron lullaby. ”
It was but a slight rustling of bushes that announced the approaching Highlanders, then a sudden wave of tartan-clad Camerons burst from the woods surrounding Monk’s encampment. A young, towheaded officer spied them first, and his tin mug hit the dirt, splattering silty coffee all over the white breeches of his redcoat uniform. The comrades by his side were not so stunned. A few of the British soldiers managed to fire off a round at close range, felling a Cameron clansman as he emerged from the trees. The crofter jerked backward and fell, his body hitting the ground with a final bucking spasm.
So it begins, Ewen thought grimly. He shook his head and with a roar raised his claymore high.
The initial surprise spent, it was time to charge, voices howling, swords brandished wildly. Their berserk ferocity belied the expert precision of what was a typical Highland attack: startling, loud, violently short.
Terrified by such an assault on what had promised to be a serene blue-sky morning, many of the Englishmen made the single most critical—and fatal—error that a soldier can make when wielding a firearm against sword and targe. A knot of young redcoats fired their muskets far too soon to find vulnerable flesh amongst the Highland warriors. Before they could reload, the Camerons were upon them.
“Cameron men! Aonaibh ri cheille!” Ewen’s call to unite thundered over the din. Swords cleaved through guns made pathetically useless by their empty barrels; metal clattered as shaking hands attempted in vain to reload; and one sound endured like a sickening drone in the ears, the suck and dull thud of flesh as it hit the ground lifeless.
“Lochiel! ” Ewen turned at the sound of his uncle ’s voice.
“To Malcolm! ” Donald shouted. “Away to Malcolm, lad! ”
The laird quickly scanned the field and spotted the redheaded clansman. Cornered by two redcoats, Malcolm had sustained a belly wound and a deep gash to his sword arm, and the man’s strength was flagging.
Ewen hastened to Malcolm’s side, darting between tangles of fighting men and bounding over the bodies of fallen soldiers. A redcoat sprang in front of him, and the laird barely slowed his pace as he smashed the soldier’s firearm away with his claymore then slashed across the man’s suddenly exposed torso.
He closed in on Malcolm. Approaching his clansman’s attackers quickly from behind, Ewen skewered one with his tremendous sword. He placed his foot on the back of the downed redcoat, and retrieved his claymore. The action took only a moment, but looking up, Ewen realized in horror that he had been too late. Malcolm sunk to his knees, a redcoat bayonet in his chest.
Savage rage consumed the laird. He swung his claymore down and sheared easily through the redcoat’s collarbone, killing him instantly.