Seventy farmers and one warrior against a hundred trained knights and soldiers. Their odds were bad. Only if Craig with his men came would they stand a chance.
If not, Ian would have even more deaths of innocent people on his hands.
Chapter 23
Kate stirred the soup in the cauldron hanging over the campfire. The night brought a chill to her body. In the darkness, campfires around the farm were burning. The air was loud with clanging swords and men grunting and cursing as they trained at sword-fighting.
Kate glanced up to find the tallest figure of all. There he was, the man she loved, fighting like a lion, his hair gold-red in the light of so many fires. He was the dance. The dance of battle, the dance of war.
The dance of death.
The flashes of his arms, the lines and angles of his legs as he stepped, whirled, and cut with the sword were beautiful. Mesmerizing.
He was the Highlands itself. A gorgeous warrior of might and power. And heart.
Of course she’d fallen in love with him. And he believed her, for God’s sake. Who would believe the crazy story of time travel? Had they switched places, she certainly wouldn’t have.
And he was damaged, like she.
He’d never be whole, he’d told her. That’s how she felt, too.
And now the pain was even worse because Ian was doing his duty, taking care of his people. And she? She’d selfishly abandoned hers in order to stay with the man she loved in a place where she could be killed.
What would happen to Mandy and Jax then?
She should have never come back with Ian to Dundail. She should have insisted she’d leave.
But the day had been busy. After they’d left Dundail, they’d visited three farms today. Ian had been magnificent, sitting on his black horse, the charcoal cross in his hand, his hair like a flame itself. He’d called for his people. He’d called for them to rise together with him and to die protecting their lives and families or be victorious.
He’d said a Gaelic prayer, and they had all answered. Fire kindled in their eyes, their chests puffed, their chins rose, their shoulders straightened.
“Cruachan!” Ian cried. “To our land! To Scotland!”
Cruachan was the Cambel clan war cry, as Kate learned.
“Cruachan!” they echoed.
And so now there were twenty people here. Ian had been training them in sword-fighting and archery ever since they arrived. Ian said they all lacked battle training. Half of them didn’t even have swords, so they were assigned to bows and arrows.
Finally, Kate saw, they were all getting tired. One by one, they came to her and she served them the soup.
She liked to feel useful and there was gratitude in their eyes.
Ian came and sat next to her by the fire. He accepted the bowl of soup and kissed her hand.
“Thank ye,” he said.
His forehead glistened with sweat and his tunic was wet under his armpits and on his chest. He still breathed heavily, but satisfaction played in his eyes.
“No problem,” Kate said. “Eat up.”
“Mmm.” Ian closed his eyes and shook his head appreciatively. “Verra good soup, lass. Better than anything I’ve eaten in a camp kitchen.”
Kate smiled, joy blooming in her chest from the compliment. “How is it going?”
Ian’s face darkened. “They’re nae warriors. Just honest farmers. They’d need months of training to stand a chance against a trained enemy like the English. We only have days at best.”
The reality of the war became apparent to Kate for the first time. They did face death, faced the real horrors of violence. Things she’d only heard of and seen on TV and in movies back in her life in the twenty-first century. Kate’s skin chilled and prickled.
But she wouldn’t be a coward. She wouldn’t make Ian’s life more difficult than it already was.
“Listen,” she said. “I was thinking, wouldn’t it be better that I leave, now that you need all your strength for your people? You have enough people to think about. I don’t want to add to your troubles. And I really need to get back to help my family.”
His face fell. “Leave now? My reluctance to let ye go aside, lass, ’tis verra dangerous.”
Kate looked into the fire. “But I don’t want to—”
He set the bowl of soup aside and took both of her hands in his, making her look into his eyes. They were dark brown in the dim light, framed by his long, light eyelashes, and both concern and heat shone through them.
“Ye dinna add to my troubles,” he said slowly and firmly. “Never.”
Her eyes prickled.
“But I…I can’t function in this century. I don’t know how things work. I didn’t even know how to light that bread oven, for God’s sake. If you hadn’t started a fire, I couldn’t have cooked… And now I’m worried you will always need to look over your shoulder to see if I’m protected instead of having your full attention on saving your own life.”
Ian chuckled. “Women born in my century canna start a fire, either. Noble ladies canna cook. And they certainly wouldna have accompanied their man to a war, too afraid of the field inconveniences. And if ye’re worried about protection.”
He stood up and held his hand out to her. “I’ll teach ye how to protect yerself.”
Kate put her hand in his and stood up. Ian reached behind his back and removed a long, sharp knife.
“There are six vulnerable areas in a man’s body,” Ian said. “Eyes, throat, nose, solar plexus, groin, and knee. Now, most likely, those men will be in armor, so it wilna be as easy to reach those areas.”
He held out the dagger, handle towards Kate.
“So this will be yer best shot to protect yerself. Take the dirk.”
“Ian, I can’t. It’s your weapon.”
“Aye, lass, ye can. Take it. I have my sword. I’ll be calmer knowing ye have this.”
Kate swallowed and took the
