Son of the Morning

From the other side Sim released an arrow. He had no definite target so he sent it flying into a thick bush capable of providing concealment. His guess was correct, because a cry of pain split the cold air.

–Niall took advantage of the distraction to move yet again, sliding behind another tree, much closer than he had been when caught by the arrow. His white teeth gleamed as he tilted back his head and loosed a bloodcurdling roar. He erupted from his cover like a lion springing for its prey. Four men sprang from concealment, startled by the bloody apparition that was suddenly upon them, huge sword flashing. One man managed to get his own sword up and metal rang against metal, but he went down under Niall’s greater weight.

Sim andIver each loosed one more arrow, then sprang forward screaming their own cries. Niall thrust his dagger up under his man’s ribs and slashed sideways until he hit bone. The man arched and convulsed and Niall swung away from him, dropping to one knee under the rushing attack of a second foe and jabbing upward with the bloody dagger. The sharp metal sliced into the soft belly and Niall held the dagger steady while the man’s momentum hurled him forward, eviscerating himself with his own motion.

Niall surged to his feet, but Sim andIver had taken down their own men and only the three of them remained standing, panting softly, wisps of steam rising from their heads.

"Yer shoulder?"Iver asked, nodding at the wound. "’Tis’ minor enough." That was true, but it burned like hell for all that. Niall strode furiously to reclaim his horse. He was certain now that he’d not findArtair and Tearlach alive. The Hay clansmen had planned well, skulking close and hiding until they could ambush those fewer in number than they, the whoreson cowards.

He found his men a minute later.Artair lay on his back, his blue eyes open and empty as he stared sightlessly upward. Niall dismounted and knelt beside his old friend, touching his face, lifting his hand. He was already cold, his limbs stiffening. The arrow had entered his heart.

He had not suffered, Niall thought, drawingArtair’s plaid up to cover his face. His expression was almost peaceful, as if he’d at last quit a life in which he had no place.

‘Adieu,monami ,"he whispered. French was the language in which he had been schooled as a Templar, and it was in that tongue he bid good-bye to his last friend from that time. They were all gone now, all the Knights who had had taken wives, had children; some still held to their vows. But they were Knights no longer; only he remained in service to the Order. It had been so for fourteen years, and yet so long as Artair had been with him he had felt the kinship. Now there was no one left at Creag Dhu who had even a glimmer of understanding.

"Tearlachlives," Sim said, pressing his tough, blunt fingers deep into the wounded man’s neck. Surveying the amount of blood on the snowy ground, he shook his shaggy head. "He’s near bled out, though. He’ll no last ’til mom."

Niall stood and liftedArtair’s body over his shoulder. "Perhaps," he said. "But if he dies, ’twill be among friends. "

He sat alone in his chamber that night, unable to sleep, drinking raw spirits that burned down his throat. He was drunk, but the raw ale had done nothing to lift his mood. His shoulder throbbed; it had been rinsed with the same ale he drank, and bound with a poultice to draw out any putrefaction. He was hot with fever, but he didn’t fear it; the fever had come soon after each wound he’d ever received, and he had noted that he seemed to heal faster than those whose fevers came on later. The wound had been clean, the ale fierce; in two days, he’d scarce feel a twinge in the shoulder.

The heat from the fireplace washed his bare shoulders and back. His plaid was draped about his hips, but except for that he was naked.

He stared across the chamber at nothing, his expression grim. Damn the Hays; if he had to wipe out the entire clan, rid theHighlands of their stinking presence, he would have vengeance forArtair . The time would come soon enough, when winter lifted its icy hand from the mountains.

But for now he was drunk, feverish, and alone with his thoughts. There was no one watching, no one near, when he needed to feel her with him.

He closed his eyes, aching inside with the loneliness. For all his life he had been forced to hide parts of himself from the world. Always his kinship with the Bruce had been hidden as he had taken wives, had children; some still held to their vows. But they were Knights no longer; only he remained in service to the Order. It had been so for fourteen years, and yet so long asArtair had been with him he had felt the kinship. Now there was no one left at Creag Dhu who had even a glimmer of understanding.

"Tearlachlives," Sim said, pressing his tough, blunt fingers deep into the wounded man’s neck. Surveying the amount of blood on the snowy ground, he shook his shaggy head. "He’s near bled out, though. He’ll no last ’til mom."

Niall stood and liftedArtair’s body over his shoulder. "Perhaps," he said. "But if he dies, ’twill be among friends. "

He sat alone in his chamber that night, unable to sleep, drinking raw spirits that burned down his throat. He was drunk, but the raw ale had done nothing to lift his mood. His shoulder throbbed; it had been rinsed with the same ale he drank, and bound with a poultice to draw out any putrefaction. He was hot with fever, but he didn’t fear it; the fever had come soon after each wound he’d ever received, and he had noted that he seemed to heal faster than those whose fevers came on later. The wound had been clean, the ale fierce; in two days, he’d scarce feel a twinge in the shoulder.

The heat from the fireplace washed his bare shoulders and back. His plaid was draped about his hips, but except for that he was naked.

He stared across the chamber at nothing, his expression grim. Damn the Hays; if he had to wipe out the entire clan, rid theHighlands of their stinking presence, he would have vengeance forArtair . The time would come soon enough, when winter lifted its icy hand from the mountains.