Page 42 of A Fierce Archer

“I am stronger, but not who I once was.” She let out a long breath. “I have made a decision that ye must be informed about.”

Ewan searched her eyes for whatever she was about to say. Instead of the normal warmth and softness, all he could see was pain.

“Tell me what happened, Catriona.”

She swallowed, managing to remain stoic. “I have decided not to marry ye. If I do get married, it will be to Broden.”

The room swayed and he reached out with both hands to steady himself. Of course, he’d heard her wrong. It was glaringly obvious that Catriona didn’t care for Broden as more than a friend, a brother.

“What did ye say?”

“I cannot marry ye, Ewan. I wish to remain with my clan, my family. It is preferable that when he asks, I marry Broden. He and I are from the same clan. He will keep me safe.”

Betrayal was not a stranger to him. In that instant, Catriona betrayed him, perhaps not in actions, but in closing her heart to him.

In that moment, it was as if ice enveloped him. It was not the first time someone he loved had turned against him. Didn’t consider him valuable enough to choose.

There was nothing to say. He would not beg, nor would he allow the woman who stood in front of him the satisfaction to see him break down.

He nodded, meeting her gaze evenly. “I wish ye well then.”

Somehow, he managed to walk to his bedchamber without breaking stride and then barely past his doorway, Ewan fell to his knees, tears that he’d somehow held back bursting like rivers down his cheeks.

Pain tore through him and he let go, falling sideways onto the floor. More than anything, he wanted to release a primal yell, to scream out how he felt, but someone would overhear, and he didn’t want any witnesses to his foolishness. How audacious of him to think someone would love him and remain true.

How utterly, utterly stupid of him.

***

The ride to the northernmost portion of Ross lands was long. Ewan knew the group he traveled with purposely rode slowly. A party of two hundred warriors and fifty archers were a sight to behold. Surely the Sutherland would not have a problem getting the message that they were more than ready for battle.

The sounds reached them and then a large contingent of Sutherlands appeared.

Warring was never something Ewan relished and, yet, it had a beauty to it. The calculated movements were like a dance between two armies. The sounds the horses made because they sensed the tension of their riders. The climactic moment when both parties rushed at each other with primal yells that broke the silence of the surroundings like thunder from the skies.

From then on, it was not at all pretty. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It became garish and horrible. Men’s battle cries turned to screams of pain. Horses fell sideways, their thick red blood staining the ground.

He kept Ban back. The stallion was anxious to run. But like the rest of the archers, Ewan was to remain behind the flanks of men with swords and battle axes.

Naill held the archer line tight, just behind the warriors and called for them to stop and fan out on a well-planned slight incline. From there, they could fire arrows at will, hoping to hit enemy warriors. While half the archers shot arrows at the men fighting, he and the other half focused on the enemy’s archer line.

Ewan narrowed his eyes and pulled back. In his bow were three arrows that would fell a man, immediately killing him.

He released the arrows and, seconds later, his victim collapsed forward and onto the ground from atop a horse.

Just then, Naill toppled from his horse. No one tried to help him. This was not the time to care after casualties, but to continue in their fight.

Warnings were cried out by the Sutherland warriors as a second wave of Ross warriors arrived. The men from the northern guard post had received notice and rode toward them, hungry for a taste of battle after long days of watch.

It was not much longer before those left of Clan Sutherland called retreat and did their best to gather their wounded before escaping.

The causalities were plenty on both sides, although most of the dead were Sutherland men.

Ewan and the rest of the archers kept vigil while the men below sought out the injured. It was hours later that they set up camp just a short distance away.

“We will stay and ensure they do not return,” Naill said while being tended to by a healer.

“It is doubtful they will,” Tristan said, waiting for someone to see about a cut on his leg. “They have to travel much further, and their numbers are not as plentiful.”