The Mercenary and The Archer

The Mercenary

and

The Archer

by

Sherry Boardman

Copyright 2013 by Sherry Boardman

Smashwords Edition

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From the Author

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters and locales, other than those specifically researched and listed in the source reference section, either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

Cover Art: freedigitalphotos.net (Red Tartan by muttakit), Microsoft Office Professional 2000

Cover Design: Sherry Boardman

Scotland Moors

1650

Chapter One

He fell to his knees, the bloodstained broadsword dragging in the rocky path. Glancing back, he knew it had to be protected at all costs and forced his body to rise. Eyes searched the winding overgrown road. The cave for tonight’s rest couldn’t be much further. He felt twice his thirty years and resented his body betraying him in such a way.

The tarnished, dented shield’s leather clutch was slipped over the strap crisscrossing his chest and shoved to the back out of the way. He would have no further need for it this night. His lance had disappeared into one of the enemy. Hagland would not be pleased with him. It was a finely made weapon.

The battle had maimed great numbers on the other side. However, his fearless warriors had taken a beating, and he was no exception of those wounded. The slice in his thigh burned like glowing embers were embedded in the gash. The wound must be attended to soon to stay the blood flowing down his leg. Gritting his teeth, he moved forward. As always after these battles, he regretted his choice of being a mercenary. However, any other option was nil after his home was overtaken and lands stolen. Instead of tilling the soil and reveling in what it produced, he now protected the lands of Charles II. But England’s Oliver Cromwell was closing in, and it was only a matter of time before Scotland’s future king would be killed or exiled.

The mouth of the cave yawned before him. The aroma of roasting venison filled the moist air. Food, warmth, and care awaited him if he could make the final steps before losing consciousness. His last thought just before doing so was that perhaps he should relocate to the Highlands where things were a bit more peaceful. Possibly a piece of land would be for the taking.

Ronan? Ronan!

A hand slapped his face. His eyes were lead and refused to open to see the punishing one. He felt his throat work, but no words came forth to yell to cease.

Ronan, it is time for you to awaken.

The voice threaded through his brain. When had he fallen asleep? He tried to turn over on the warm skins, but hands held him down.

Not yet Ronan. The blood is still seeping.

Blood? Faith! What had happened?

Then, his eyes did open and made an effort to focus on the weathered, wrinkled face studying his.

What is all of this? he asked weakly.

A wooden bowl was held in front of him and the spoon touched his lips. Just a few sips for now. You need nourishment.

He pushed away the broth. Agnes, explain!

Obliging him, she set down the bowl. You were wounded during the battle. I have stitched the gash, but seeping continues. Do not thrash about for a time.

How is it I feel no pain? His hand began to inventory his body and soon found the bandage on his upper thigh. When he looked back to her for an answer, she was smiling.

Poured whiskey down you and on the wound.

That accounted for the aching head as he thought about the condition of the rest of his body.

I thank you, he breathed. My horse?

Followed you home, as trained. Been fed and rubbed down. No wounds.

Thank you. Redundant, but what other expression said as much?

Her kind eyes told him she appreciated his words. The years she had served him were no longer counted. As long as he could remember, Agnes had always been there to care for him as well as his younger brothers and sister, wherever they might be at the moment. They all spread far and wide after the English came and destroyed their village and killed his parents for not peacefully relinquishing their small plot of earth and did not even look back after setting his home afire. Agnes had rushed the children to a nearby copse of trees when word arrived of the carnage in the nearby village. His parents delayed a moment too long, thinking to carry some of their few possessions with them. His siblings were taken in by different families and moved various places to safety.

Again, I thank you, he repeated to Agnes. May I sit up?

She cradled his shoulders and assisted him to move to a more comfortable position. No more, she warned.

When the pain shot up his leg, he nodded. Should not be a problem. He accepted the broth when she again brought the spoon to his lips.

How many of our countrymen’s prisoners did we steal away?

Some ran after being rescued, but probably forty or so stayed with you.

Good. How many did not make it back?

You should not concern yourself with that just now.

Shaking his head, he frowned at her. That is my duty, I believe.

After another spoon of the hot liquid was received, she set the bowl aside and clasped her hands in her lap to relieve the tension. Ten did not return. Twelve are wounded; four of those seriously.

Ten. He had lost ten of the best warriors in Scotland. The ambush was not expected, but should have been when the scouts did not return. He had failed his men by not realizing it soon enough. It was well known the English were capturing his countrymen and claiming their land and transporting the owners and workers to the south to become common laborers. Thousands had already disappeared and would probably never again see their homeland. He couldn’t save them all, but would free as many as possible. So, he won in one area, but not the other.

You cannot dwell on it, Ronan. One from near Edinburgh arrived today to advise more are to be here in a day or so.

Well trained? That was imperative with the way the English sneaked around in the fog and mist. The bogs did little to deter them once they learned to cut and place tree trunks across the muck to walk on.

From what I heard, yes. She lifted the bowl and looked at him in question.

Rather than reply, he took it from her hands, raised it to his mouth and gulped it down. He needed the strength he knew would be received from her special potion.

Good, she said taking the bowl from him. Now, rest a bit. Nothing can be done at present. The men are receiving the attention they need.

He reached for her hand. You are a good, caring woman, Agnes. I do not tell you often enough.

He pulled the soiled clothes to him and found the sporran. Reaching inside, he removed a frayed, faded red and black wool square. The Carlisle plaid. The piece was all that remained of his family possessions. It was always with him during battles as if to give him strength and remind him of the reason he continued fighting those who wanted to exterminate all in his homeland. He clutched the cloth to his chest. His lids grew heavy, and he allowed them to close while thinking of those lost this day.

Chapter Two

The reinforcements arrived within two days. He watched their healthy horses trot to the tethering line. In the lead were two garbed in the style adopted by the mercenaries, which included the blue bonnet, a long belted shirt over baggy trews, with a tartan tossed over their shoulders. The slashed rawhide brogans were in much better condition than his. Thrown over the rump of their rides were coats lined with metal plates for protection during battle. His attention was drawn to the one whose head turned to look at him when they passed. A sudden breath was drawn. A woman. He stared. She stared back with no emotion on her face. The way she sat the horse would fool anyone about her gender, and the lined coat would further hide any hints. A highly polished hand carved bow was slung over the saddle’s pommel with a quiver full of shiny arrows attached to a strap around her shoulder and down her back. He shook his head. Where did they find these reinforcements? Had it come to the point so many men had perished the women were being put in their places?

Ronan walked toward the horses while the men, and woman, were dismounting. She quickly disappeared into the trees. He introduced himself to the other he assumed to be the leader who doffed the bonnet and spoke his name with dignity. A good sign.

Robert Conach, welcome, he said extending his hand. Our quarters are not the best, but adequate for the moment. Ronan explained they would be moving to another location as soon as word was received it was safe to travel. They were too close to the border to just mount up and ride with two wagons carrying provisions. Often, he longed for a normal home where he could come and go as he pleased. Some of the caves found were large enough and well camouflaged, but none could be called home.

Conach looked around. A fine spot. If we had not had someone to lead us in, we would not have found it.

Ronan chuckled. Exactly why we camp here. We have a small fire inside to cook and warm ourselves. However, supplies are low, so we hunt or fish for our meals when we can. Mostly fish due to the stream beyond being well stocked, and the task can be tended to after dark. He motioned to the cave. Agnes will show you where you can get comfortable and bed down.

The man, about Ronan’s age, looked toward the cave and back at his host. I hear you were hit hard in this most recent skirmish. It is regrettable when good men lose their lives over a piece of ground.

Glancing beyond at the hills of his homeland, Ronan nodded. Agreed. But the government we are fighting has little interest in the lives of the ones fighting their wars regardless of the side.

A rustle quickly heightened his senses, and he whirled around as he whipped the dirk out of its sheath and made ready to strike.

Wait, Conach ordered. It is only Alana.

Green eyes shot arrows at the leader. Only? she spit out. "The one who saved your miserable life a mere fortnight ago, and you say only?" Her hand went to the sheathed small dagger at her waist. I should skewer you right here and then laugh over your repulsive body.

Conach held up his hands in defense. Easy, Alana. I meant no disrespect by the remark, but our host appears to be a bit nervous when someone approaches his backside.

Ronan watched the two continue their visit as if no one else was around. Then, Conach turned to him.

May I present our normally amiable companion? Alana, this is Ronan Carlisle. Looking at Ronan, he raised his hand to the female. Carlisle, meet Alana Greame, my half sister.

His only reaction was to nod his pleasure at meeting her. At the moment, he wondered if it was a pleasure or not. Then, she removed her overlarge bonnet and blonde wavy hair cascaded past her shoulders. She shoved it back and ruffled it before she gave him further attention. Which was a good thing, because Ronan the conqueror was stunned at the beauty standing before him.

Don’t even think it, she said to him. Turning to Conach, she all but ignored her host. Where do I bed down?

Ronan cleared his throat to regain their attention. First, I wish to address all and have a plan settled in everyone’s mind for the next encounter. My men should become acquainted with the new arrivals before we head out.

With a toss of her head, Alana’s voice wasn’t much quieter when she addressed Ronan. We crossed a stream just inside of the trees. Would it be permissible to freshen up after a long day’s ride?

A smile was willed away. Was she really as hard as she wanted him to believe? He nodded to one of his men who immediately walked toward them. "It is quite permissible. Mallory will see you are not disturbed.

The blonde looked at the one approaching and back at Ronan, a frown disturbing her lovely face. I think not. I prefer my privacy if you do not mind.

He stood his ground, hands casually clasped behind him. I think so. Your privacy will be honored. However, it will be on my terms.

She turned to her brother. Conach?

He threw up his hands. I am not in charge here. If Carlisle says you are to have a chaperone, then so be it.

Humph, she sounded and grabbed the provisions tied behind her saddle. Eyeing Ronan once more, she lifted her chin and turned to follow her guide.

The whole scene was from a play, Ronan thought as he watched Conach relax once the two were alone. First time? he asked, nodding in her direction.

In the field? Hardly. They walked back to the horses. Conach checked the reins to be certain they were secure. She might be a little difficult to handle at times, he said over his shoulder. But in the field I would have no other watching my back. She is a seasoned fighter and has trained long and hard to attain the status.

Parents?

Captured long ago. We will never know what happened to them, but have our own suspicions.

How did she escape?

With a grunt, he heaved the saddle and dropped it near the others at the base of a tree. She was walking home after visiting a nearby friend and saw the horses in front. The grass was tall so she just lay there until they all rode off. Laughing softly, he shook his head. If something like that happened today, not a one would have been left alive. In fact, one who was left behind to watch over the booty met his Maker that day.

Oh? Did he really want to hear the rest of the story?

She waited until dark and sneaked in through a slab door rarely used. When the guard fell asleep, she slit his throat, grabbed some personal belongings and a few weapons not found by the enemy and ran, sleeping wherever she thought she was safe such as in the trees. She hunted the food she ate. The arrows she shoots always hit true to her aim. She survived the best way she knew how. I do not know if I could have done it at her age without the training I’ve received. It is as if she fears nothing.

Ronan smiled at the thought. "Perhaps I best sleep