Page 167 of Highland Spy

Energy fired through him.

His da.

The Shadow of the Highlands.

This fight was for him, to avenge his wrongful death.

Connor knocked a soldier aside and thrust his blade into another behind him. He pulled it free only to face yet another.

Suddenly Liv was beside him, and Sylvi, and even Percy. The women had fought their way to the center of the men and now Connor stood back to back with the women of Kindrochit.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows and bathed the room in a golden glow, and the blood glinted around them like rubies.

Duck.

Lunge.

Attack.

Everything reactive and automatic.

But for every soldier in a red coat and yellow feathers who fell, there was another to take his place.

There were so many of them.

So damn many.

Something on the hill outside the window pulled Connor’s attention momentarily from battle. Horses. Scores of horses riding over the hill like they were being chased by the very devil himself.

Connor’s heart tumbled into his stomach.

No matter how valiantly he and his girls fought, they could not survive another round of soldiers.

If they even survived the first.

Connor turned his gaze from the window and resolved not to look back again. The idea of more soldiers was too crushing.

He shoved the thought from his head and lost himself to the steady rhythm of battle instead.

Duck.

Lunge.

Attack.

The doorway became crowded with men and a riotous shouting roared above the sound of battle.

English soldiers did not roar.

Connor allowed himself to look up at the curtain of men sweeping through the room and almost cried out in relief.

Not a single man wore red.

No, they all wore either kilts or trews.

Scotsmen.

They descended upon the soldiers with a ferocity the men could not fend off, and the battle, which surely would have dragged on painfully long, was over in minutes.