Blood of the Clans
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Blood Of The Clans Ch. 50 free porn video
Iain saw his men following MacRae towards the shore and broke from cover. Screaming as loud as he could and waving his arms, he hoped his brother, or one of the others would hear or see him. Grayson joined him, both waving their arms and yelling the MacLean motto and then more voices joined in.
Stuart MacLean was riding with his clansmen in the last half of the charge, when his arm was pulled by one of his men and told to turn and look at the two men on the battlefield. Iain was instantly recognizable to him, but confusion took him, as to why he was with Grayson and they were yelling their clan oath. He watched him closer and saw that Iain was giving him a signal. He knew what Iain wanted him to do, but didn’t trust what he saw under the circumstances. Noticing more MacLean tartans engaged in battle with MacRae’s cavalry, he fought his doubts and heeded the signal given by his brother.
Giving the command to break away, he and his men, along with a few members of the other clans, rode in front of the pits and on towards Iain and Grayson. The echoes of their oath were still ringing out from men positioned around them, further confusing them.
MacRae and Rennie were unaware of the diversion and continued their charge for the opening along the shoreline, their force cut close to half by the loss of the MacLean’s. Stuart halted quickly in front of Iain and looked desperately for an answer from him.
‘We’re wi’ the MacDonald’s now, Stuart. No time tae explain why, just know that MacRae is going tae lose this battle and we’ll ne’er set foot in a castle or lands if we stay wi’ him. We lost at Tioram and the same is happening here. Rid yer ranks of those of other clans wi’ ye. When ye ha’e, ride back like ye’s are still wi’ them. When the attack begins, do yer best tae keep them from escaping’ Iain instructed his brother.
As word spread of the defection, men were soon engaged in combat. The MacDougall’s and Douglas’ that were once fast allies, were soon at each other as mortal enemies. It wasn’t long before all objectors were slain and the new alliance of men were ready to fight against the opposition. Stuart led them away, but hearts weren’t resting easy with the change.
Waiting in the treeline was Sloan Fraser, along with his men, watching the men who slaughtered his family and clan, slaughter yet another in their quest for power. The tense mood heightened with each yard that was closed, as memories of their slain, remained vivid in their minds.
Stuart MacLean had been at the Falls of Lora massacre, Sloan remembered him standing beside his brother, Iain, the bodies of his clansmen subjected to the Blood Eagle, hanging from the trees around them. In his heart, he held the MacLean’s accountable for his clan’s deaths and only their own deaths would be equal repayment for justice.
Stuart saw the looks on the faces of the Fraser clan as he passed them and felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. This was a secret fear he had held since that day, that retribution for his acts would come to him one day and this, was now that day. He rode past them and felt the weight of burden for his deeds, sit heavy in his heart.
MacRae felt a moment of triumph, as he and his men joined the fray with the heavy cavalry and held the defenders back, giving the foot soldiers a clear path to the castle.
The Pioneers were towing the siege equipment behind their horses, slowing them down from the second wave, but fate was on their side and they too, made it past and on to their objective. The foot soldiers now rounded the last point and began charging for the castle. On past their cavalry, the men closed on Donan and readied for an attack.
Peadair saw the charge coming and had his archers prepare for them. Flamers were readied for the siege attempt and the plan Grayson had suggested. MacRae and Rennie had the men assemble around them, the orders for the attack given quickly, as the Pioneers unhooked the carts and positioned them at the ready.
The siege carts, thick wooden shields on two wheels, were large enough for four archers to take cover behind and fire through the vertical slits. Dorlochis were attached to it, filled with arrows for rapid attack. Slowly the first one was pushed forward and onto the bridge, followed closely behind by the second and third carts, the slippery oil making it hard to gain a foothold for traction.. Archers fired on them, hoping to catch an unguarded man. MacRae divided his attention between the raging battle behind him and the men crossing the bridge. His hopes of winning felt good to him, as he saw the cavalry continue to battle Garreth and his men, keeping them from him and the attack as planned.
Arrows flew from the castle battlements at the attackers, keeping them under cover behind their shield. Peadair waited until all three carts were past the bridge and put into position. Arrows began whistling at him and his men, keeping them under cover, just as he hoped. Seeing the time was right, soldiers began running over the bridge with ladders, followed by the main force. At the decisive moment, Peadair yelled out to the archers and flamers soared over the walls and landed on the bridge, lighting ablaze the oil covering it.
Men were instantly engulfed with flames, diving from the bridge into the shallow water to extinguish the agonizing pain of being burned alive. Others ran back into the mass of men behind still pushing forward, lighting them up in the conflagration. MacRae watched in horror, as a hundred men perished in flames before his eyes. It wasn’t long before the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air and wafted to him, adding to his misery. The bridge was engulfed in flames and mayhem, stranding the archers behind their shields. MacRae watched, as forty plus men rushed from the shattered castle gate, blades ready to strike. The archers were at a loss to fire on them, the angle of the shields preventing them a chance to fire on the approaching wave of death. Quickly, the men behind each shield abandoned their protection and ran for the water in an attempt to escape. None touched a foot to the water, as they were overrun and set upon by blades.
A tremendous roar of victory rose from the men in the castle, as they looked at the dead and dying on the bridge and the chance of another attack defeated. From the starboard rails of the Ville de Lyon, Arabella and Therese, along with Princess Margret and the French, watched the battle unfold and the attack thwarted. Therese struggled to see where Garreth was in the melee, wanting to assure herself he was still alive, while Arabella tore her attention in two, looking for Grayson and also Braedon, somewhere amidst the flailing blades of the battle with the cavalry, as thick, black smoke rose in a column from the bridge and drifted towards the battle.
MacRae suddenly felt the anguish of loss take him, as he saw his forces decimated and his chance at reclaiming Donan, once again within his grasp, snatched away in defeat. Unbridled rage surged through him and vengeance was now his only motivator to go on.
He saw the MacLean’s riding around the outside of the battling cavalry, thinking they were flanking them and gave a signal to engage. Stuart saw the signal and gave the order to charge. MacRae gave orders for the remaining men to align behind him and Rennie. With fifty riders and less than two hundred men, he advanced them towards the ongoing battle, hoping to wipe out as many of his foe as he could.
Coming from farther down the coast, Glendon, Gordon and their men were quickly covering the last few miles on foot. The sounds of battle rang from the hills, giving them the will to push hard and re-engage in battle. They came across the scene of battle where Robert and the others had ambushed the attacking force from behind. Dead bodies littered the area, the ground dark and damp from the blood. They halted and quickly looked for their own clansmen among the dead, but found none. As they stood stunned
at the scene, a bloodied Athol emerged from the woods above them.
‘Their no oors. Oor wounded and dead are up here. We took out a great number of their men, but we lost many ourselves. Once the last of them were killed, Robert had them continue tae the castle. They should be there now, or close tae it. We only took out a third or so of them, so there’s still a large force. We lost close tae a hundred, most of them dead already, the rest are just waiting tae join them.’
‘We ha’e aid fer ye. Vernon, Douglas, see tae the men and do what ye can fer them. Save as many as ye can. Athol, ye and the men done well. Yer sacrifices will no be in vain.’ Gleason told him, then turned to the men, ‘We make fer the castle,now!’
Athol crossed his fist over his heart in gratitude as they rode off, while the two men climbed up to the dead and dying.
Bloodied and battle-worn, Robert and his men rounded the last bend at a full gallop. The scene before them was chaotic, men engaged in combat on foot and horseback. To his left, MacRae and his men were beginning to engage, while on the right, the MacLean’s were charging in. The carnage of the pits showed their effectiveness as they rode past, dead animals and men filling them, while others lay around them in agony, their bodies mutilated and crushed by their own horses, as they tried to avoid meeting the same fate.
Garreth and his riders were close to winning the battle with the cavalry, when MacRae’s forces pushed the balance of power out of his favour. MacRae’s men doubled up on attacking the defenders and Garreth could see his men falling in ever larger numbers and prayed in his heart for the strength to defeat them. The power of the Fairy Flag had served him well, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the forces now attacking. Hopes became distant dreams, as the wave of MacRae’s men advanced in control.
Stuart MacLean saw the onslaught beginning and had his men ride the flanks of the fray towards MacRae’s men. MacRae saw him coming and felt the chance at winning take hold. As quickly as it started, it vanished just the same, as Stuart and his riders began hacking down the men on foot. MacRae was stunned by the turn of events and an even greater rage consumed him, at seeing the traitorous act.
Hordes of men poured from the wooded areas around the battle and joined in with ferocity. Sorley led the Irishmen and waded into the fight, his sword meting out death in single blows, as did the swords of the others.
Robert now advanced on the attacking MacRae’s, driving them into the maelstrom of swinging blades. MacRae saw the attack and knew he had to make a move and get away. Charging his way forward, he and Rennie made a break to the outside of the fray, hoping to take the outside advantage away from Robert’s men. Shock hit his face, as he saw the MacLean’s felling his men, unaware they had turned on them. Leith and Rennie saw it also and looked for an escape route out of the ambush.
Grayson and Garreth saw them trying to escape and worked their way towards them, their bloody swords hacking and cleaving at men, as they drew closer. Glenn MacDonnell saw it as well and wasn’t going to allow MacRae to escape. The vengeance for his kin’s murder coursed through him, as he slashed his way out of the fray. Once out, he made his way towards MacRae and the others, riding and slashing men as he went by.
MacRae saw a chance to escape and rode with Leith and Rennie, along with a dozen others, towards the treeline. He knew if they could reach it, they could make a reasonable defence against attack, or escape if need be. Glenn saw their plan and rode hard around the bloody melee towards them, hoping to cut off their escape.
Garreth saw Glenn riding hard for MacRae and motioned to Grayson. Worry gripped them, knowing Glenn’s single-minded goal. Garreth made his way out and rode after him, wanting to support him in his vengeance-filled quest. As he rode, the scene around him was total chaos and carnage. Dismembered bodies and bloody corpses lay strewn on the battlefield ground, turning it crimson with the stains of death.
Glenn had his sword high and screaming out his blood-lust, as he rode for MacRae. Leith saw him approaching and rode in defence of his leader, blocking Glenn from attack. Riding headlong towards one another, their swords awash in blood, the two combatants were ready to face death. As they closed the distance, Leith drew his sword back to swing at Glenn’s neck and upper body. Glenn saw the move and countered it by dropping forward as Leith’s blade came at him. Holding his sword straight out, the tip cut into Leith’s chest along the side and caused him to topple off. Glenn reined hard and turned his horse around, then made his way to his opponent, still on the ground writing in agony.
With death as his mentor, Glenn rode over Leith’s body and trampled him under the pounding hooves. He turned to make sure he had done what he needed to do and saw the grey matter and blood spilling from Leith’s crushed skull. Turning once more, he looked for MacRae who was nearing the woods and rode hard to get to him.
Garreth rode past Leith’s body and knew Glenn had no fear of his own death, only the satisfaction of spilling MacRae’s lifeblood. He looked up and saw Glenn riding hard towards MacRae, hell-bent on ending the life that ended his kin’s. MacRae saw him coming again and ordered three men to fend him off.
The riders came at Glenn, who never deviated from his goal and continued towards MacRae. Closing the distance, they fanned out to cut off his attack and end his threat. With less than fifty feet to go, arrows suddenly whistled from the edge of the woods and dropped the three from their mounts, their bodies tumbling wildly when they hit the ground. Glenn quickly glanced in the direction they came from and saw Glendon and soon many more appear from undercover of the bushes.
MacRae and Rennie spotted them as well and quickly retreated the other way, but before his men could escape, arrows were streaming towards them and dropped four more men. MacRae felt the tug of an arrow pull at his tunic and knew the woods held no refuge of escape. Glenn nodded to the clansmen and held his sword high to them, as they cheered him on to victory. Garreth was closing on Glenn and held his sword high to the MacDonald’s now entering the field of battle.
Unheard above the clashing steel and screams, the thundering rumble of a thousand horses was echoing out of Glen Sheil. Gillie made his way to the top of the rise and saw the banners being flown at the front of the procession. The royal emblem meant only one thing to him, certain death for every single clansmen, if they were here to support the Earl of Huntly and James MacRae. He watched them come out of the glen and round the turn, then went back to Griffin and the wounded, telling them who it was. They shared a certainty in their eyes, that before the day’s end, they could well be the last of their clans.
Glenn cut back the other way, following MacRae with focused intent, while Garreth slowed and directed the men where to attack from. Seeing Glenn close in on MacRae alone, he tore off as fast as his horse could ride, knowing his friend was riding into danger. He watched in suspended anticipation, as Glenn neared MacRae and raised his sword to strike. Unknown to him, Leith had made it away from the ambush and was gaining on Glenn. Despite the closeness, there was nothing Garreth could do, but watch, as his friend was about to end his misery and kill the cause of it.
Glenn’s sword began swinging forward, then it suddenly dropped from his hand. Garreth tried to understand the cause and then noticed the flash of metal sticking out of Glenn’s back. Despite the agonizing pain, he continued to go for MacRae and made it to his side, jumping from his horse and tackling James to the ground. The impact drove the dirk in deeper, bringing an end to Glenn’s quest for vengeance, as the blade sliced through his heart and ended his li
fe. Before MacRae tried to escape, he looked down at the vanquished highlander and drove his sword into the dead man’s chest and spat on him. A MacRae rode up and offered his hand to assist James onto the back of his horse, but Garreth had closed the distance and his sword ended any chance of rescue, as the razor edge sliced through the rider’s neck and lopped his head off. MacRae was visually shaken at seeing his clansman’s blood pour from the severed arteries over him, then held onto the dead man’s hand and pulled him from his mount. He looked for a moment at the blood pouring from the headless body and never saw Garreth turning and coming for him.
Before he could react, Garreth was flying off his horse and diving onto him, taking him to the ground. Quickly MacRae recovered and stood with his sword at the ready, as Garreth stopped tumbling and got his feet under him again. MacRae was on the move to attack, before Garreth could take a stance in defence and swung his sword wildly to fend him off. MacRae used it to his advantage and delayed his swing enough to bring it down over Garreth’s gauntlet, not only making him drop his sword, but breaking his wrist.
Garreth felt the pain and knew he couldn’t use it anymore, so he pulled his dirk out with his left and faced MacRae. James started to smile, then laugh, knowing he had his enemy where he wanted him, at his mercy.
Garreth knew it was only a stroke of Fate, whether he would live, or die within the next few moments. Behind MacRae, Kirkland had crept forward closer to the edge and saw a Lochaber axe laying beside a dead soldier. He saw the position Garreth was in and knew it was also his chance to enact his revenge on MacRae. Looking about for anyone who might see him, he crept out, staying low and picked up the axe.
‘Ye lose it all now, MacLeod. This castle belongs tae me and my clan and it’ll be mine, once I finish ye off.’
Garreth looked about for a way to avoid facing certain death, hoping a targe, or some defence he could use to block the sword being raised in attack. He never saw Kirkland running at his top speed towards, MacRae blocking his view of him. The first he knew of him being near, was him screaming at the top of his lungs in a guttural sound of hatred, only a few yards behind MacRae. Hearing that familiar voice, MacRae took only a moment, or two, to realize who it was, but the moment was too late in coming, as the razor-edged point of the axe came through his mid-section in a burst of blood and entrails.
MacRae tried to turn around and see Kirkland, but the shaft was held tightly in his hands preventing him from doing it. Garreth saw his chance to make sure he was finished and plunged his dirk into MacRae’s heart, The look of defeat and certain death washed over MacRae’s face, the acceptance of losing his chance to take Donan now certain. His sword fell from his hand, sticking into the ground at his feet, then the life started leaving his body.
Kirkland felt the weight of death on the shaft, as MacRae could no longer support himself. He let go of the axe and stood watching the last of James MacRae vanish from this world.
Garreth looked at the young man, his eyes wild with rage and still grunting. He walked them into the cover of the woods and saw the look of vengeance being served in the lad’s expression.
‘He’s dead. I killed him, ye saw it. I killed the bastard, MacRae.’
‘Aye, ye did, lad, ye did. What’s yer name?’
Garreth had no idea who he was, whether he was a friend, or foe.
‘Kirkland Douglas. My father was Harlan Douglas, chieftain of oor clan.’
‘I thought ye were allies wi’ MacRae? Why did ye kill him?’
‘Because of what he done tae me, in front of my clan. He shamed me twice, but I swore he’d ne’er do it again, ne’er. This is what he left me wi’ as a reminder of how he wanted tae rule my clan.’
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