Blood of the Clans
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Blood Of The Clans Ch. 45 free porn video
Robert and the men watched patiently, waiting for the last of the foot soldiers to make it over the last mounding ridge, before they rode for the birlinns. He hoped the archers would keep the army occupied defending themselves and not take notice of the attack behind them. When the sounds of shouts and confusion echoed back to them, Robert knew the attack had begun and silently wished his men well, then signalled Gordon to go for the birlinn.
As quietly as they could, Gordon and thirty men made their way through the trees towards the coast, staying out of sight as long as possible, before they had to make an open attack. Some of the men were sitting in the birlinns, while others sat on shore. Blair was lying on the ground, resting against a fallen tree, joking with the men that it would take more than an arrow from a MacDonald to kill him. Talk turned to killing MacDonald’s in the most heinous of means, each trying to outdo the last in the method they’d use. While the men laughed about torturing the MacDonald’s, they themselves had come close enough to hear what they were saying.
Three hundred feet lay between the enemies, most of it open land, but a great deal was boggy ground, bared during low tide. The breaking of dried branches under the hooves of the horses alerted the men on shore, stopping the laughter. Swords were drawn and eyes searched everywhere for the cause of the sound. Knowing their cover was gone, Gordon gave the order to charge out of the trees, racing out with swords brandished and swinging in circles. Wild yelling filled the air and echoed off the steep slopes surrounding them. The men were caught off guard and never expected so many attackers. They raced for the birlinns and succeeded in launching two of them, all sixty men pushing hard, their feet getting mired in the boggy ground.
Gordon and his men raced towards them and suddenly found the ground was unable to support their weight and the horses began stumbling. Quickly they rose, covered in bog and made for the abandoned birlinn. Blair had the men row hard out to open water, as archer’s arrows started finding their way into the craft. Sails were raised and oars were plied with all the strength the men could muster. The breeze coming out of Glen Sheil gave them much needed speed, as Gordon and his men finally pushed the mired boat off the boggy ground and set it afloat. The oars were set in their locks and quickly rowed, as the birlinn came around and raised it’s sail. The count was given and the strokes measured for maximum speed. Spray began to rise over the bow, as the birlinn rode from one wave to the next.
Glendon led fifty men along the coast, wanting to catch up to the cannon and stop it from making its destination. Keeping the high treeline between them, Glendon made it past them unseen and set up a crossfire ambush. Captain Lockstone almost rode into the narrow gap, but turned his horse and rode back to the rear of the line. He looked back at the path taken and watched for anyone following behind. It was always on his mind to remember how the road travelled can change, when you leave a place and danger can become your travelling companion. Satisfied that no one was coming, he started back for the head of the line, when he saw the first archers rising up and taking aim.
Before he could shout a warning, ten arrows were let loose and sank deep into the sides and necks of the lead team. The cannon stopped and the line began to cascade into the rear, as the silent attack took them unaware. Lockstone shouted for muskets to the flanks and charge the archers. In the short time it took to scale the mounds, the archers were already gone, riding on to their next point of attack. The dead animals were unyoked and pulled to the side, while others were taken from the supply carts and used in their place. Soldiers were positioned on the flanks, their muskets ready for anyone who surprised them again. Lockstone ordered a rider to go ahead and scout for ambushes, or any place they could use for one. Men were put to the task of making up for the oxen lost and helped push the carts and cannon forward.
Glendon had six men dismount and take stations behind fallen logs and cover themselves with branches and leaves. Their chance of escaping would be harder this time, their only recourse being the thick woods around them and making it through it to their horses again. Each man readied his dorlochis so he could ready another arrow in the shortest time. Glendon had their horses tied a hundred yards away, keeping them far enough away to not be spotted, but also to give his men as good a chance of escaping as he could. He judged the distance visually, then said a quiet prayer in their honour, before quickly riding on.
The scouts came close a few minutes later, as they scanned the area carefully. Two stopped beside a hidden clansmen and discussed the possibilities of where an attack could come from. He lay motionless and held his breathing to an absolute minimum, doing his best not to give away his precarious position, hoping to God he wasn’t seen and butchered where he lay. The sound of brush being cleared away quickly signalled him his other ambushers had decided to attack the scouts. He judged their position to him and rose to his knees quickly, as he took aim. The scout he had in his sights was facing away, but turned as he heard the noise. The clansmen let loose his arrow, the short distance travelled in less than a second. The point pierced the underside of the scout’s jaw and entered his brain, before rising through the top of his skull and toppling him off his horse.
The other was taken down by two arrows in quick succession by two others and had him laying close beside the other. As the other two scouts rode back to defend their own, the other archers rose up and felled them as they rode by. As quickly as they could, they ran a sword through the fallen, then their bodies were dragged away and hidden, while their horses were sent running away into the woods. The clansmen made their way through the dense woods to their horses and mounted up with haste. Smiles were easily worn as they started riding away, but several shots roared out and took two away.
The enemy riders who were scouting higher up had spotted the attack and dismounted, making their way down silently. As the others continued to ride away faster, a couple turned their heads back in time to see their own have swords run through them, equalling their own deeds. Smiles vanished, loss bringing back the grim reality to them, as the four raced up into the hills and trees to the next rendezvous point. Glendon’s face paled at seeing only four men return, then scanned the faces for his nephew, Daniel, only to feel his heart sink to despair at not seeing him. Gordon would be devastated to know of the loss of his eldest son and telling him would cause just as much grief to him as well. Sadly, he said nothing and stayed to the task at hand, but worried for his own son, Cavendish, who was back with Robert’s men and unaware he had volunteered and been chosen to go ahead and ambush MacRae’s forces.
‘How many did ye take out?’ he asked the men as they came to him.
‘Four scouts. We were riding away, when muskets took out two of ours. Glendon, I’m sorry fer yer loss, we did’ne know they had riders up in the treeline watching fer us. Danny was one of them. They did him quick at least and no let him suffer. Same as Scott Kirkpatrick. He was dead before he fell off his horse. I was looking at him when he was hit, the shot tore through his chest and left a gaping hole in him.’ Jacob Pollock told him sadly, knowing how close Glendon was with his nephew.
‘We’ve no more spots we can ambush from. If we try tae stop them, it’s a full attack, man tae man and we don’t ha’e enough men tae hold them fer long.’ Glendon told them.
‘We ha’e tae do something. We can’ne just let them fire that cannon at Donan and just sit and watch it happen.’ Jacob responded, letting him know grief and hardship
were a part of battle. From up on the ridge, the chase on Loch Duich unfolded before them.
Blair’s birlinn began heading for the west point of Duich and the other followed close behind, as Gordon and his men closed in on them two hundred yards back. Blair knew there was no escape from attack, so he headed for the only protection he could think of. The gunnery command watched the birlinns racing towards them, their muskets and bows aimed at them, in fear they weren’t friendly. Blair shouted out to Lockstone, who ordered his men to stand down and guard their flanks. Once he came abreast from them, Blair told Lockstone to train his gun on the birlinn coming up the loch behind them.
‘Blow they bastards out of the water, Lockstone. We ha’e enough birlinns, we won’t miss that one.’
‘Gunners, train on the birlinn coming towards us. Incendiary shot to be fired.’ he ordered and the wheels were spun to rotate the barrel so it was lined up for the birlinn soon approaching.
The crew went to their tasks and loaded the barrel with charge, wadding and shot in precision time. The elevation was set and the torch bearer awaited with a slow match for Lockstone’s command. Blair and the other boat rounded the point and pulled into the small cove. As Gordon and the men approached the area, the order was given and smoke belched out of the clearing with a deafening roar. In the beat of a heart, the shot closed the two hundred and fifty yard distance and exploded on the port side bow, demolishing it in splinters and flames. Gordon was blown thirty feet away into the water, as the ones rowing closest to the bow were shredded and dismembered.
Gordon felt his skin charring on his face, before he hit the water and began to sink. The chilly waters instantly cooled his skin, but he struggled to rise to the surface. His armour and weapons were weighing him down and knew he would drown if he didn’t take them off. The water grew colder and colder as he sank, his hands tearing away his belts and armour, then stripping his kilt and his shredded tunic off. His descent stopped and Gordon kicked and swam as hard as he could, the searing pain in his lungs letting him know he was out of breath. With nothing but the desire to live left in him,
Gordon broke the surface and drew in the life giving air. Fighting to stay afloat, he breathed in and then felt the pain in his face return. Finding a plank of wood, he held on to it and made for the remains of the birlinn and safety and the cheering men on board. The men had all moved to the back, bringing the dead and wounded with them, keeping the shattered bow out of the water enough to stay afloat. Gordon dragged himself through the water to waiting hands and was pulled aboard. He raised his head to them and saw the look of horror on their faces, letting him know the pain in his face confirmed his thoughts.
‘Bad?’ was all he asked in a weak groan.
‘It’s, it’s…gone Gordon. Yer skin is all blown away from the blast. No, don’t try tae touch it. It’ll only hurt worse. Just leave it be and we’ll tend tae ye best we can.’ Archie MacLachlan told him, keeping his hands away.
Archie had farmed the area beside him for as long as Gordon had and knew him well to see him. As he looked down at the face looking at him, there wasn’t a shred of anything that looked like Gordon MacDonald. A few men used the oars to paddle towards shore, making for a chance to protect themselves and provide aid.
Glendon saw the carnage and had to make a decision quickly. From out of cover of the trees, twenty or so men were making their way towards their fallen clansmen. They judged the fastest route down and made it with all haste. They broke from the cover of the tree line and raced over open ground, but far back from the attackers and no chance to beat them to their stricken clansmen.
The alarm went up that men were approaching and the wounded were left to fend for themselves, as the men took up arms to defend them. With five dead and seven wounded, their numbers weren’t enough to stand a chance of surviving long. As the attackers made their way towards them, a savage scream rose from behind the defensive line. Breaking past in a mad dash, Gordon, naked, his face peeling away, a Claymore high over his head, brought the advancing force to a stop in terror.
Thinking it a demon or ghoul, they turned and took flight back along the coast. The others joined in and pursued them screaming maniacally as well. Before they knew what had happened, Glendon and his riders were upon them with blades slashing. Gordon and the others arrived and bodies became hewn and dismembered as they killed every one. When the killing was done, the riders looked at the hideous creature before them, gurgling and hissing as it tried to breathe.
‘What manner of demon is this? How does it come tae be wi’ us?’ Glendon asked, taken aback by the sight, not knowing it was his own brother.
Before anyone could speak, Glendon heard his name spoken through the distorted voice. He looked at the thing before him and recognized the voice as his brother’s. In a troubled and questioning voice, he spoke back.
‘Gordon?’
Gordon weakly nodded and dropped the sword from his hands. Even in horror at his sight, Glendon dismounted quickly and stripped his robe off, wrapping his brother in it, holding him closely.
‘We’re in no position to defend, let alone attack. We must see tae Gordon and the others and get tae safety.’ Glendon yelled out.
They helped Gordon up onto Glendon’s lap, so he could hold him, knowing he was too weak to hold on by himself. Gordon clung to his brother, as they rode the short distance back to the others and helped them up onto horses and rode them back a few miles to a flat clear area out of view. Carefully they lowered Gordon onto robes and covered him with more. Glendon sat so his brother’s head rested on his leg and asked the others what happened to him.
‘We were chasing Blair MacRae and another birlinn, when cannon fire took us out. Gordon was blown clear off the bow, but the charge stuck tae his face and burned it away. It’s by God’s wish that he’s alive at all.’ Angus MacDonnell told him sadly, but with astonishment. Glendon looked down at the morbidity his brother had become and tried to fathom the pain he was in. To see him charging like that, now knowing his state, his admiration for his brother’s courage grew. He held his brother’s hand tightly and felt him squeeze harder in return.
‘I need five of ye’s tae stay wi’ me and the rest ride tae Robert and tell him what’s happened. See if there’s a man among them that can see tae Gordon and the others and ha’e him ride back.’ he told them and tried not to look at any one man.
Jacob, Angus and Lachlan stood forward immediately and went to assisting the wounded, then Brice MacIntaggert and his son, Robert knelt beside him and the others bowed and rode off. The six men looked at each other and wanly smiled, knowing that their lives were in the balance of life and death. Any attackers that came over the rise to them, would more than outnumber them and mean certain death.
‘Robbie, go tae the rise and watch fer anyone coming fer us.’ his father told him, as he went to help Jacob pull a piece of wood from a man’s back.
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‘Okay, that’s what’s happened on the west coast, now back tae MacRae’s march tae Donan, or do ye want more birlinn action?’ Stuart let them decide.
The men wanted birlinn action, while the women wanted to know what happened at the castle. Only Deb was curious enough to ask where Therese and the French were at this point.
‘Tavish, ye know what happened better than I do. I tend tae like more of the castle tales, while Tav likes the sea battles and such. Argus, he likes tae let ye know people were’ne nice tae each other back then. So off ye go, Tav and bring things up tae speed wi’ everybody about the French and the birlinns, then I’ll get back intae the march.’
Stuart told them and motioned for Tavish that he had the floor. Tavish looked at the rapt faces once more and set in to the story, looking to keep them that way.
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