A Voice from the Past

Chapter 8: First Blood

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The captain was on his way with a small company of men to collect some army supplies for them. Uniforms and leather goods were in demand; but especially, brass buttons. After all, these accouterments needed to be replaced on occasion. That afternoon, ironically, the same brigands that attacked before were bearing down on them. What a predicament. This time, Randall was riding in the rear, so he could personally keep tabs on his secret weapon. As he saw the approaching deserters, he quickly tossed his tricorn and some ammunition to Frank, then pulled on his reins, and charged down a ravine at breakneck speed away from his troops, the bloody coward. So much for keeping tabs on his charge.

Unthinking, Frank began loading his pistol, and was ready just in time to start firing when the ambushers arrived. The gang of thieves had miraculously amassed a larger body of men, and without a rifle available to him, the battle was essentially one-sided. He sustained a neck wound in mere minutes. There he was in the thick of it, hampered by trying to stanch the flow of blood with the fingers of his left hand, and fire his gun at the same time with the other. In the middle of the melee, he heard more horses approaching, and great Caesar's ghost—the men on horseback were outfitted in kilts and tartans—highlanders.

The Scotsmen chased off the deserters, who wanted no part of that scene. But what happened next was a blur, as Frank fell from his horse, faint from lack of blood.

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Angus and Rupert were sent on ahead to scope out the highway, and avoid the Watch. They came barrelin' back to us wi' a report. Angus, pulled his animal op sharp right afore me, and dismounted. "There's a gang o' filthy traitors 'bout a mile op the road. Ye better make yerself scarce, lad, if ye value yer life."

I kissed Claire quickly, and spurred Donas on. It was nay great secret as the Watch or deserters or the lobsterbacks were all after Red Jamie, as the price on my head seemed to increase verra substantially as time passed.

My bonny Claire shouted after me, "Jamie, be careful."

"Aye." I was always careful, but wi' so many enemies, it was gettin' so as I needed eyes behind my curly red-haired head.

# # # # #

What in the name of all that's holy, was I doing with this mob of Scots? At every turn, it seemed adversaries popped up like mushrooms. And now, my poor Jamie was off attempting to hold onto his skin a while longer.

I would not have chosen to be here except Dougal dragged me along. He insisted that I come on this excursion to have a healer available if any of his bunch was in need of one. Little did I know ...

We heard the stramash up ahead, and the warchief signaled for the men to creep about the flanks of the traitorous hooligans. "Christ—if it's not one thin', it's another. The filthy deserters are takin' on the British army." Scratching at his beard, he roared, "Let's see if we can shake 'em loose, lads. Look sharp, aye?"

He gestured to young Willy. "Stay here wi' the Sassenach 'til we return."

Even so far away, I could ascertain that redcoats were being attacked by the audacious pack. Dougal, by no means, bore any love for the British, but he absolutely abhorred turncoats. I had to guess that he was bound to aid the soldiers in the hopes that it would engender the same concern for the Scots.

The skirmish lasted only a fraction of an hour. Dougal and his clan scared the daylights out of them. The clatter of horses' hooves galloping away, confirmed that supposition.