Blood of the Clans Ch. 47

The Justice rocked against the anchor chains, as its guns roared, its shots peppering the thick stone walls. Chunks of stone sprayed off the walls, leaving foot deep impressions behind. From the south, MacRae watched as the cannon took shot after shot, until it found the gate. The wood shattered and splintered open with the impact, leaving the castle open to attack. From across Duich, the thirty two pound cannon barraged the west wall, demolishing the new cannon battlement and any means of defence.

Garreth stood on the west wall remains, looking across at hundreds of men, unable to cross to them, or counter the attacks. Three birlinns full of men had sailed back to the south shore of Alsh, far enough down to avoid attack.

From high in the tower house, a call of tall ships coming rang out, as another volley from all sides followed. Shot sent shards of rock everywhere, wounding anyone within striking distance. Garreth ran from his cover and into the tower house. As fast as he could climb the steep stairs, he made it to the top floor and looked down the loch. There, as big as anything he had ever seen, was the Ville de Lyon coming out of Kyle Rhea and then two smaller ships following behind. His heart raced in desperation, knowing the guns aboard such a ship would pulverize the castle walls with little effort.

Closer they came, passing the island and wending their way slowly towards them. It was then that Garreth saw the flag flying from the centre mast. The Fleur de Lis waved slowly in the breeze and Garreth felt his heart leap. He had no idea why they were there, but he knew Fate played its hand close and gave nothing away until it wanted to. He saw a birlinn rowed fast towards the large vessel, then men climbing aboard. He would find out later that it was Grayson who had boarded the ship. The tower shook violently, as another multitude of shots pounded against the walls below him. Before he ran down, he watched as the birlinn reached shore and the two smaller ships began sailing down the coast. The large ship began turning its sails, pivoting on its anchored side, coming broadside to him.

He sprinted for all his worth, descending to the ground and racing outside. Standing by the razed battlement wall, he and dozens of others watched, as rows of barrels were rolled out in preparation for firing. A moment later, smoke billowed angrily from the top row of the ship, blanketing it from view, followed by a tremendous roar. The masts and rigging of the Justice blew apart in splinters, falling on the decks and crushing anyone underneath. Captain Roberts looked at the French ship and knew his duty. Fight till the cannons stopped firing. The cannons able to fire were loaded and the order given. Shot pounded the walls of the tower and opened holes in previously hit areas.

Before another order could be given, the second tier of guns roared and the Justice blew apart along her port side superstructure. Men were hurled into the water, already dead with splinters of wood imbedded deep in their bodies. Roberts pulled himself up bloodied and injured and shouted for the cannons to be loaded. As men began the task of reloading and clearing debris, the rearmed top row and bottom row of guns firing, signalled the end as they engulfed the ship in smoke, Twenty shots of thirty two pounds of iron, along with twenty incendiary canisters streaked across the expanse in seconds and blew the hull apart, while the remaining deck area was engulfed in flames. In ironic consequence, Roberts was hit full force by a canister, driving him onto the deck, before exploding and obliterating him completely, the way he liked to do to others, his ship destroyed by the same methods he used.

While the Ville de Lyon demolished the Justice, the two smaller ships had slowly made their way along the coast and began opening fire into the trees where Blair and his men, along with soldiers, were hiding. Shots exploded and burst into flames, driving the men from cover, some becoming running torches, their screams of agony unheeded. The Insurgent rounded the point first and opened fire with its guns on the cannon battery. The shots went over their heads and exploded behind them, creating an inferno out of the trees. The crew wheeled the cannon around to fire at it, unaware the Vengeance had rounded the point and was now lining up their guns on them. Before the cannon roared once more, the frigate's guns belched out smoke and shots bombarded the area, smashing the cannon's carriage to pieces and sending bodies and parts of them flying in all directions.

The two ships sailed slowly down the loch and began turning to the opposite shore and sailing back up. The starboard cannons of the Insurgent were loaded with incendiary shot and awaited command to fire. MacRae and Rennie watched the carnage happen on the opposite shore and knew there was no hope in staving off an attack. Orders to seek shelter were given and men began dispersing from the scene in haste. The first ship opened fire and the battery placement was engulfed in flames, as powder was hit and exploded, sending lethal projectiles in all directions. The Vengeance's cannons were loaded with 'spice' shot and fired at the mass of men still trying to gain distance form the scene. Bodies were blown to pieces, as the shot erupted in their midst and shrapnel tore through their flesh. With both cannons and the Justice out of action, the ships sailed back to the Ville de Lyon and awaited further orders.

Grayson and the men who had landed up from the west side cannon and Blair, now made their way in cautious haste towards the area where the men were hit, while the others on the far side, now sailed past the burning hulk of the Justice. As Sorely and Colla closed in on men still clinging to life, holding on to wreckage, they signed the Cross over themselves and ran their swords through them, laughing and smiling as they did it, while others shot arrows at ones further away. The others followed suit and by the time the last boat crossed to Donan's shores, nary a live man was in the water. The beaches of the atoll and peninsula would be stained with the blood for days after, the bodies littering the shores and left to rot and be eaten by animals.

Robert and the men stood in awe, watching the action unfold before them from on top of the beinn. By the time the last ship had fired, he had given the order to charge the army from behind and drive them into Garreth's men and the re-enforcements now north of the castle. Two hundred and fifty riders rode down the path the archers had taken and were soon racing across the flat land to the bridge they ambushed from. The dead animals made the men cheer, knowing they had succeeded well in delaying the attack and no sign of any of them dead made for greater joy. They raced along the coast, the way unhindered by attackers, watching the whole time, what MacRae did to guard his rear from attack. A small contingent of two hundred had broke off from the main formation and rode into the hills by Keppoch, so Robert knew to be aware of attack once he neared the area.

Unknown to the contingent, Iain and his one hundred and forty men were up higher still on the ridge above them. Leaving their horses and travelling on foot, they quietly made their way down and watched them. It would be foolhardy to take them on, but Iain was prepared to lessen their forces when the time was right. Bows and arrows were readied, as they crept closer, coming within fifty feet behind them.

Robert and his men were riding hard along the newly made road, eyes constantly looking up into the hills above them. They had rode past the spot he knew they went up, so an ambush was imminent at any time. The ambushers waited patiently, keeping their horses quiet and steady, as they heard the horses approaching. They had complete cover from trees on approach and a clear view of anyone after passing them.

Iain watched them, seeing them getting tense, as the horses came by them. His men readied their arrows and waited for his order, as he waited for the leader to give his signal to charge. Iain saw the first horses pass them and recognized who it was. The leader had his hand raised to give the order and when the last horse past them, he dropped it quickly and they began to ride. Iain gave his order and as the first riders rode off, arrows began piercing the men in their back rows. Quickly re-arming, another volley was launched and twenty more soldiers fell from their mounts.

Iain screamed a battle cry loudly, alerting the riders and the ambushers. Both halted in surprise and shortly, the ambush was over and a full on attack ensued. Robert and his men drew their blades and started for them, while Iain and his men ran up the hill to their horses and were soon riding down with all the surefooted abilities the ponies had.

Blades began clashing and blood spilled, as the two forces met in combat, men from both sides met their fates at the hands and swords of strangers. As much as Robert and his men depleted the ranks of the ambushers, his men were dying in numbers as well.

In a pause between conflicts, Robert caught sight of the riders coming from the trees and was unsure if they meant victory, or defeat. Seeing their blades hack and stab the foe, his heart took a comfort at the sight and soon, more of the ambushers were felled and less of their own. As the odds continued to weigh against the ambushers, it wasn't long before men were begging for surrender and mercy, but receiving none, even after throwing down their weapons. Orders had been given not to take prisoners and the men were happy to comply with that order. Heads were quickly severed and bodies gored in multiple stab wounds, as the last one fell under the blades of vengeance.

The wounded were quickly tended to and the dead laid to the side under the shade of trees. The ambushers' bodies were dragged to the shore and tossed, pushed or rolled into the water, the men exacting their measure of justice served, for retaliation in the slaughter of the MacDonnell's and their resting place in the loch.

Robert tried not to count the losses, as he added his men and Iain's together to form a single mass and prepare for an attack. Memories flashed before his eyes, as he looked at the lifeless faces laying on the ground, dreading the thought of telling so many loved ones of their loss. With lives still at risk, he put their memories in the back of his mind, as he concentrated on the task at hand, ending the battle.

Stephen had ridden ahead to survey from above, if anymore troops lay in wait for them. From high on his vantage point, it was his good fortune to see the action start when the two frigates bombarded the shoreline and blew away the cannon placements. He observed closely, as he watched MacRae and his men disperse into the hills to avoid the canister shot being shot at them. It was hard not to smile happily at the thoughts, as he rode back to tell Iain and Robert the news. A mighty cheer went up amongst the men, after Stephen relayed the news, then plans were made in earnest haste to attack while their guard was down. They were nine hundred yards from them, but no other way to attack, than a full on charge from the coast, leaving them no means of retreat once they engaged. Stephen quickly added that he could ride the ridge to the other men stationed and have them attack their flanks. That would get them close to five hundred men and half on horseback.

Another rider could make it to the far side of the castle and have the men protecting the north side and have them begin the attack from the front, once again surrounding them and driving them towards the loch. It would depend entirely on the timing of the others to make it to them in time. If they weren't prepared to battle when Robert engaged, it was nothing more than a suicide mission that would disrupt and delay the inevitable and needlessly ending their lives.

"When ye've made it tae the top ridge, Stephen, we'll start tae march on them. That'll gi'e ye enough time tae tell them and make their way down tae us. God speed yer journey and spare ye safe." Iain told him, then clasped wrists and hugged solidly, before letting him go.

Mounting up, Stephen looked at Iain and Robert, then to most of the men, his look serious and grave, knowing their lives depended on him making it to the others and informing them. He turned his pony and urged it to ride as fast as it could up the steep hillside, rising higher and higher to the upper trail. Finding the start, he rode along it to the first area he knew the men were stationed, his heart racing with the adrenalin, as he rode as fast as he could, his eyes scouting the trees for danger. He caught the movement the moment it happened, but too late to do anything in defence, so he tucked down close to his horse and kept riding as fast as he could, as two enemy archers took aim at him. He put his head behind the horse's neck to protect it, but his body became more exposed. The first arrow pierced his chest, while the second drove through his calf and into the horse's belly.

The animal stumbled and faltered, as it re-acted to the wound. Stephen was tossed to the ground and felt the agony of the arrow do more damage to him internally, as his horse responded to the arrow being removed and ran away in fright, blood pouring from the open wound. He waited for his attackers to come and finish him off, as he clasped his hands to his wounds. Blood trickled from his mouth as he coughed and he knew he was finished in little time to come. He heard the footsteps approaching him and faintly heard them talking about how good the one man's shot was. He figured it was the one who hit his chest and wished before he died, he could inflict as much pain on him.

Their footsteps stopped suddenly and then two thuds were heard close behind him. Stephen tried to turn and see what happened, but the pain denied him. In a moment, a man knelt beside him and gently laid a hand on him. He looked up and saw a familiar face, but no name to put to it. He grasped at his arm tightly and gurgled out he wanted to see Athol. The man yelled out for him and shortly, Athol was running towards them. Athol saw the clothing and knew immediately it was Stephen, He looked him over and judged his wounds to be fatal, seeing the blood pour from his mouth and where the arrow was lodged in his lung. Stephen looked into Athol's eyes desperately and pulled him close.

"Robert, Iain, attacking from behind," he paused and spat out blood to let him draw a breath, "attack now wi' men and get tae the others, attack," more blood poured from his mouth, making it harder to speak or breathe. "now, Athol..." was all he could get out, as he began drowning in his blood. Athol held him closely, his tears beginning, as he watched his best friend slowly die in his arms.

Athol laid him down gently, then rose and yelled to his men to assemble. His voice broke with emotion, his tears flowing, as he told them what Stephen had told him. Quickly men on foot made their way down towards MacRae's army, as a rider mounted and rode hard towards the north placement of men. Athol mounted up and sadly looked down at his slain friend, then he and his riders made for the path that led down to where a lower pass would put them above the scene and a place to attack from.

From the watchtower, several men observed the movement of the men up in the hills, unsure of why they had broke their positions without order. Garreth was quickly summoned and informed of the change. He heard how they were moving at great speed and knew something of great consequence was happening. Quickly lookouts were alerted and searched for signs of enemy movement or attack. With nothing visible, Garreth surmised an attack must be underway and made ready in the castle for an assault. When word came that the newly arrived clans and their own north placement were in motion, Garreth had riders go out and find out what was happening.

Nerve-wracking minutes passed, before the riders came back and told him of Robert mounting an assault from the rear with only two hundred and sixty men, Athol's men were coming down on their right flanks and the five hundred stationed to the north were now making way for a head on assault. Garreth began screaming out for the men to assemble, relegating others to round up every man not guarding key points. Crucial minutes passed before fifty riders and one hundred and ten men on foot, were listening to Garreth explain the attack and what they must do. The debris in front of the battered gate was cleared and shortly after, the echo of hooves and feet making their way across the bridge, was heard echoing back from the hills.

Garreth and five others rode hard to get to the men already attacking, their lives now in danger from the pits they unknowingly charged towards. Garreth made it in front of the men and steered them into the hills, before halting them. Sorley rode over to him, puzzled as to why he stopped them.

"Sorley, ye nearly ran intae the pits. There's o'er twenty dug in that open area ye were headed fer." Garreth panted out, as he pointed to the area. "They're bedded wi' spikes in the bottom."

Sorley looked at him and then to the area, breathing a sigh at realizing how close to death he had come.

"We'll head up tae the first ridge up there. Sorley, but what's happened?" Garreth asked, still not knowing why the charge was on.

"Word has come that men attack from the rear and down from they hills. If we don't make it in time, those men will be outnumbered and be slaughtered." Sorley told him.

Garreth felt a rage grow, his plans being usurped and now an unknown coming into play to contend with. "How soon is the attack?"

"Now. The rider came and told us tae make our way around that bend and meet MacRae head on."

Garreth tried to quickly formulate a plan of attack, knowing what was happening, what was going to happen and what he wanted to happen. He needed the men to drive MacRae forward to the pits and not wage hand to hand combat in less than ideal surroundings.

"Follow me. We need tae get higher up and force MacRae intae those pits. Peadair, go back and ha'e the archers readied tae light the bridge and God willing, we can drive them intae our next trap, if they make it past this one." Garreth told his brother, then rode off in haste and led the men into the hills and the higher ridge line.

MacRae had recovered from the attack and recalled his men to positions. With all the artillery gone, he knew there was only one decision left to make. He mounted up and led the army of nine hundred towards the gates of Donan. There was only eight hundred yards to cover to get to the bridge and he was determined he was crossing it this time. Rennie had his one hundred heavy cavalry lead the charge, while he and MacRae rode with the two hundred light cavalry behind them. The six hundred foot soldiers ran slowly after them, saving their strength for the confrontation. With every stride, MacRae neared Donan and felt his prize was in hand at last. With every stride, certain death lay in wait for the unsuspecting, ready to end whatever plans they might have..

Across Loch Duich, smoke rose from the burning remains of MacRae's birlinns, as well as the cannon placement. Blair and the others fled into the hills after the attack and saw Grayson and at least two hundred more men racing into the hills in their direction. Blair, along with his men and the remaining soldiers, made their way up to the ridge and began racing as fast as they could for the head of Duich. There wasn't enough knowledge of the land to know where to hide or make a defence, just the sight of his father and the army across the loch now massing, being the only place that held safety. With complaints of rest needed, he looked back and saw the first of the pursuers coming to the top of the ridge close to a mile back. Stopping, he quickly caught his breath between sentences, as he spoke to them.