She crouched, landing in her saddle, her gaze sliding back to the meadow before her. Ella’s stomach pinched tight, making it hard to swallow. “Cain Sinclair is running this way,” she said softly.

“Magairlean!” Kenneth yelled. “Ye need to flee. He saw ye order the assault on his sire.”

The Sinclair warrior raised his fingers to his mouth. Three short bursts sliced through the deep hum of battle, and his white horse charged down from a rise on his left, dodging men and swords in the melee of battle.

Sinclair’s arms pumped on either side of his kilted hips as he ran, using his short sword to slice through a foolhardy Sutherland who got in his way. His features were still distant, but squinting, she could make out the fierce set of his mouth, his teeth showing in a snarl. He wore the promise of death on his face like a mask.

Her heart thumped as the space between them shortened, his long strides eating away the ground like a famished beast. Mesmerized by his grace under all that armor, Ella watched as his steed drew level, slowing to match his pace. The man sheathed his sword and grabbed the side of the saddle, leaping to pull himself up over the horse’s back, solely with the strength of his massive arms.

“Holy Mother Mary,” she said and twisted in her seat to Ethan, the captain of the archers standing behind her. “To the west. Set them to fire overtop of our front line to strike the Sinclairs giving chase.” Ethan rushed off, yelling orders, and his finely trained men followed.

“Get ye the bloody hell out of here,” Kenneth hollered, obviously now able to see the fierce warrior galloping toward their rise.

“Hide!” she yelled at him. She pulled Gilla around to race into the thick pine forest at her back. She wouldn’t ride west, because he’d follow her to disrupt her archers who must save half her army, so she turned south toward the castle, but she would veer east after fording the shallow river on the other side of the forest. If he followed her, it would give Dunrobin more time to prepare for attack. Damn. Without the support of Hew Mackay’s clan, she might lose everything. The thought gripped her around the throat, and she fought to swallow.

Leaning over Gilla’s neck, she gave the beloved horse her head. The two worked together to tilt and dodge upright and fallen trees and the thick summer growth of bramble as they raced through the woods. They had the advantage here among the Sutherland trees, trees she’d spent days climbing as a child instead of risking an encounter with her father back at Dunrobin Castle.