THE WAR WASN’T CIVILIZED. IT WAS BLOODY AND HARD-FOUGHT.

MacHugh made no pretense of a surprise attack. He had made sure that MacKenna knew he was coming by sending word to surrounding clans that he was ready to avenge his brother.

When the news reached the MacKenna holding, the laird rallied his soldiers to battle, but he hadn’t had time to call his allies. He swore that the MacHughs would never step foot on MacKenna land. MacKenna would meet the enemy head-on and make the first strike.

MacKenna never varied his strategy, believing what had worked in the past would work again. He would strike and retreat, again and again, with wave after wave of assaults. Although his men weren’t as well-trained, they were twice in number, and he could move fresh troops in after each wave. He had another advantage as well: his archers. As the MacHughs poured down the mountain and crossed the flats, there would be no place to hide. Even if they managed to reach the border of the flats, his archers would be waiting to finish them off.

Colm counted on MacKenna’s stupidity.

It never occurred to Laird MacKenna that the MacHughs could cross the flats in the dark. Even fools would never try to ride across what they could not see. Without light, their horses could stumble and falter. But the MacHughs didn’t ride their horses, they silently led them across. By morning light they had made a wide circle and were in position behind their enemy. They advanced, forcing the MacKennas to engage in battle or run. Most of them ran.

Once they flushed the MacKennas into the open, they fought with their swords and with their fists. The battle was quickly won, for the MacKennas fought like the cowards they were. One even tried to use another as a shield against MacHugh’s sword. Colm killed them both with one hard thrust, his blade cutting through two bodies just below their hearts.

Colm was always the first to go into battle. He led his men. MacKenna was always the last, fighting only when there was little actual danger of getting killed.

Bodies covered the field like rushes. Every dead MacKenna was turned over in search of the laird. But he was not to be found. Colm stood in the middle of the carnage, his sword dripping MacKenna blood, enraged that MacKenna had slipped away.

“Find him!” he roared.

The MacKenna keep was blocked off. The hunt continued.

Colm found his enemy three long days later, hiding like a coward in a grotto near the bluff overlooking Loch Gornoch. With swords drawn, two of MacKenna’s soldiers stood guard in front of their laird.

Braeden leaped from his horse and ran to Colm’s side.

“Stand back,” Colm ordered. His eyes locked on MacKenna as the two MacKenna soldiers ran for their lives.

Grasping his sword in both hands, Colm raised his arms high over his head.

The last image Owen MacKenna saw was a looming shadow.

The last sound he heard was the music of the sword.