"By the Goddess, where did they come from?" Kirran gasped, risking a glance over his shoulder as he and Gen dashed down he hill, damp grass break-neck slick. There was a group of Scots in full battle garb charging over the crest of the hill after them.
"Who knows?" Gen replied, her robe fluttering behind her as she ran. "Come on, boy!"
They hit level ground, breaking across the open pasture at full tilt.
"We're sitting ducks, you know," Kirran told her.
"Running targets, you mean," she replied. She tossed her head wildly, hood falling back to reveal her windblown black curls. She pointed. "That way!"
He followed the direction of her outstretched arm and saw the looking grey form of Killare hill. "Are you mad, woman?"
But she was already scrambling up the steep slope, not looking back. With a sigh, he sucked a deep breath into his lungs and hurried after her.
She was a swift runner, barely winded by the exertion. Kirran had no idea how she could run with that long robe just waiting to trip her up.
"Come on, farm boy," she called over her shoulder. She was nearing the top of the hill.
He hurried to catch up with her, and they stood on the ridge of the hill, watching the Scots charging after them.
"Think the odds are a little unfair?" Kirran gasped out.
Gen surveyed the rapidly approaching troops. An amused smile played upon her lips. "Just a little."
He tried desperately to catch his breath. "Erm...shouldn't we be running?"
She didn't answer, and made no move to run. He wasn't going to leave her there, not by herself. His father was right - he may have been a fool, but he had honour. The honour didn't vanish, but the fear appeared increasingly as the storming footsteps of the wild band of attackers got louder and closer.
Blue eyes huge, Kirran grabbed her wrist and began tugging insistently.
"Come on, Gen, we should go, right about now!"
His voice rose an octave higher in terror when he saw the Scots coming up the hill path. Gen jerked free of his grip and leaned down, scooping up a large stone. Kirran squeaked in surprise when she threw the rock, hard, taking down several men. More men drew swords.
Time to act. He snatched her by the arm and leapt off the path. She shrieked in surprise when they landed on the sharp outcrop, then regained her balance.
"You first," Kirran ordered, and she scrambled over the rocks in front of him.
Behind, the Scots were cursing loudly in their garbled dissention of Gaelic, stumbling to climb after the two youth.
Gen was restricted to clinging to the sheer rock face, Kirran hanging on beside her.
"What do we do?" she asked.
"Make it around to the other side," he grunted. "Then we can jump down, if we're lucky."
She flashed a grin, and they continued edging along.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the spot. He gulped. He'd done this as a child, sure, but...
"Gen, jump, now!"
She hurled herself backwards without question. She hit the grass and rolled, then got to her feet.
Kirran glanced to his left. By Weiryn, they were closer!
"Run, Gen," he ordered, feigning bravado for the last time in his life. He accepted his duty then and there.
"No, Kirran, jump, I'll catch you!" she replied.
The blue-faced Scot was coming closer, grinning around the knife held in his teeth.
"Kirran, I swear on my mother's life!"
"Your mother's already dead!" he called out, automatically. The Scot freed up one hand.
No...
The Scot lifted the knife and swiped.
Kirran dodged, and loosed his grip on the rock.
He landed half on a person, half on the grass.
Gen hauled him to his feet. "Nice jump, let's go." As they loped along the pasture, she asked, "So, farm boy, are your days usually so exciting?"