Now Duncan, ever since he had received that wound in his chest over at Coll, had lost the power to raise his right arm above his head, and it went ill with him. When Kenric, rushing to Sir Piers de Currie's right side, first saw his enemy, Roderic was in the act of smiting a fearful blow upon Duncan's bare and outstretched neck. Duncan fell, not even uttering a groan, so speedily fatal was the blow he had received. But above the clang of the battle and the thunderous surging of the waves, there rose at this moment into the air a woman's cry of anguish. It was the cry of Aasta the Fair. Wearing the same coat of mail and helmet that she had worn at the siege of Rothesay, and wielding a light broadsword, she had been fighting with as fearless bravery as any man there present. She had cloven her way through the battling men to the place where rose the towering head of her lover Duncan, and arrived at his side at the very moment when the sword of Roderic smote him down. Splashed with her lover's blood she gripped her sword, nor paused to see if Duncan were indeed dead. She leapt with a wolf-like howl upon Roderic MacAlpin, and so pressed him with her blows that he stepped back and back. The maid, though strong, was ill-trained in the use of the sword, and her every blow was skilfully parried. But to Aasta's side came Kenric, his eyes gleaming with fierce hatred of his foe. They were now at the very verge of the sea, and the spray from the surging billows fell upon them like heavy rain. Roderic struck at Aasta, muttering a curse, and Kenric in parrying that blow missed his chance. He saved Aasta's life, but before he could recover his weapon, Roderic had quickly turned round and plunged into the foaming waves. Promptly did Kenric thrust his sword between his knees and take his longbow from over his shoulder. Aasta as promptly handed him an arrow. He saw Roderic standing waist deep in the breakers sheathing his sword. He levelled an arrow at his throat, but quickly as the arrow flew Roderic raised his shield. The dart plunged into the hard board. Another and another arrow followed with the same result. Then Roderic, throwing himself into the deeper water, and holding his shield to defend his bare neck, swam outward towards the ships. No other man in all that host could have breasted those great waves without being dashed to pieces on the rocks. But Roderic MacAlpin was as much at home in the water as upon the dry land, and though Kenric believed that he had but preferred a watery grave to being hacked to death by sword or axe, yet Roderic reached his ship in safety and lived to fight another day.