Henry Wynd, in his impatience to begin the contest, advanced before the Clan Chattan and signed to Eachin to come on.
Norman, however, sprang forward to cover his foster brother, and there was a general, though momentary, pause, as if both parties were willing to obtain an omen of the fate of the day from the event of this duel.
The Highlander advanced, with his large sword uplifted, as in act to strike; but, just as he came within sword's length, he dropt the long and cumbrous weapon, leapt lightly over the smith's sword, as he fetched a cut at him, drew his dagger, and, being thus within Henry's guard, struck him with the weapon (his own gift) on the side of the throat, directing the blow downwards into the chest, and calling aloud, at the same time, "You taught me the stab!" But Henry Wynd wore his own good hauberk, doubly defended with a lining of tempered steel.

Had he been less surely armed, his combats had been ended for ever.

Even as it was, he was slightly wounded.
"Fool!" he replied, striking Norman a blow with the pommel of his long sword, which made him stagger backwards, "you were taught the thrust, but not the parry"; and, fetching a blow at his antagonist, which cleft his skull through the steel cap, he strode over the lifeless body to engage the young chief, who now stood open before him.
But the sonorous voice of Torquil thundered out, "Far eil air son Eachin!" (Another for Hector!) and the two brethren who flanked their chief on each side thrust forward upon Henry, and, striking both at once, compelled him to keep the defensive.
"Forward, race of the tiger cat!" cried MacGillie Chattanach.

"Save the brave Saxon; let these kites feel your talons!" Already much wounded, the chief dragged himself up to the smith's assistance, and cut down one of the leichtach, by whom he was assailed.
Henry's own good sword rid him of the other.
"Reist air son Eachin!" (Again for Hector!) shouted the faithful foster father.
"Bas air son Eachin!" (Death for Hector!) answered two more of his devoted sons, and opposed themselves to the fury of the smith and those who had come to his aid; while Eachin, moving towards the left wing of the battle, sought less formidable adversaries, and again, by some show of valour, revived the sinking hopes of his followers.

The two children of the oak, who had covered, this movement, shared the fate of their brethren; for the cry of the Clan Chattan chief had drawn to that part of the field some of his bravest warriors.