he decided the best place to launch his own attack.
Best to wait for the right moment to strike out and remain hidden until then. His kinsmen had already begun to attack the English, their battle cries roaring amid the chaos.
A tightness constricted in his lungs and sweat coated his palms. But he wasn’t afraid to fight. No, soon enough, he would run out and join the MacKinlochs. For now, better to stay here and wait for one of the English to come closer.
A flash of movement caught him by surprise, and an arrow shot past him, embedded in the cart only inches from his face. Dougal dived beneath the cart, his heart slamming within his chest. He’d never seen the English soldier approaching from the back side of the fortress. How had the man slipped inside?
Dougal gripped his dirk, a bead of sweat rolling down his face as the soldier drew closer. He had to make a decision. His pulse quickened, a thick terror rising in the back of his throat.
But then, abruptly, he heard the sound of a dog snarling. Seconds later, his enemy’s knees buckled beneath him. Dougal rolled out from under the cart and saw Bram’s wife Nairna holding a stone in her hand, her dog Caen at her side. She’d struck the English soldier across the head and the man lay motionless, blood streaming from his temple.
‘Take his sword,’ Nairna ordered. ‘And all of his weapons. Quickly, before he wakes up!’
Her face was grey and she looked as if she were about to be sick. Though he’d been trained to fight, Nairna knew nothing about it. She didn’t belong here.
‘Go back with the other women,’ Dougal told her as he seized the unconscious soldier’s sword. ‘You shouldn’t be near the fighting.’
‘Neither should you,’ she said. ‘Come back with me.’
He was about to argue with her, when another motion caught his attention. In a blur, his mind and body seemed to separate. Another soldier ran forwards, his weapon aimed at Nairna. Though Dougal tried to cry out a warning, the words smothered in his throat.
Instinct took over and he rushed forwards, driving the sword into the man’s stomach. The blade sank deep within and Dougal staggered backwards, suddenly aware of what he’d just done.
He didn’t hear Nairna’s words, nor did he know what was happening around him. Blood covered his hands and he couldn’t seem to take a deep breath. His ears rang, his vision blurring.
Bile rose up and he ran to a corner of the palisade wall, heaving up the contents of his stomach. Humiliation was a bitter taste upon his tongue, for he’d just shown Nairna his cowardice.
Moments later, a gentle hand rested upon his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Dougal.’
But it wasn’t. He’d never killed a man before, never known what it was to see the look of shock and death within a man’s eyes. The pieces of his boyhood fell away in that moment, and he understood what his brothers had meant when they’d wanted him to stay clear of the battle. It wasn’t a glorified fight for honour, for death could come at any second, without warning.
He wiped his mouth, realising that his duty right now was no longer to defend their clan and fight. He needed to bring Nairna to safety.
‘I’ll take you back to the others,’ he said. ‘You need to stay with the women and children.’
His brothers would want that. He would join with Callum and they would form their own defence for those who were too weak to defend themselves.
Bram fought off the faceless soldiers, knowing that they were outnumbered. Numbness settled over him and he fought to keep his movements controlled.
Letting the invaders seize control of their lands wasn’t an option. And though his rage was rising with every man he struck down, he couldn’t afford to release his emotions. He had to keep his family safe.
The armies had formed a perimeter, nearly surrounding their fortress. If they managed to encircle Glen Arrin, it was over. He didn’t know whether the English intended to kill them all or show mercy upon the women and children. It was doubtful that their lives would be spared, unless he could get them away from Glen Arrin.
Bram swung his claymore hard, connecting with another enemy, bringing him down. He saw his chance to break free of the fight and raced towards the keep, hoping to find a way to get the women out, with Dougal and Callum’s help.
He stopped short when he caught sight of Gilbert de Bouche, the Earl of Cairnross, entering the gates. Cairnross strode into their broken fortress with the arrogance of one who owned it. He surveyed the land, seemingly satisfied with the burning huts and the bodies littering the ground.
Bram didn’t move. In his enemy’s eyes, he saw the man who had tormented him. His claymore grew heavy, his weariness sinking into his bones. This man had ordered boys flogged because they were too weak from hunger to lift stones. Too many had died, unable to stand the suffering.
There had never been any remorse in Cairnross’s face. He had treated the Scots as his slaves, as if they weren’t fully human.
Doubts and fears rose up inside Bram, crippling his resolve. He saw Alex fighting hard, along with Ross. They would die before surrendering. As would he. But he couldn’t let a man like Cairnross get to Nairna.
‘I wondered if you were alive,’ Cairnross said, lifting his sword. He was flanked by two soldiers, guards who would ensure his protection. ‘You were a great deal of trouble as a slave.’
Bram kept his gaze fixed upon the three men.
Though he longed to fight, he forced himself to wait. ‘What is it you want from us?’
Cairnross glanced back at the rest of the fighting, a smug expression on his face. ‘Harkirk intends to claim his rightful share of your holdings, after you tried to cheat him with false silver. And as for me—’ He nodded to the guard upon his left, who departed for the keep. ‘I lost many of my slaves on the night you attacked. I want compensation for the loss.’
‘You weren’t interested in keeping them alive,’ Bram responded. ‘You wanted them to work until they died, and that was enough for you.’
Cairnross shrugged. ‘They served their purpose.’ Near the gates, more soldiers streamed inside, only to be met by MacKinloch fighters.
Though Bram was glad to see his kinsmen striking down the enemy, inwardly, he grew colder, afraid that there was no way for them to win this fight.
‘Being a traitor has its price,’ Cairnross said. ‘And our orders are to suppress any rebellion.’
That was it, then. They weren’t planning to let any of them live. Though he’d suspected as much, hearing it was enough to make him grip his claymore and raise it towards Gilbert de Bouche. He might die this day, but he fully intended to take Cairnross with him, for what he’d done to so many men.
‘Then I’ll die fighting.’ Bram started to swing his claymore when one of the guards came racing back.
‘They’re not here, my lord.’ The guard’s face was red and he was out of breath. ‘We’ve searched everywhere. None of the women or children are inside the fortress.’
‘They’re in hiding, then,’
