by Baker, Katy
Another man stood by the fireplace, watching as Finn marched up and down. He looked weary and travel-stained and was just finishing a cup of ale.
Finlay looked up as the door swung closed. He gestured impatiently for Lia and Ross to sit.
"Uncle?" Ross said, glancing first to Finlay and then to Thea. "I heard the bell. What's happened?"
Finlay didn't reply. Instead he glanced at the man by the fireplace and gestured. "Tell them what ye told me."
The man finished his cup of ale and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"My name is Garen MacTavish and I've come from Drumholt."
The name of the place didn't mean anything to Lia but the others tensed at the mention of it.
"Ye are welcome here, Garen MacTavish," Thea said, inclining her head gracefully. "What news do you bring of Drumholt?"
Garen visibly paled and had to swallow a few times before he could continue. "We were attacked, my lady. In the dead of night a fleet of ships came up the river. They killed the men on watch and were into the village before we realized they were there. They killed anyone who resisted, carried off what they could, burned what they could not."
Thea gasped, pressing a hand to her chest and Ross's expression turned stony.
"When was this?"
"Four nights past, my lord," Garen replied. "I managed to saddle a horse and flee although it was only by the grace of God that I got out. They saw me and gave chase. The bastards are mighty good archers, even in the dark. It's not natural, I tell ye."
Ross sat back, rubbing his chin. "Who do ye think these people were? A rival clan?"
Garen shook his head. "Nay, my lord. They weren't Highlanders, that's for sure. I've never seen their like before. They were like monsters coming out of the night."
"It must be the Irish raiders!" Thea hissed. "Who else would do such a thing as this?"
Finlay frowned. "But the attack came from inland, remember? From upriver. The Irish raiders attack from the sea where they are strong." He turned to look at Garen. "Ye have done right to come to us, Garen, but I need ye to think now. Drumholt lies right on the border with MacTavish lands and is administered by Laird MacTavish's nephew. I've heard tell he's a hot-headed man with a knack for getting himself into trouble. Could he have stirred up trouble with his neighbors? Could this raid be some kind of feud with another lord?"
Garen opened his mouth, but no words came out. He swallowed a few times. "I know what I saw, my lord."
Finlay looked skeptical and Ross's frown revealed nothing of what he was thinking. Something nagged at Lia, something that had been bothering her from the first time she'd heard about the threat from the Irish raiders. She had the strangest feeling that they were going about this the wrong way and not thinking things through properly. They were missing something.
"A map!" she cried suddenly, bolting upright. "Somebody get me a map!"
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
"Lia?" Ross asked. "What is it?"
"I need a map!" she repeated. "One that shows Dun Ringill and the surrounding lands. Quickly!"
Ross crossed to one of the bookcases against the wall. He rummaged for a moment and then returned with a scroll. Lia took it from him and rolled it out on the large table in the center of the room. Her heart was hammering. If she was right...
She placed her finger on the spot that marked Dun Ringill and then used the tip of her finger to trace the river inland, bypassing its many tributaries until she found the one that Drumholt sat on. She used a candleholder to mark this place and continued looking, eyes scanning the map, wishing she had satellite images or interactive maps or any of the modern day equipment that would help confirm her suspicions.
Then she saw it, so faint that anyone not looking for it would miss it. A fine line drawn on the map, one that marked a river that split off from the main one at Drumholt. One that led inland from a sheltered cove on the coast.
"My God," she breathed. "They're not coming by sea." She looked up, met Ross's gaze. "They're coming by river."
Ross and Finlay both crossed to the table and leaned over the map. She traced the route with her fingertip. "They could take this river here and row inland without being seen until they reached Drumholt, then if they turned west they could ride the river all the way here. That's why they attacked Drumholt—they didn't want anyone to escape and warn us."
Ross shook his head. "That isnae possible. Their ships are sea-going vessels, too big to navigate a river."
"Think about it. You said yourself that the marks we saw on the beach were unusual. What if they’ve changed the design of their ships to allow them to navigate the rivers? You also said this summer has been one of the wettest you could remember. With the rivers running so high maybe they dare risk it. Especially because Dun Ringill's defenses—”
"—are all on the seaward side," Ross finished for her. "God help us, ye are right. They canna hope to take Dun Ringill from the sea so they’re coming upriver instead."
Finlay let out a string of curses in Gaelic. "Have they not done enough to this clan?” he growled. “Can they never let us be?"
"But we are warned," Thea said, rising to her feet. "Thanks to Garen, they've not succeeded. We realize their plan and can counter it, right?"
Ross and Finlay shared a look.
"It isnae that simple, mother," Ross said.
Finlay straightened and turned to Garen. "How many ships did ye see? How many men to a ship?"
Garen shook his head. "It was dark and what little I could see was only through smoke and firelight. But I reckon there were at least ten ships and maybe fifty raiders in each."
"So what do we do?" Thea asked, rising to her feet. "I'll be damned if I'm going to sit in this castle whilst our people are in danger!" Her eyes flashed and Lia saw a steely determination in her eye. She understood now where Ross got it from.
"We need information," Finlay muttered, almost to himself. "I'll ride out at first light with a squad of scouts. We'll find out where the raiders are and how quickly they're traveling." He glanced at Garen who had sank into the chair Thea had vacated. The man looked exhausted. "If, as Garen says, this happened four days ago, we might not have much time. It depends on whether they decide to stay at Drumholt and resupply before continuing this way."
"Either way, the settlements along the river are in danger. They could be hit any time," Ross said. "I'll ride out and warn them, get them evacuated."
"And bring them here," Thea said. "The walls of Dun Ringill are the safest place for them."
"I'll come with you," Lia said to Ross.
He shook his head. "Nay, lass. It isnae safe—"
"I'm coming with you," she repeated. "I want to take a look at the river defenses on the landward side."
"The river on that side is wide. It isnae defensible."
"Maybe. But I'd still like to take a look."
She was an engineer. If anyone could work out a way to defend Dun Ringill from these raiders, it was her. She had to try, she owed these people that much. Holy crap, she owed Ross much more than that. He looked at her and his gaze softened.
After a moment he nodded. "Aye. Now I suggest we get what sleep we can. I suspect tomorrow will be a trying day."
Chapter 15
Somewhere in the distance a cock crowed, decrying the early hour. The first pink blush of dawn was lighting the eastern horizon, and the air was crisp and cold enough to make Ross’s breath plume in the air as he, Lia, and twelve warriors rode along the river bank away from Dun Ringill.
As they rode, he couldn't help glancing at Lia. She was riding awkwardly, holding the reins in one hand whilst with the other she hastily scribbled things on a bit of parchment she had tied to the front of her saddle. Ross smiled inwardly. Ah, Lord but she was beautiful. Beautiful and intelligent and resourceful. What more could he ask than to be riding through a fine Highland morning with the woman he loved by his side? Peace, he thought. That’s what I ask for. Is that too much?
Peace for my clan and safety for Lia.
They reached the village that crowded close to Dun Ringill on the eastern side. Already most of the villagers were busy packing their belongings, ready to carry them inside the safety of Dun Ringill's walls. Finlay and his trackers had ridden out before first light, bringing the warning for them to leave.
“Can we take the goats with us, Lord Ross?”
“How will we get my Ma to the castle? She canna walk that far these days.”
“When will we be allowed back?”
“Are ye sure the raiders are coming here, Lord Ross? Mayhap they turned east towards MacGregor lands.”
These and countless other questions were fired at Ross as he rode through the village, ensuring everyone was packing up and leaving, detailing some of the warriors to help those that needed it. He answered the questions with as much patience as he could muster, but in truth he had few answers to give them.
It was a relief when they left the village behind. They rode for a mile or so along the river bank to a spot where the river widened. Here docks had been built to which barges and other river vessels could be tethered.
Lia suddenly pulled up her horse. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed out over the river, her lips moving silently.
She turned to Ross. "This is where we'll have to hold the raiders. Any closer and they’ll get below Dun Ringill’s walls."
He frowned. "Aye, I understand that, lass. But this part of the river isnae defensible."
She didn't answer. Instead she swung her leg over the saddle, jumped down from the horse and made her way down to the wooden docks where she crouched on the bank, scribbling furiously on the parchment. The men glanced at each other, bemused.
With a curt command for them to wait, Ross dismounted and crouched next to her. She didn't look at him. In fact, she barely seemed to notice him. She kept glancing at the river, squinting along its length, at the banks, then back to her parchment.
"When is low tide?" she asked.
He blinked at her. "What?"
"This river is tidal, right? When is low tide?"
Ross thought for a moment. "The day after tomorrow, I think."
Lia nodded. "Then we don't have much time." She straightened, brushed off her skirts, and then marched back to the horse. "Come on. We have to get back and start preparing."
He caught her wrist. "Wait! Slow down, lass. What are ye talking about?"
She held out the parchment. On it Ross saw some diagrams and calculations that made no sense to him at all.
"The river is tidal. That means it is defensible—if we act quickly. We need to stop those ships from reaching Dun Ringill's gates, right? We have to hold them here. There are many ways to block a river. If we had more time, perhaps we could fashion a harbor chain or a bridge that can be lowered and raised. But if it's low tide soon, we have the opportunity to sink piles into the river—poles that ships cannot pass. See? I've done the calculations and I think it will work."
He was having a hard time keeping up with her. Her thoughts seemed to flash like quicksilver and his own felt sluggish in comparison. She held out the parchment, indicating the diagram.
"We'll need timber, lots of it, but with all the people at Dun Ringill I think we have the man-power to do it in time. We sharpen piles, drive them into the river bed at low tide to form a wall across the river. When it's high tide, the water will cover them so the ships won't see them until it's too late. They'll be caught. Then your warriors can do their work with an enemy that is trapped."
He stared at the diagram then looked at Lia. He remembered her ingenuity when they’d raised the broken wagon off that villager. What had she said she was? An engineer?
"Ye've done this kind of thing before?"
She nodded. "On my last job we were sinking piles into the riverbed to strengthen a railway bridge. They were being used for a different purpose—and they were made from reinforced steel rather than wood—but the procedure is the same."
Ross felt a huge swell of pride. Who was this beautiful, remarkable woman who'd fallen into his life? He was lucky beyond measure.
The men had crowded close to hear what she had to say and now he heard them whispering amongst themselves. Their voices held a tinge of hope that hadn’t been there when they'd ridden out this morning.
"Ye really think this will work?" Ross said. He reached out and ran his finger down the side of her face.
Lia smiled, leaning into his touch. "I hope so because I'm out of ideas."
"Then let's get back to Dun Ringill. The lads can ride on and warn the rest of the villages along the river. My mother will want to hear yer plan."
Lia nodded. They remounted their horses and rode back to Dun Ringill. They had to weave their way through a procession of people and animals on the road back to the castle. Inside, the bailey was crowded, with barely space to move. The steward and his army of helpers were busy trying to find places for the refugees but Ross suspected many of them would have to sleep in the bailey. He and Lia dismounted, handed their horses over to a stable-hand and hurried into the Great Hall.
It was busy in here too, with half of the space given over to the refugees from the village. The other half had been kept clear, with four tables set up in a square. The tables were covered in maps and parchments and people were busy dashing to and fro, bringing and taking messages. Thea and Finlay were seated at the table, along with a few other people who had a hand in Dun Ringill's defense. Ross frowned at the sight of his uncle. That he had returned from scouting so early, did not bode well.
"What news, uncle?" Ross asked as he and Lia reached the table.
Finlay looked up from the map he was staring at. "Three days," he announced, his voice rough as though he'd spent the morning barking orders. "We met riders from Ainlich Garrison coming to warn us. The raiders will be here in three days."
Ross nodded, even as his stomach twisted with dread. He surveyed the Great Hall, filled with terrified villagers and wide-eyed children. What would become of these people if Dun Ringill fell?
"Then we have three days to devise a plan to stop them. And Lia might have just the thing."
He nodded to her. Lia took a seat and spread her parchment on the table. Thea, Finlay and the others leaned close as Lia explained her plan. Ross crossed his arms over his chest and watched. His mother and uncle listened to her intently, asking questions and then nodding at the answers. As he watched his family discuss the defense of their clan, an odd sensation of history repeating settled over Ross. Was this what had happened twenty years ago when his father and uncles had made their plan to stop the raiders? Had they sat together in this very hall and made their decision to make a bargain with the Fae? Was history repeating itself?
But there were no Fae here to bargain with and besides, they had already shown that Ross's life was too poor a payment for any bargain. There would be no redemption from that quarter. Nevertheless, he felt a weight settle on him, as though the jaws of fate were closing and no matter what he did, he wouldn't be able to escape.
“That's ingenious," Thea said finally, when Lia had explained her intentions. She turned to Finlay. "You think it will work?"
Finlay rubbed his chin. "I have little skill in this area. Logan and Camdan are the ones who would understand all this. But I trust Lia. If this is something she's done in her homeland, then I think we have to try. But there's another problem."
Ross frowned. "What problem?"
Finlay met Ross's gaze. "Garen underestimated the numbers of the Irish raiders. There are at least twice the number he reported. We dinna have enough warriors to meet them. Even if we manage to stop their ships from reaching Dun Ringill, we willnae be able to hold them there. They would overrun any defense we can muster."
"Damn it!" Thea hissed, slamming her palm onto the table. "Those bastards. They waited until Logan and Camdan rode to Edinburgh, taking a third of our warriors. They must have been spying on us the whole time!"
"Aye," Finlay agreed. "And now
we dinna have enough fighting men to repel them."
"What if we could find more?" Ross said.
His mother and uncle looked at him. "More? From where?" Thea said.
"I know of a fighting force who might be convinced to help us."
Finlay narrowed his eyes at him. "What force? I've already sent word to our allies to the north and south but any force they send willnae reach us in time."
Ross shifted uncomfortably. Here it was then. "Archer’s people. I know where their camp is."
"You mean John Archer?" exclaimed Thea. "The notorious outlaw? He and his followers are nothing but criminals!"
"They’re good people!" Ross retorted hotly. "I would trust Archer with my life! We need help. Does it matter where it comes from?"
His mother snapped her mouth shut, clearly unconvinced, but Finlay pursed his lips thoughtfully.
Finally, he spoke. "If there's one thing this clan should have learned by now, it's that help sometimes comes from the most unexpected quarters. Ye think Archer and his people will fight for us?"
Ross hesitated. That feeling was back again, the feeling that fate was closing its jaws around him. "Aye. But they’ll need something in return. A pardon and a promise that they’ll be given a place within Clan MacAuley."
There was an intake of breath around the table.
"A pardon? For outlaws?” Thea asked incredulously. “Son, you ask too much. Only the king can grant a pardon to outlaws—or the laird, as king’s representative."
Ross didn’t answer. He knew where this would lead. The jaws tightened around his neck another notch.
“Yer mother is right,” said Finlay. “Perhaps a pardon would be granted in this instance—after all by helping repel the Irish raiders they would be doing a service to the king. But neither the king nor the laird is here. So who could issue such a pardon? Only his heir.” Finn’s gaze skewered Ross to the spot. “But Laird MacAuley has no such heir since one son died and the other forsook his clan. Unless, of course, something has changed?"