by Temple Hogan
“My castle can afford them little protection. Our walls are breached, our gates smashed. If MacLaren men couldn’t hold them off, neither can MacPhersons.”
“Don’t underestimate a MacPherson, lassie,” Logan snapped and limped toward the main gate. By this time his men had entered the outer bailey and flung themselves from their saddles, Cailla saw that two horses carried bodies slung across their saddles. Men hurried to lift down the wounded and gently lay them on the ground. Though seriously injured, they were still alive.
“Bar the gate,” a tall dark haired man shouted the order and his men hurried to do his biding. The man turned to greet Logan MacPherson. “We rode right into a trap,” he said. “Ulrec and George fell before we could get away.”
“Are they dead?” Logan asked.
“Badly wounded.”
“Logan, the gate is smashed,” a man called.
Logan looked around the courtyard. “Pull those wagons around in front of it. Pile on anything you can find to slow them down.” He turned back to his second in command who swore and pounded a fist against the stone wall.
“There’s no time for blame, Jaimie,” Logan said, slapping his commander on the shoulder. The movement made him flinch with pain.
“Are you wounded, man?” Jaimie asked his expression showing perplexity.
Cailla saw his jaw tighten as he noted the blood soaked braes. Peeling back the leather, he examined the wounds.
“I ran into a little opposition,” the leader muttered as his officer set about binding his wounds.
“And where’s the bastard who did this to you?” Jaimie demanded. “Sent to Hell, I’ve no doubt!”
“You needn’t worry about him!” Logan snapped, wincing as Jaimie’s fingers probed his wounded flesh. Cailla MacLaren’s grin grew wider.
“Are you enjoying my pain?” Logan muttered. “You can’t be Gowain’s daughter. He was a merciful, caring man.”
“Aye, that he was,” Cailla answered somberly.
“This will need some stitches,” Jaimie grunted, examining the thigh wound. “I’d better do it now before the Moncrieffes get here.” Taking out a kit, he threaded a needle and bent to his task.
Cailla watched the sharp instrument puncture Logan’s bloody swollen flesh. Obviously, she expected to hear a moan of pain as the edges of the gaping wound were drawn together, but the wounded man refused to give her the satisfaction. He remained stoically silent, not revealing even by the flicker of a muscle that he felt the needle’s thrust.
Finally, with a look of grudging respect, Cailla retrieved a cup of mead from a barrel kept in one of the artisan’s workshops beneath the inner wall. Sweat beaded Logan’s brow and he looked up, startled, when she handed him the cup. Glancing at its contents he met her gaze, his mouth twisting in a grim smile.
“Have you brought me a poisoned brew, lass?” he queried.
“You will address me as m’lady,” she instructed. “And you may drink the mead or not, as you will.” She set the cup on the ground so hastily half the contents sloshed over its edge. “I would see no man suffer needlessly, even as worthless a creature as you.”
“Your gracious hospitality must surely be renowned near and far,” he declared mockingly, then he bit his lip as his muscles began to quiver in protest at the piercing of the needle in his wounded flesh. He tossed down the contents of the cup and grinned at his benefactress.
“An angel of mercy,” he murmured wickedly so she snatched the cup from him and stomped away.
“Logan, the Moncrieffes have arrived,” a clansman shouted. He was as ragged and unkempt looking as his leaders, but his mouth was a grim line of resolve.
“Man the walls in formation,” Logan ordered.
The next minutes were frantic with activity. MacPherson men lined the castle walls, half of them crouched in safety behind the battlements their bows drawn and ready, while the other half brazenly showed themselves above the ramparts.
Cailla had to admire the clever ploy. The Moncrieffes would be tricked into believing they had half the number of men to deal with. They’d grow insolent and careless.
“Fire,” Jaimie gave the command and the men hidden behind the ramparts rose and unleashed their arrows, while the other half quickly crouched and notched their arrows then rose to fire. In this manner they alternated, loosening their arrows in a steady stream with less exposure to enemy fire.
Cailla stared in amazement. Moncrieffe arrows touched none of the men while their own missiles exacted mortal damage. Beyond the moat, Donel Moncrieffe called a hasty retreat. For a second time this day, the Moncrieffes hauled away their dead. Out of range of the deadly arrows, Donel called back to the castle.
“Dogs of Satan. I’ll be back!” Viciously he drove spurs to horseflesh and galloped away, his heels continuing to kick against his mounts sides.
Cailla scowled at his obvious cruelty to his animals, then she turned back to her allies. “You’ve defeated them!”
“Aye, but they’ll return with a larger force,” explained the man Logan MacPherson had called Jaimie. “It’s a guess who’ll be here next, MacAuley and his army or the Moncrieffes.”
“This is Jaimie Gillecroiex, my friend and tanist.” Logan introduced the dark haired man. “And Jaimie, this is Lady Cailla MacLaren, Gowain’s daughter.”
“Thank you, sir, for your valiant defense of my castle,” Cailla spoke to Jaimie Gillecroiex, liking the man instantly.
A smile curved his lips and he gallantly bowed. “M’pleasure to meet Gowain’s kinswoman, and soon to be Logan’s bride,” he said. “Aye and we’ve come upon you in the nick of it.”
“I’m eternally grateful for your help,” she answered, responding to his easy charm. Though ragged and bearded, as was Logan MacPherson, Jaimie Gillecroiex was a handsome man with an easy laugh and sparkling, provocative eyes. “But you are wrong in declaring me your leader’s bride. He has misled you.”
“‘Tis not he who made such a decision, but your own father. He swore Logan to take you as his wife and give you his protection. I was witness to his words.”
Cailla’s face went white.
“Now is not the time to discuss this. We must make our escape while we have the chance,” Logan interrupted them. “It will be dark soon.”
His features, what could be seen behind the ragged beard, were pale, the lines around his black eyes deeply drawn. Cailla guessed he was in pain from her cuts but felt no triumph.
“You would leave the castle undefended?” she appealed. “We can fight them off. After dark, we can rebuild the gate and—”
“Nay, m’lady, you’re not listening. ‘Tis only a matter of time before we would be defeated, either by superior forces or a siege. I don’t propose to waste my men in such a foolish endeavor.”
“But what of your promise to my father? You just said—” She felt mean-spirited to evoke his pledge now, but she was desperately in need of his manpower.
“I promised to take you to be my wife and give you my name and my protection. That’s what Gowain asked of me. He knew we can’t protect our castles now.”
“You will not defend Tioram?” she demanded heartbroken. Despite herself, her eyes filled with tears.
“Logan, look,” Jaimie said, pointing to the distant hill. A group of horsemen wearing the MacAuley tartan mingled with Moncrieffe men.
“Lundy MacAuley! God’s blood, I thought we’d gained more distance,” Logan growled.
“I’m thinking they didn’t follow us, Logan,” Jaimie said, staring at the forces on the hill. “They came to Tioram on their own.”
“Aye, you’re right. Someone’s set them on us.”
“We don’t even have the element of surprise.”
“Not anymore!” Logan nodded toward the clansmen. “Moncrieffe would be listing his complaints even now. Lundy will know we’re here.”
“Do we make a stand?”
“Not with these odds.” Logan glanced at Cailla. “Is there another exit from the
castle?”
Her gaze darted between the two men. “Why should I show you a way to flee the castle when if you stayed—”
“If we stay, we’ll be slaughtered to a man,” Logan said, taking hold of her shoulders in a painful grip. “If you’ve a way from this castle, you owe it to us to tell, otherwise we’ll be forced to fight our way through yonder gate. Either way, we’re leaving the castle.”
Cailla stared into his black eyes wanting to refuse his request yet knowing in her heart she must in all good conscience tell of the little known postern gate.
“Aye,” she said reluctantly. “There’s a way out through the dungeons. I’ll show you.”
“Jaimie, get the men together. Collect food and supplies for the rest of the trip.” He turned to Cailla’s servant. “Take only what you must to survive and what can be carried on horseback.”
Aggie glanced at Cailla for confirmation.
“Do as you’re bid. Now!” Logan roared and with a whimper Aggie darted away.
Cailla faced him, shoulders straight and unyielding. “I will show you the way out, but I’m staying.”
“Have you a secret liking for rape, torture and mayhem, Cailla?” he demanded. The sound of her familiar name on his tongue was disquieting.
“You will address me as m’lady,” she commanded for a second time. Her cheeks were pale, but she stood her ground.
“Whether you’re a fine lady or a milkmaid, those men out yonder will have no regard for your womanhood except to ravish you and leave you for dead.”
“I’ll hide. There are many places in the castle.”
“We have no time to debate this now. Your father’s instructions were for me to take you to safety and by the gods, I’ll do that whether you agree or not.”
“You can’t take me against my will.”
Logan stepped closer, his black gaze boring into hers. Despite herself, she was intimidated not only by his height and breadth, but the sheer will that emanated from his glare.
“I have no time for this!” he said so quietly it sent a shiver along her spine. “You’ll go with me now and live to regain your lands. If you stay, I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”
He turned away to shout instructions to his men. She’d been summarily dismissed. He assumed she’d simply follow his orders as blindly as his men did. Cailla’s chin tightened stubbornly. She’d bow to the orders of no man, least of all a ragged thief who claimed to be part of the MacPherson clan. How did she know he was? She had only his word.
In the meantime, Logan’s men lost little time in ransacking the kitchens for what bread and food had been left by her own fleeing servants, the sleeping chambers for warm covers and even the storage rooms for wine. Chickens squawked as they were scooped up, their necks broken with a flip of the wrist and their tied feet looped over saddle horns. Piglets raced around the courtyard but couldn’t elude the men intent on bagging them for later meals. All was bedlam.
Cailla’s lips tightened at such open thievery, but she knew to leave behind such foodstuff was to feed her enemies. Aggie appeared on the castle steps tugging two large bundles of clothes. Cailla hurried to her.
“There’s no need to take so much,” she said in a low voice. “We won’t be leaving with them.”
“But what will we do, m’lady?”
“We’ll show them the way out, then hide in the castle. Surely, it’s only a matter of time before my uncle sends help.”
Logan MacPherson loomed before them. “We have less than an hour before those combined forces out there attack this castle. We must be gone before then.” He glanced at the bundles Aggie had brought, lifted them both, then discarded one. The other he tied to the back of a mount, then glared at Cailla.
“Lead us to this secret passage,” he ordered curtly.
“Aye, m’lord,” Cailla dipped her head in acquiescence while her mind raced furiously. She’d find a way to stay and protect her home. Her father would have expected that of her. “I’ll do as you say for now.”
“Let’s be gone from here, m’lady.”
They urged their mounts up the steps into the castle and through the deserted great hall where tables still held the remnants of the last meal consumed by men no longer living. Cailla tried not to remember when her father had been here and his clansmen filled the hall with their laughter and boasts. The tables had been laden with good food and wine and she’d sat on her stool beside her father and listened to tales of honor and bravery, of Wallace and Robert of Bruce. Happy times she would never forget and never have again.
She led the way to the narrow hall beyond the kitchen with its great fireplace, empty now save for the cold ashes on the hearth. A narrow tunnel led to stone steps down to the dungeons. Taking great care that their mounts were not injured on the stairs, the men urged them forward.
At the postern gate, Cailla paused to instruct her maidservant. “When you’re free of the castle, Aggie, you must ride to my uncle at Clackmannan. Tell him how desperate is our situation here. He’ll send forces to help us reclaim Tioram. Give him the banner of Fergus for safekeeping.”
Aggie’s expression was stricken. “Oh, m’lady, I didn’t take the banner down. It still hangs in your father’s room.”
“God’s blood,” Cailla swore and Aggie made no attempt to chastise her, so apparent was her own distress.
“I must rescue it. It cannot fall into the hands of the Moncrieffes,” Cailla whispered. “On the blood of my father, I can’t fail in this. Aggie, take the men to safety. You know the way.”
“What will you do, m’lady?” Aggie protested. “You can do naught. The Moncrieffes will be upon you.”
“Nay. They haven’t entered the castle yet and they must proceed slowly for they’re uncertain what traps might be set for them. I’ll go to father’s room and rescue the banner. I know all the hidden passageways and they do not. They’ll never catch me.”
“Nay, mistress!”
“Say no more, Aggie!” Cailla said sternly. “It must be done. The blood of Fergus MacArc is upon that banner, he who established our clan and I won’t bear the shame of allowing the sacred token to fall into the hands of our enemy. Now go. You must!”
“Aye, m’lady,” Aggie said, shoulders slumping as she moved to the tunnel. “We are ready,” she called to Logan and his men and quickly turned down the passageway.
In the milling confusion, Cailla hung back and when the way was clear, and on winged feet, she sped up the spiral staircase to her father’s room. Slipping inside she stood for a moment, breathing in the remembered scent of him, a mingling of tobacco and heather and well-oiled leather and…
She bit her lips to hold back the tears. Only here in the cocoon-like darkness of her father’s room amid the memories of his laughter and strength could she face the knowledge that she was terrified. The weight of responsibility to her father’s honor and the preservation of their clan rested too heavily on her slender shoulders. She longed to throw herself across his wide bed, burrow into the soft fur coverlets and sob her heart out as she had done as a child.
With the back of her hand, Cailla wiped away the tears she could not hold back and hurried across the room to the wall that held the Banner of Fergus. Reverently she lifted it from its resting-place and felt its power surge from her fingers up her arms to her very heart.
A shout from the courtyard reminded her of the need for haste. Unopposed, the Moncrieffes had entered the bailey. Quickly, she wrapped the banner in an oiled leather pouch and tied it to her back. With a final glance around, and she ran from the room. A hand closed over her mouth. Strong arms clamped around her, pinning her to a hard body.
Chapter Four
“Silence,” Logan’s gruff voice demanded in her ear. “The enemy is below.”
Cailla sagged against the man holding her captive.
Slowly, he removed his hand. “You little fool, why did you come up here? I’ve been searching for you.”
“Aigh. You scared me,” she whispered,
staring into his black eyes. The heat of his body, pressed as it was against the length of her back and buttocks, was disturbing.
“How is it, lass, that I scare you but fifty of Moncrieffe’s men do not? Is there something I’m not comprehending?”
“Pray, don’t be vulgar,” Cailla snapped, struggling against him.
With a snort of frustration, he released her and stood glowering, temporarily silenced by her bold insolence.
“Is everyone gone then?”
“Aye, and I’d be gone as well if not for the promise I made.”
“I know full well you are here to rescue me despite your wishes, Laird MacPherson. You’ve mentioned it often enough in the few hours of our acquaintance, but ‘tis against my will too so I feel no gratitude for your great sacrifice and therefore, no guilt for causing you any inconvenience.” She stopped in her tracks and glared at him. “Therefore, I remind you again that you’re free to leave me at any time.”
“And leave you to the tender mercies of Moncrieffe’s men?” One black eyebrow rose in exasperation.
“They would not find me here in the castle. You forget I know every nook and cranny. I can elude them forever and leave anytime I wish.”
“I doubt that,” he snapped. “Moncrieffe’s men have already discovered the hidden door. It’s only a matter of time before they search the dungeons for its origin. From the furious shouts without I’d say they’re searching for you now. We’ll have to fight our way out.” What he said was so. She could hear the shouts of men beyond the postern gate. There would be no escape there.
“We can get out through the North tower if you’ve the stomach for it,” she whispered.
“Well I’ve no stomach for dying at the hands of the Moncrieffes or the MacAuleys,” he snapped. “Lead the way, m’lady!”
Cautiously, she turned down the corridor to the children’s wing. Here the landing was but a ledge jutting out over the main hall below. Many times she’d crouched on its railed edge to watch and listen to the adults at their supper. Suddenly, the great doors below were flung open and Donel Moncrieffe strode into the hall followed by his sons.