This was it—their last defensive maneuver before their attackers would likely break through the castle’s gates and storm the inner yard. Daniel stepped next to Robert and Burke, taking hold of the wooden beam.
“Now!” Daniel bellowed. They rammed the beam into the caldron, sending the hot animal fat, along with the heavy caldron itself, streaming over the curtain wall.
A fraction of a second later, Daniel heard the frantic shrieks of the men below. He risked another glance over the wall. The near-boiling tallow had poured and splattered all over the English soldiers. Their skin smoked underneath their chainmail as they were roasted alive. Some tried to scramble into the loch’s waters, but the animal fat clung to them, not washing away. The screams of agony began to fade, and Daniel turned away from the carnage.
He suddenly realized that he hadn’t heard the thud of the ram against the main gate in several minutes. He ran along the battlements toward the front of the castle, fearing the worst. When he skidded to a halt above the gate, however, he almost fell to his knees with joy.
Garrick’s archers were raining down a merciless stream of arrows on the soldiers below, concentrating their efforts in one mighty assault. The soldiers had dropped their battering ram and had taken cover by pressing themselves as closely as possible against the curtain wall.
“That’s it, men!” Daniel shouted to them.
A cheer went up around the battlements as the castle’s men began to sense that they’d won a small victory. Daniel, too, let his heart surge with hope.
But then he glanced up from the cowering soldiers below the wall and all hope drained from him. Instead of the trickle of rafts that had dared to brave open waters, the loch between the eastern shore and the castle was now choked with rafts. They had been so focused on fighting off the men who’d reached the island that the English had doubled their efforts when they realized the rafts were going unassaulted.
Daniel cursed, and the cheer of triumph died along the battlements as others noticed the swarm of rafts headed right for them.
“Aim for the rafts, men!” Garrick shouted to redirect the archers’ efforts.
“The rest of you, to the yard!” Daniel barked. The remainder of the castle’s men not firing arrows quickly filtered into the courtyard. They gathered in a tight knot in the center of the yard, somber and grim.
Daniel stepped into their midst, and they naturally parted for him, giving him a little space in the middle of their group.
“The English will shortly breach our gates,” Daniel said quietly to them. “But that doesn’t mean the fight is over.”
A few of the men nodded, though most looked on gravely.
“This is our home,” Daniel went on, “but it is also our King’s home. We will do everything in our power to defend it, to protect our loved ones, and to hold this castle for Scotland.”
Several “Ayes” rippled through those gathered around him. Daniel’s eyes scanned the men, and his gaze landed on Robert, who nodded to him, his jaw tight.
“We will fight with our dying breath to stand against our English attackers. We will fight fiercely and die honorably for our King and cause!”
The men rumbled back their approval at Daniel’s words. Daniel unsheathed his sword and held it over his head.
“You men, stand at the postern gate,” he said to part of the group. “The rest of you take the main gate. When they break through, give them hell!”
The yard rattled with the men’s battle cries and fierce shouts as the group split and took up their positions, waiting for the dreaded breach of their defenses.
Daniel gripped his sword in both hands as the seconds crept by. The dull, slow hammering against the main gate resumed. Enough men must have already landed on the island to overwhelm Garrick’s archers and take up the battering ram once more. He could hear Garrick urging on the bowmen, but then a large crack rent the air. The main gate was finally giving in to the battering ram. Daniel braced his feet and sent up a prayer.
“Daniel! Robert! Burke!”
Garrick’s voice was closer on the battlements overhead, tight with urgency. Daniel sprinted across the yard, followed by Robert and Burke, and the three of them bounded up the stairs to the battlements.
“What is it?” Daniel said, fearing the worst. Garrick was staring at the far shoreline, his face disbelieving.
Daniel followed his brother’s line of sight, but he heard the sound before his eyes could make sense of what he was seeing.
“What in the bloody hell…?”
A deep rumbling drifted across the loch from the shore. The rumble grew louder and turned into a cry. A battle cry.
Before Daniel’s eyes, the forest behind the Englishmen on the shoreline exploded as an army poured forth and set upon their attackers.
The Bruce’s army.
Even from this distance, Daniel could make out the splashes of red, green, blue, and brown plaid that marked the motley rebel army. The English soldiers fell into disarray, some turning to face their new attackers while others attempted to flee either along the north or the south shorelines. But the Bruce’s army had them surrounded, pinned against the loch.
“Christ, they made it!” Burke breathed.
Daniel’s eyes flitted first to the dozens of rafts floating between the shore and the castle, then to the English soldiers below as they scrambled onto the island and toward the castle. Apparently they had noticed the sound of the surprise appearance by the Bruce’s army as well, for they looked at each other in confused turmoil.
“We should attack,” Daniel said to himself, his mind suddenly forming a plan.
“What? How?” Robert retorted, bringing Daniel’s attention to him.
“We should attack those who have reached the island,” Daniel went on, the pieces of the plan coming into place. “Open the gates!”
“This is madness!” Robert shouted at him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “It’s far too risky!”
Daniel wrenched his shoulders free.
“Aye, but they are scattered and confused at the moment. If we strike now, and strike hard, we could save the castle!”
“With the Bruce’s reinforcements, we won’t have to worry about withstanding a relentless assault from the soldiers on the shore,” Garrick said, his eyes scanning the battlements’ stones in thought. “And the Englishmen on rafts are stranded in the middle of the loch. They would be easy to pick off.”
Robert stared silently at both of them. Finally, he spoke.
“What do you think, Burke?”
Burke ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair, his brow furrowed.
“If we open the gates and the Englishmen on the island and those soon to reach us by raft overpower us, the Bruce’s army can’t save us,” he said slowly. “But if we catch them off-guard, and if Garrick’s archers can concentrate their efforts on the rafts, we could save ourselves.”
“We have to take the chance, brother,” Daniel said intently to Robert. “Stand by me in this decision.”
Robert closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head. “Let’s do it then,” he whispered.
Daniel bolted around Robert and flew down the stairs into the yard once more.
“Defenders of Loch Doon!” Daniel shouted to the men gathered before the postern gate and main gate. “We go on the attack! Open the gates and show our enemies how Scotsmen fight!”
The men shot glances of surprise at each other, but then several of them moved to open each gate. As the gates were opened with ropes and pulleys and the portcullis was ratcheted up, the castle’s men stamped their feet and roared battle cries. As soon as there was enough room for them to squeeze through the opening gates, the men began pouring out beyond the curtain wall, weapons flashing in the morning sun.
Battle lust surged in Daniel’s veins as he pushed through the postern gate with dozens of other warriors. A wordless bellow of fury ripped from his throat as he rushed forward, sword raised in both hands.
The
already-confused Englishmen on the island’s shore, many of whom had their backs to the castle to watch their army being set upon on the other shore, fell into utter chaos at the fierce charge from the castle. Some had even put away their weapons and now hastily tried to draw swords and bows as the Scotsmen fell upon them.
Daniel leapt over burned, tallow-covered corpses as he charged headlong for the English soldiers. The first Englishman to feel the deadly kiss of Daniel’s blade had only managed to half-unsheathe his sword before he fell in a lifeless pile.
The second man he faced had his sword at the ready. The ringing of metal on metal all around told Daniel that now the fight had begun in earnest.
He swung savagely, fighting with every thread of himself. English attackers fell before him even as a few of the remaining rafts landed on the island and more soldiers poured forth. Daniel charged knee-deep into the water to meet a new batch of attackers. Several soldiers leapt in the shallows to face off with him.
The Englishmen’s chainmail protected them from all but the most precise attacks. But the armor also made them slow and ungainly. Daniel lowered his shoulder at the same moment a soldier jumped toward him from a raft and knocked the man off balance. The weight of the man’s chainmail sent him toppling backward into the loch, where he flailed and thrashed, trying to get his head above water.
Daniel turned his attention back to the men in front of him just in time to block a sword that would have hamstrung him. He pivoted out of the block and drove his blade through a chink in his opponent’s mail. But then he saw the flash of another blade rising over his head. As the blade descended toward him, he knew he wouldn’t have time to withdraw his sword from his opponent’s flesh and block the blade angling toward his head.
Just then an arrow whizzed by his ear and sank into his new attacker’s eye. The man screamed in agony, dropping the sword that would have ended Daniel’s life. Daniel quickly finished the man off. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Garrick through one of the wall’s crenels. His brother was already nocking another arrow and taking aim.
Daniel turned back to square off with yet another Englishman who’d just leapt from one of the rafts. He lost himself in the fluid, deadly dance of battle again, blocking and striking, thrusting and spinning, for he didn’t know how long.
As he withdrew his blade from the chest of another fallen English soldier, he looked up, preparing for the onslaught of yet more rafts. But instead, the battle around him was dying down. He looked farther out to the waters between the castle and the shore. A few rafts still approached the castle, but others drifted aimlessly, the lashed-together tree trunks strewn with arrow-riddled bodies. Some of the rafts had actually turned back to shore, with the English paddling frantically to try to aid the rest of their army.
Daniel cast his gaze around him. Some still fought, but the battle was winding down. Bodies lay strewn across the rocks, including some of the castle’s men and a few of Robert’s Highland warriors. But the dull, still glint of chainmail-clad bodies dominated his vision.
He darted around the other side of the island, where the battle at the main gate had taken place. The fighting was almost over there, too. He quickly scanned the men still standing and breathed a sigh of relief when he picked out first Burke and then Robert among them.
As the last of the Englishmen was dispatched, a roar of victory swelled among the men. Daniel raised his bloodied blade overhead and joined them in the thundering triumph. He faced the eastern shoreline, hoping their voices would be heard by the Bruce’s army. The English and the Scottish armies were still locked in battle, but from what Daniel could see, the Bruce’s men surged forward while the Englishmen began to crumple inward. He hoped their victorious cries would urge on their allies.
As his eyes scanned the battle on shore, he suddenly caught a flash of red at the back of the churning conflict. He squinted, disbelieving.
Red hair. Long, wild red hair. A breeze on the shore whipped the Sinclair plaid around the figure’s shoulders, revealing a feminine form clad in a simple dress underneath.
No. It couldn’t be.
“Rona!”
He hadn’t realized he’d shouted her name out loud until Robert and Burke were at his side holding him back by the shoulders.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Robert snapped.
Burke followed Daniel’s line of sight. “Christ, is that…”
Robert looked too, and then added his curse to the air.
“What…how…”
Daniel fumbled lamely for words as a storm of emotions broke inside him. She was so close. He longed to leap the distance between the castle and the shoreline and take her into his arms.
But what was she doing here? He’d left her with Ian and Mairi, and yet there she was at the back of Robert the Bruce’s army. She was at the rear, far away from the fighting, but suddenly a surge of anger and fear for her blinded him. She was in danger. Why was she with the Bruce? He had to see her, talk to her, touch her, and make sure she was all right.
“Easy, little brother,” Robert said loudly, trying to break through to him. Daniel hadn’t realized it, but he’d taken several steps forward and now stood in the loch up to his knees. The only things keeping him from diving in and swimming to the shore were Robert and Burke’s hands on his shoulders.
“What the hell is she doing here?” he rasped, his eyes still locked on her fiery hair.
“We won’t know until the battle on the shore is decided,” Robert said calmly. “All we can do now is wait.”
HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Despite the fact that dusk was falling, Rona could clearly make out the looming shape of Loch Doon in front of her. More precisely, she could see the solidary figure on top of the curtain wall pacing like a caged cat—or a poked bear.
She almost shifted nervously, but she froze at the last moment, remembering where she was. Though the raft seemed steady enough, she didn’t fully trust the Englishmen’s skill and didn’t want to risk tipping off into the loch.
The battle on the shore had begun to wind down earlier in the afternoon and was completely over by evening. The Bruce had been eager to see what damage had been done to his castle, which had suited Rona just fine. She too was eager to reach the castle, but she didn’t have a care for the stone structure. It was Daniel she needed to see.
They’d commandeered one of the abandoned rafts the English had left on the shoreline and pushed off toward the castle despite the failing light. The raft was big enough for her, the Bruce, and several of his men, including Ansel, Finn, Colin, and the old giant Angus. Rona had quickly realized these men were part of the Bruce’s most trusted inner circle. She still couldn’t believe that she sat cross-legged on a raft amidst these fierce, sharp warriors at the center of the Scottish fight for freedom.
Just as the rudimentary raft bumped into the castle’s docks—which would need serious repair after the battle—the main gate was thrown open and light spilled out. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that a large fire burned in the yard. Several backlit figures moved toward them, but she couldn’t tell who they were.
One of the men on the raft helped her to her feet and onto the dock. Right as her feet came firmly under her, a male body slammed into hers, wrapping her up fiercely.
“Rona.”
Daniel’s voice was a ragged whisper in her ear, his arms like bands of steel around her.
She couldn’t form words as a tight knot suddenly lodged in her throat. All she could do was throw her arms around him, gripping him with all her strength.
“You’re all right,” she finally managed to choke out.
She hadn’t realized it until now, but she’d forced herself to believe that he had survived the attack on the castle. She couldn’t let herself entertain even the faintest possibility that he’d been seriously wounded or killed. But now that they were locked in a rough embrace and she could feel his strong, whole body herself, she nearly s
hook with unspent worry and relief.
“Aye, and so are you,” he rasped, stroking her hair with one hand. “When I saw you at the back of the Bruce’s army…”
He pulled back and looked down at her in the firelight spilling from the yard. He traced her cheekbone with one finger, then let it drift over her trembling lips. His eyes were like liquid fire, riveted to her face. His features were unguarded, and she saw a clash of disbelief, worry, relief, and anger cross them.
“There’ll be plenty of time for explanations. But first I want to see my castle,” Robert the Bruce said a few feet away.
Daniel instantly spun on his heels to face the Bruce and dropped to one knee in front of him.
“Rise, rise, man!” the Bruce said quickly. “You must be Daniel Sinclair. I should kneel to you, for you saved my castle.”
Daniel began to protest against the King’s praise, but the Bruce waved him off.
“It is good to finally meet you in person. The letters we exchanged regarding your arranged marriage and running Loch Doon were most…entertaining,” the Bruce said, extending his arm to Daniel.
Daniel took the King’s proffered arm.
“I suppose I didn’t know just how great a gift you were giving me, sire,” he said wryly.
The King turned and walked through the open main gate, with Rona, Daniel, and the other men following. As Rona crossed the rocky expanse of island outside the gate, she caught a dull glint of metal in the corner of her eye. She turned her head, but Daniel captured her chin with one hand.
“Don’t look over there, love,” he said quietly.
“What is it?”
“Bodies,” he replied grimly. She shuddered and turned away, grateful that the island and castle were not still strewn with corpses in the aftermath of the battle.
As they strode into the yard, she realized that the others were gathered around the large fire. In unison, they lowered themselves in bows or curtsies to Robert the Bruce.
“Rise,” the Bruce commanded calmly. “I am grateful to you all for defending Loch Doon. Let us all be at ease in this, our home, and celebrate our victory together!”
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