Mor’s voice was thick with tears. “She was attacked in the woods on the way to the village of Rothesay to buy some cloth.”
Caitrina was dumbstruck. “But who would do such a thing?”
Her old nurse shook her head. “She didn’t recognize them. But from her description, they’ve the sound of broken men.”
“On Bute?” Caitrina asked, shocked.
Mor gave her an odd look. “There are outlaws everywhere, child. We’ve been more fortunate than most, but no place is immune.”
You are a cosseted girl who lives in a glass castle. Jamie’s words came back to her with growing horror.
Mor wiped the girl’s brow with a damp piece of cloth, but the light touch made the girl jerk with pain. The sound she made brought the sting of tears to Caitrina’s eyes.
It seemed the world that Jamie had warned her about had just made its brutal appearance. His objective to clear the Highlands of outlaws no longer rang so false. Dear God, what else had she been wrong about?
Chapter 8
The vicious attack on the serving girl Mary brought the problem of rampant lawlessness in the Highlands home to Caitrina in full force. The sanctity of Ascog had been violated, and never again would she feel completely safe and secure. It seemed that in the space of a few hours, her world had shifted. Outlaws were no longer an amorphous problem; they were a very real threat.
Caitrina had never seen her father so angry. He took the attack on one of his clan as a personal offense and immediately dispatched a team of warriors to track the outlaws; but his men returned the next day, unable to find any sign of them. For the first time, he forbade Caitrina from going into the woods near the castle without an escort.
Jamie’s warning haunted her. That his prediction had come true so quickly made her wonder whether he knew more than he had let on. It also made her question her judgment of him. He saw himself as a force of law and order and claimed to be trying to rid the Highlands of outlaws. For the first time, she realized there might be a need for such authority.
Argyll was the devil and clan Campbell his spawn, but was the truth perhaps more complicated than that? Had she judged Jamie Campbell too harshly? Had she wrongly accused him of brutality when he was only trying to bring order to the land? She’d seen him simply as a Campbell and closed her eyes to what was before her, choosing to listen to rumor instead. He was a hard man and a fierce warrior, but never once had she seen any signs of cruelty or unfairness.
But what did it matter? After what she’d said to him, she doubted she would ever see him again. The realization filled her with a deep sense of regret and a dull ache in her chest that would not quiet.
Finally, a few days after the attack, Caitrina realized that she had to do something. Her father had urged her to consider Jamie Campbell’s offer, and she intended to find out why. Not for her clan, but for herself—though she realized it might be too late.
She’d just entered the great hall in search of her father when she heard the cry go out to drop the yett. Her blood ran cold. Closing the gate in the middle of the day could mean only one thing: trouble.
Heart pounding, she raced to the window in the great hall just in time to see the guard who was manning the gate tumble over the curtain wall, an arrow protruding from his back. She didn’t need to look down to know that attackers were already inside. Another guard attempted to lower the yett but took a hagbut shot in the stomach for his efforts.
Chaos reigned as her clansmen fought to take control against the surprise attack. She froze at the window in horror, watching helplessly as a considerable force of men—numbering at least a few score—stormed through the gate and swarmed the barmkin. They’d obviously come prepared for battle; the steel from their helmets and mail gleamed in the sunlight. They carried swords, but a good number were armed with guns as well. This was no ragged band of marauding outlaws, she realized. These were well-outfitted soldiers, which perhaps explained how they’d virtually walked right in. They did not wear the regalia of the king’s guard, leaving only one possibility—her heart dropped—Argyll.
A sick feeling twisted low in her stomach as she picked through the crowd of armored men near the front, looking for one in particular. Please, not him. She was able to identify the leader right away by the way he was issuing orders, and she breathed an uneasy sigh of relief. The man wasn’t tall or broad enough to be Jamie.
The fighting was over before it really started. There was nothing her father’s men could do. Once the soldiers had breached the gate, the battle was already won. To Caitrina’s great relief, she realized that the invaders didn’t appear intent on attack but seemed to be looking for something. They’d obviously come with a purpose.
What did they want? And where were her father and brothers?
Her gaze swept the courtyard. There. At the far side of the yard, just coming into view, her father and a score of his guardsmen, including Malcolm and Niall, were rushing from the armory. They’d not had time to properly outfit themselves for battle, wearing the leather jerks and plaids they wore for practice rather than mail or cotuns, but at least they’d taken the time to put on steel knapscalls to protect their heads. And they appeared to be well armed.
She heard her father’s voice ring out in anger as he confronted the Campbell leader. The two men argued back and forth, but it was difficult to hear what they were saying. At one point, she heard the Campbell say clearly: “We know he’s here. Tell us where he is or suffer the consequences.”
Who were they talking about?
The Campbell pointed up to the tower and said something, turning his face toward hers. Her brows drew together. It was strange. He seemed familiar somehow. Whatever he said, however, had enraged her father, and his guardsmen clasped their claymores threateningly behind him.
Her pulse raced, knowing that the situation was deteriorating fast.
The commotion must have alerted the castle servants that something was wrong. The great hall started to fill with people, and thankfully, Mor, ever the voice of reason, appeared to stem the rising panic.
Like a veteran general, the old nursemaid started issuing orders. “Hurry,” she said to a few young kitchen maids. “Run to the kitchens and bring up the wood used for cooking and the oil for the lamps.” To another she said, “Bring me all the linen you can find.”
Caitrina’s chest clamped, knowing exactly what Mor intended. It was something her father had drummed into Caitrina’s head countless times: If they were ever under attack and the gate was breached, set fire to the stairs.
No! The reaction was visceral. Father, Malcolm, and Niall were out there. She ran up to Mor and clutched her arm. “Stop. We can’t do it. They will have nowhere to go.”
Mor took her by the shoulders and gave her a hard shake. “Your father and brothers can take care of themselves. They can flee into the hills and hide in the caves if necessary. But they will never leave if you are not safe.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t do it. “But—”
“They are doing their job, Caitrina. You must do yours.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and with her eyes indicated someone across the room. “Think of the lad.”
Brian.
She sucked in her breath, looking around frantically, and found him emerging from the tower stairwell, holding an enormous sword that her father kept in the laird’s solar. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. He darted across the room toward the door. Guessing what he was about, Caitrina shot after him and caught him by the arm. “Stop, Brian, you can’t go out there.”
He tried to pull away. “Let go of me, Caiti.”
He looked far older than his two and ten years. She read his mulish expression and thought quickly, knowing his young man’s pride was at stake. “We need you in here. If you leave, there will be no one to protect us.”
His gaze swept the room behind her, seeing the dozen or so frightened women and children. At this time of day, most of the men were busy outside, practicin
g their battle skills. Those who weren’t fighters fished in the loch, tended to the livestock, or cut peat.
“Please,” she begged.
He nodded, and Caitrina wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight in gratitude and relief. The serving girls had returned with the wood, cloth, and oil, and for the next few minutes they were kept busy wrapping the oil-soaked cloth around the wood like torches.
Brian had positioned himself near the doorway, keeping vigilant watch on what was happening outside and readying the stairs by dismantling the rope and nailed-in pieces of wood that kept them in position. It had been necessary to open the door, but as soon as the stairs were loose, they would set fire to them and bar the door. Caitrina could see he was having trouble. Time and age had rusted the iron, making the nails difficult to remove, and the knots in the rope were so tight, they could not be worked loose. It had been a long time since such drastic measures had been necessary, and never in her lifetime.
She moved to the door, intent on helping him, when she heard Brian cry out, “No!”
A shot fired, and mayhem erupted outside with a giant uproar. Brian lurched forward through the doorway, and Caitrina lunged after him, grabbing his arm to prevent him from running down the stairs.
“Brian—” Her words died when she saw what had provoked his reaction. A strangled cry rose in her throat. “Father!” Stunned, she watched in horror as her father clutched his chest, blood turning his hands crimson. He staggered and then fell back into Malcolm’s arms—his eyes open but unseeing.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Pain gripped her chest, and hot tears sprang to her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. But the faces of the clansmen told her it was. Shock had turned to rage. Led by Malcolm and Niall, they went berserker, attacking with a ferocity that proved what she’d seen was true: Her father was dead.
It was only the instinct to protect Brian that wrenched her from her trance. He was struggling to break free, but she wouldn’t let go. Mor must have seen what had happened because she suddenly appeared at Caitrina’s side and helped her pull Brian back safely inside.
“Let go of me,” he cried. “I must go to him.”
The anguish in his voice mirrored her own. She grabbed him by the face and forced him to look at her. “There is nothing we can do for him now, Brian.” Her chest twisted. The truth was almost too much to bear, but she needed to be strong for Brian. Don’t think. “We need you. We have to set fire to the stairs.”
His eyes were bright and wild; she didn’t know whether she’d gotten through to him until he nodded.
Mor had already started to instruct the girls on where to place the lit torches; they didn’t have any more time to waste. It seemed to take forever, though it was only a few moments before everything was in place and the torches were lit. They stood by the door, watching and praying for the wood to flame. The torches burned, but the stairs only smoldered and smoked.
Mor cursed behind her. “ ’Tis the wet weather the past few days,” she said. “The wood has not dried out enough.”
Caitrina could hear the shouts from below and knew that their effort had not gone unnoticed. Nor had she. She felt the eyes of their leader on her but ignored the chill of foreboding. A few of the attackers started to work their way up the stairs, her father’s men doing everything they could to prevent them. Knowing there was nothing more they could do but pray the stairs burned quickly, she closed the door and lowered the bar.
Caitrina didn’t need to look at the frightened faces around her to know what they all were feeling—it was what she felt: absolute terror and disbelief.
Mor grabbed her by the shoulders. “Take your brother upstairs and hide in the ambry. No matter what you hear, do not come out.”
“But what about you and the others?”
“We must separate.” She paused. “It’s not servants they want.”
“Who do they want?” Caitrina asked, recalling the Campbell’s words to her father.
Mor gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I don’t know, child. Now go.” To Brian she said, “Take care of your sister.”
He nodded grimly, his expression hard and determined beyond his years. Her sweet young brother would never be the same. Neither of them would ever be the same.
Caitrina hesitated and then threw her arms around the old woman, resting her cheek one more time against the familiar shoulder. Mor gave her one last squeeze before gently urging her away. Caitrina took Brian’s hand, and together they ran across the great hall toward the stairs. She had to force herself not to look out the windows. All they could do at this point was pray that her father’s men would prevail—that strength of heart would defeat strength in numbers.
When they reached her solar, Caitrina hurried to the ambry and threw open the doors. She groaned.
“We’ll never both fit in there,” Brian said, echoing her thoughts.
The ambry was stuffed full with gowns. If they tried to remove them, it would only make their hiding place more obvious—though at this point, Caitrina realized there wasn’t much they could do to prevent discovery. She fought against the rising panic, but the desperate nature of their situation was making it difficult to think. What could they do? Ascog Castle was not a particularly large or complex castle; there were few places to hide.
The sound of an ax striking the door below made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. They were out of time … and options.
Brian pushed her toward the ambry. “You hide in there, I’ll go under the bed.”
There was no time to argue—nor was there a better choice. She nodded and climbed in. If the soldiers were already trying to come through the door, that meant …
No. She forced her thoughts away from the battle below. She wouldn’t let herself think about Malcolm and Niall. She had to close her eyes to fight back the tears. They had to be all right.
Time crawled forward. It was warm and dark in the ambry buried between all the heavy wool and velvet gowns. All of her senses seemed heightened, homing in on the sounds below. Every small noise made her heart skip. Her heart drummed unnaturally loud in her ears.
The waiting was interminable, though it was probably only a few minutes before she heard the unmistakable sounds of men clambering up the stairs.
“Find the lass!” a man shouted.
Me. Merciful Mary, they mean me.
The door to her solar opened with a bang, and she held her breath. The helplessness of their situation, the futility in trying to hide, came rushing forward in full fury. How long would it take before they found—
“Let go of me!”
Her heart lurched. Brian. Dear God, they had Brian.
“What have we here?” a man said. “The Lamont’s whelp, I’d wager? What’s left of them anyhow.”
Caitrina stifled a cry, her nails digging into her palms. It can’t be true.
“The lass has to be around here close,” another man said.
The sound of Brian’s struggles as he tried to distract the men from finding her was more than she could take. She pushed through the smothering stacks of hanging gowns and burst through the ambry door. All she could see was the wide backs of two mail-clad warriors, one of whom had Brian by the neck.
“Let him go,” she yelled, jumping on his back and hitting him hard enough on the temple so that he cried out in pain and dropped Brian.
She would have wrapped her arm around his neck, but she found herself yanked from him and clasped in the steely embrace of a tall, heavyset man. In her haste to reach Brian she hadn’t noticed that there was a third man in the room.
His face was red, puffy, and sweaty below the rim of his helmet. “I found the lass,” he shouted in the direction of the doorway.
“Let go of me!” She tried to wrestle free.
His hand tightened around her arm until she thought it might break. He gave her a lecherous once-over and smiled. The look in his eyes chilled her to the bone. It was the look of a man intent on reaping the spoils of
victory. “Not yet,” he said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. “Brian, no!” But it was too late.
“Get your filthy hands off my sister!”
Brian had somehow managed to slide the claymore from under the bed and came rushing toward the man holding her. But the weapon was too heavy for him to maneuver, and he managed only a few steps before one of the other men caught up with him from behind. Time seemed to stand still. She saw the silvery flash of the blade as it descended toward her brother’s head. She lurched forward with a sudden burst of strength, but she wasn’t able to tear herself from the man’s arms.
Brian’s eyes, wide with shock, met hers as the force of the blow temporarily stunned him, before he crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. The cry that tore from her lungs was surely not her own. She went mad with rage, lashing out at the man holding her and managing to rake her nails across his face before he backhanded her across the cheek with such force that she stumbled to the floor. Her jaw exploded in pain.
“What’s going on here?”
The man she’d seen before, the one she’d assumed to be their leader, stood in the doorway.
“We found the Lamont lass,” one of his men said.
His eyes fastened on her. “So I see.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she rose to her feet, cradling her injured face, but her eyes reflected her hatred for this man who had brought death and destruction to her home. “What kind of man makes war on women and children? Only a Campbell would have so little honor.”
“Proud as well as beautiful? You have spirit, lass, but use it wisely. Tell us where he is and no one else needs to get hurt.”
The Campbell Trilogy Page 10