The Highlander's Crusader Bride: Book 3 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  “What has happened?” he growled.

  Arbela took a breath. “We have been betrayed. MacGillonay appeared at Dunfaileas yester eve, but instead of the peace he promised, he insulted me, and Bram’s nurse somehow assisted him in smuggling weapons and men inside our walls.”

  “How did ye escape? Was there fighting?” Donal asked, looking her over once again.

  Arbela shrugged his hands away and paced the floor, caught between renewed memories and physical fatigue. “We escaped through a hidden passage before fighting ensued. Caelen and I had a prearranged signal, and when MacGillonay became belligerent, Caelen gave the word for us to flee. He would not send us away into the woods at night alone without a serious threat. Agnes could not keep Bram safe along the way, so I came with them.” She ground her teeth at the frustration of leaving Caelen and a potential fight behind. After a deep breath, she continued.

  “A couple of hours ago, MacGillonay’s men caught up with us. I managed to fight them off, just as Kade and his patrol arrived.”

  “How many men?” Alex asked. “How did ye manage it?”

  “Five,” she replied. “Garen took down one—she has an injured shoulder that must be tended—a snare I set slowed another, and one has a severed leg tendon and likely will need a cane if he recovers. Two others received small wounds—but the blades were poisoned,” she admitted quietly, aware her father opposed the dark arts. “MacGillonay’s younger son lies dead, my sword in his side.”

  Alex beamed. “Good lass!”

  Donal quelled him with a sharp look. “Did MacGillonay attack?”

  “Attack the castle? I do not know,” she replied. “When I retrieved Bram from his chamber, his nurse accused me of taking the boy from her—among other things—and indicated she had offered help to MacGillonay. She knew him, as she had come to Dunfaileas as Ruthie’s maid from Langa Castle, MacGillonay’s stronghold.

  “MacGillonay purposely taunted and insulted me,” she said, words calm though the anger roiled anew. “I believe he was trying to provoke Caelen to a fight, so he could say he’d broken the bonds of hospitality.”

  “MacKern dinnae defend yer honor?” Donal thundered.

  Arbela offered a wry smile. “I believe he was more concerned with keeping me from slitting our guest’s throat. MacGillonay offered to beat me—something I said annoyed him, though I did not like what he called me—and I offered—politely—to let him try. I settled for reminding him I would mention the manner of snakes bordering your land the next time ye and I spoke.”

  Donal’s brow darkened. “What did he call ye?”

  Arbela tilted her head and tapped a finger. “Disrespectful.” She tapped another finger. “Barbed-tongued.” She slid the count to a third finger. “And a Saracen. Thrice.”

  She turned serious. “Father, I do not know what happened after I left the hall. With MacGillonay’s men on our trail and none from Dunfaileas, I fear the worst. Ye must ride with me and set this to rights.”

  Donal nodded. “I will rally my men, and send a party tonight to assess the situation.”

  “Assess…? Father, I have told ye what happened.”

  “No, ye have spoken only of what ye know. What ye suspect is another thing altogether.”

  “We cannot leave them to MacGillonay’s mercy overnight!”

  “And I will not risk my men in the dark when we know not what we are getting into.” Donal nodded to Alex. “Send Farlan to me. Tell Kade to order a scouting party.”

  Arbela fumed as her father’s gaze swung back to her. “If MacGillonay discovers we have reached Morvern, Caelen’s life will not be worth a piastre.”

  “What is the first rule of offensive warfare, daughter?”

  “To know your enemy, father,” she replied, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

  “I do not know if MacGillonay even holds Dunfaileas, though, arguably, if he does not, it will cost little more than the trek north. However, I will know how many men to take and the weapons needed once I understand the situation. Does he have captives he will use as hostages? If he has already burned the castle and turned for home, I will take a shorter route, arrive on his beach, and destroy him there.”

  Donal paused. “I understand yer care for yer new husband and clan. I will go as fast as is wise.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Dinnae fash. I willnae let this go unpunished.”

  Arbela bristled. “And if it was mother? Would ye wait until morn?”

  * * *

  Arbela lurked in the passageway, waiting for Alex to exit their father’s solar. He had returned with Farlan while she checked on Agnes and Bram and changed her clothing. Her loose trousers and cropped tunic were mixed shades of deepest gray and black, as if the person handling the dye had been a mere novice, blurring the various shadings. But the fabric had been specially ordered by Arbela’s uncle and given to her as a reward for skills well learned. Tonight it would suit her purposes.

  She had spent a short time with her injured dog, inspecting Garen’s wound and instructing the kennel master on her care. Certain she had food, water and clean, dry bedding, Arbela moved to the stable where she requested a fresh horse saddled. Returning to the hall, she paced the floor outside the chamber where her father, Alex and Farlan pieced together strategy for the upcoming battle against MacGillonay.

  Alex rushed from the room, swiveling about in mid-stride as Arbela caught his arm. With a wave of her hand, she bid him follow, and she pulled him into an alcove, out of sight and hearing.

  “I will not wait,” she said urgently. “Caelen will be dead by morning.”

  “If he isn’t already,” Alex pointed out, not unkindly.

  “I will not sit here, brother. I am going back to Dunfaileas tonight.”

  Alex perused her clothing. “There is naught I can say to change your mind? Bid ye caution?”

  Arbela shook her head. “Nae. I only ask ye not speak to father of this.” She stared at the wall behind his shoulder, tears stinging the back of her eyes. “Take care of Bram. He is a good lad, and I know he looks up to ye.”

  “Now ye are talking nonsense,” Alex scoffed.

  “There is little chance this will end well,” Arbela warned.

  “Och, that I know well. Especially if ye go alone.” His teeth flashed in the darkness. “That is why I am going with ye.”

  Arbela nodded once, immensely relieved to have his company—and support. “I will fetch provisions and have a horse saddled for ye and await ye in the stables. Fetch yer weapons and dress for speed.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” he drawled, sending her a condescending look over his shoulder, already on his way to prepare.

  Arbela spun on her heel and strode to the kitchen. Cook showed surprise at her arrival but didn’t question her when she asked for bannocks and dried meat. Arbela collected the bag she’d brought from Dunfaileas and sped to the stable, where she set a stable lad to saddling a horse for Alex. Gnawing on a piece of hard, dry oat bread to restore her strength, she washed it down with watered ale as she hung filled waterskins on each saddle and checked the girths.

  Alex entered the stable as she finished, dressed in leather armor and a black, weathered cloak. No chain mail to weigh him down. “Are ye certain about this, Bella?”

  She nodded and mounted her horse. “I’ll not leave that vile man in charge one minute longer than I have to. I spoke vows to my husband and intend to keep them.”

  With a light thump of her heels against her horse’s sides, she rode away, slipping her hood over her head to escape recognition by the guards at the gate. Alex trotted to catch up with her.

  They rode through the village at a brisk walk, careful to draw little notice.

  “What vow did ye make, sister mine? Gutting the man’s former father by marriage?”

  Arbela shot Alex an impish grin that quickly disappeared. “The man threatened to take Bram and begged for a fight. I’ll not disappoint him, nor be surprised if he loses his life this eve.”<
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  Alex regarded her thoughtfully. “MacGillonay does not know the fate he has unleashed upon himself.”

  Arbela’s face turned grim. “MacGillonay should set a guard on his western wall.”

  Chapter 23

  The near-moonless night slowed their progress. Neither Alex nor Arbela wished to risk their or their horses’ necks on a tumble at great speed, and alternated between a canter and a trot, carefully weighing the benefits of allowing the horses to rest against the need to reach Dunfaileas as quickly as possible.

  Weak moonlight glistened on the loch, alerting them to the end of their journey. Arbela reined her tired horse to a stop and dismounted. She and Alex tied their horses to low limbs, giving the horses enough freedom to graze. Grabbing her bag from the saddle, Arbela joined Alex as he crept over the crest of the hill.

  “Kade and his patrol should be close,” Alex murmured.

  Arbela nodded, alert for any sign of the eight men her father had sent to gather information on MacGillonay and the fate of Dunfaileas. Clouds raced across the sky, counterpoint to the heavy fog gathering on the surface of the loch. The night grew silent, muffled in its misty shroud.

  A faint jingle of metal resounded like an ill-formed chime. Arbela glanced at her brother.

  Horse? MacGillonay or MacLean? Spoken words unnecessary between them.

  Alex shrugged and crept toward the sound, his passage a mere sigh through the grass. Giving him room to maneuver, Arbela waited a few moments, then followed. They crested a low ridge as the moon’s rays broke through the clouds, sending a cluster of saddled ponies into sharp detail against the pale rocks a few lengths away. Steel clanged faintly as a horse stamped a foot on the ground, striking a small rock.

  MacLean. Alex nodded to the shadowed form of three men, cloaked, facing the castle. Arbela understood. MacGillonay patrols would face away, guarding the approaches.

  They slipped past the horses, reassuring them with a light touch. One beast tossed his head, a light snort peppering Arbela with moisture. She and Alex froze. They waited, ears straining for some indication they’d been discovered.

  “I know yer tricks, Alexander MacLean.”

  Alex and Arbela dropped to a crouch as they spun about, hands hovering above their sword hilts. Kade’s eyes flashed beneath his cowl. “Why are ye here? Has something happened at Morven?” he asked.

  “Father gathers his troops,” Arbela replied as she straightened. “What have ye learned?”

  Kade drew them deeper into the copse of trees, to a small overlook clustered with bushes clinging to the edge with deep roots and sheer tenacity. The parapet of Dunfaileas could be easily seen, though it would take a superior archer to pick off a guard at this distance. Arbela tested the wind. It could be done.

  “There are now two ships in the harbor.” Kade pointed to the loch. Arbela thought back to the single ship she’d seen the previous night. Recounting the number of oars, it had been the smaller of the two.

  “I counted a dozen men with MacGillonay when he demanded hospitality,” she said. “If he left a guard—perhaps two or three men—on the beach, they may have numbered a least fifteen or sixteen all told.” She inclined her head to the larger vessel. “That ship carries double that number easily.”

  Kade nodded. “There is a small fire on the beach, though it has burned down now. Earlier we counted six men. Enough to mount a defense if attacked. That means MacGillonay has mayhap fifty men within the castle.” He frowned. “I was about to send Dubh and another to yer father with the news. Will ye take the report to him?”

  Alex shook his head. “Nae. We are not here to carry messages.”

  Arbela shook her head, determination on her face. “We are here to liberate the MacKerns.”

  * * *

  There was a fine line between admitting he did not know where Bram and Arbela were—and making MacGillonay believe it—and keeping him on a lure just enough to avoid execution. Once MacGillonay decided Caelen was not going to confess where his wife and son hid—or how they escaped—Caelen knew his life wouldn’t be worth a silver penny.

  Nor would the lives of his men.

  The MacKern soldiers had given a good accounting of themselves against surprise and superior numbers, nearly beating back MacGillonay’s bold attack. But Caelen would not ask them to pay further when the end was plain. It was only a matter of time before MacGillonay’s patrol returned with Arbela and Bram. MacGillonay would keep Caelen alive only long enough to force him to watch whatever he planned for Arbela—fire blazed in Caelen’s veins at the thought—and to make certain Caelen knew Bram was forevermore in the clutches of his depraved, malevolent grandsire. A spot in hell would seem a mere nuisance after such torment.

  “Do ye recollect any hidden passages from this pit?” Rory asked.

  Caelen shook his head, wincing anew at the dull pain the movement cost him. “Once da tanned my hide for what he termed betraying the clan after he caught me playing in the one in the laird’s room, I lost all interest in seeking out such passageways. I am surprised MacGillonay hasnae discovered the way out.”

  Rory shrugged, a black form against deeper darkness. “Is there any possible way Arbela and Bram have made it to MacLean Castle? Can we expect help from that quarter?”

  “Ye know as well as I ’tis twenty miles distant. Some of that will be traveled in the dark, and all of it on foot. Alone, Arbela could mayhap elude capture and with luck come across a MacLean patrol before MacGillonay’s men caught up to her.” His jaw locked and he was unable to voice the rest of his thoughts. That Bram was only five. That he could not make the journey without frequent rests, or with any speed. That MacGillonay’s men would be relentless in their pursuit.

  That he would kill the next MacGillonay he got his hands on.

  Voices rang out above, growing closer. “I dinnae know where yer son is, Laird,” one voice claimed, his tone placating. “He willnae return until he has scoured the routes between here and Morven and captures the Saracen bitch and yer grandson.”

  “Ye fool!” MacGillonay’s voice rose. “There is but one road from here to Morven, and we are talking about a wee lad against mounted men. How long should it take to chase them down? Shite! I shouldnae have entrusted the mission to Maon. He is likely to botch the task.”

  “He named his son Maon? Hero?” Rory asked softly, not bothering to hide his mirth. “I needed something to laugh about. I confess I’ve never seen a more cowardly hero. Though I only met him on the butt of his sword, ’twas a cowardly gesture to hit me from behind.”

  “Ye saw him?” Caelen asked, flexing his fingers as though on his sword’s hilt at the sound of MacGillonay’s voice.

  Rory rubbed the back of his head. “Aye. Though a bit too late to do anything about it. I’d noticed him once or twice tagging at Ruthie’s heels years ago, though I dinnae know his name, and I learned early to keep my questions to myself with that lass—begging yer pardon. I also remember he’d walked into Dunfaileas yester eve next to MacGillonay as if he owned the place, and was puzzled to turn about and see him prepared to strike me. Undoubtedly, his da instructed him to take me down with as little trouble as possible.”

  “Ye must admit he did an adequate job.”

  “Aye. Though ’twas still a cowardly act.”

  “I agree. But it scarcely surprises me.”

  The grate overhead clanged and scraped across the stone above.

  “Shite,” Rory commented, ducking his head against the nerve-shredding sound. “He’s making enough racket to wake the dead.”

  A flickering torch lit MacGillonay’s face as he peered into the pit. “Drag yerself up, MacKern,” he called, malice lacing his voice. “’Tis time we spoke further.”

  * * *

  Kade halted in a shadowy nook at the base of the castle wall. “How likely is it MacGillonay has discovered the hidden passage?”

  “If there is no guard at this end, could he have set a trap at the other?” Arbela countered.

 
Kade and Alex exchanged looks. “’Tis possible,” Alex said.

  She cast a look to the faint glow of coals on the beach. There was no sound of feet treading the parapet above. Either the guards did not consider an approach from the loch to be a threat—a somewhat sound idea with guards already nearby—or MacGillonay deliberately kept the guards away, hoping to lure an unwary foe inside.

  Skirting the heavy brush growing along the foundation of the castle, Arbela led Kade and Alex to the hidden door. She glanced at the slender limb she had lain against the panel when she had exited previously. It remained at its peculiar angle, indicating no one had opened the door from within since she placed it there. She caught Alex’s speculative gaze. Grasping the limb, she tossed it to him.

  “No one has disturbed this. I believe MacGillonay has not discovered the passage.”

  “After ye, sister,” Alex bade, pointing to the opening. Her bag secured over her shoulder, Arbela stepped inside.

  Instantly, the pall of dust and decaying rodent droppings struck, and Arbela wrinkled her nose. She hesitated, allowing her eyes to adjust to the near-total darkness, and to get her bearings.

  Alex and Kade followed her inside. Striking her flint on a bit of tinder from her bag, Arbela lit the candle she’d left behind. Alex closed the door. She held the flame aloft as they followed the tunnel beneath the curtain wall to the level of the castle. A small landing marked the beginning of the long climb to the laird’s chamber.

  The upper corner of a dark rectangle caught her eye and Arbela stepped to one side.

  “Another door,” she whispered. “I had not remarked this before. If my calculations are correct, however, this may lead to a storeroom beyond the kitchen.”

  “Do we take it and risk discovery here? Or climb to the entrance ye know?” Alex asked.