by Mariah Stone
“And ye’re certain of this?”
Owen found the ability to speak again. “Aye, Your Grace. I heard it with my own ears. Ye ken I have nae reason to lie or deceive ye, and I swear ’tis the truth.”
The Bruce looked at Dougal. “Ye look dubious. Speak yer mind.”
Owen’s eyes locked with his father’s. His features hardened, his mouth curved into a bitter grimace. If his father said one word against him, Owen was done. His chest tightened so hard, he stopped breathing. A drop of sweat snaked down his spine.
Dougal sighed and looked at the Bruce. “If my son says ’tis the truth”—he tapped his thumb against the table—“’tis the truth. Clan Cambel has always been loyal to ye. And we always will be.”
Relief flooded Owen, and an enormous weight on his chest lifted. His father nodded to him ever so slightly. Whether he believed Owen or not, he was on his son’s side before the king, and that was what mattered. Warmth spread through Owen, and it became easier to breathe.
Uncle Neil added, “I stand by my brother and my nephew’s words, Your Grace.”
Owen’s throat tightened. Now it was ironclad, if the chief of a clan gave his word, the whole clan stood behind him.
The Bruce gave a curt nod. “Aye. Now what about the Pass of Brander? Does anyone ken it?”
“Aye, I do,” Owen said. “I used it several times on my way to and from the MacDougalls when I was fostered there.”
The Bruce nodded. “Good. Now tell me how exactly ye think they’re going to try to ambush us and what can we do to counter them.”
Chapter 24
Amber felt Owen’s relief in her own bones. His shoulders and face relaxed, and she knew how grateful he must feel that his family was standing by him. She wished the same for herself, that her own brothers would support her in the difficult times, but she doubted that would ever happen.
Aunt Christel was the only one she’d been able to turn for help, but unfortunately, she’d put her innocent relatives in danger for covering a criminal. Had the police questioned her aunt and cousin? Had they pressed charges? God, she hoped not.
She was proud of Owen for stepping up and holding his ground. The Bruce was intimidating, and she could imagine he was scary for those not on his side. But Owen hadn’t faltered. He’d defended himself and stuck to his word.
Something she hadn’t done. Something she’d never have the courage to do in her time. She imagined standing up for herself, too. Standing her ground, hiring a lawyer, fighting the good fight against Jackson.
But it would be useless. She’d lose. There was nothing that she could do to defend herself. All the evidence was against her. So many witnesses had seen her and Bryan fight at the bar. Bryan hadn’t given her anything to prove that Jackson was smuggling drugs, only that name: Aman Safar. So even if she could accuse him of Bryan’s murder, without any evidence, she couldn’t prove he had a motive.
And she’d run from the authorities, which only made her look guiltier.
Owen took a pile of soot from the dead fireplace and poured it on the table.
“Pass of Brander is a narrow and dangerous track.” He drew a line in the soot with his finger. “’Tis only a few yards wide. On the right, it borders the precipitous side of the Ben Cruachan Mountain.” He ran his hand over the small pile of soot and made a broad, cone-like shape next to the line he’d drawn. “And on the left side, it drops into the waters of Loch Awe.” Owen drew waves on the other side of the line.
The Bruce scratched his bearded chin. “There’s nae better place for an ambush.”
“Aye.” Owen drew a line crossing the path. “MacDougall will block the way and put some of his men right on the Pass.” Then he poked the sooty surface several times on the pile indicating Ben Cruachan. “Here, on the mountainside above, he’ll place men who’ll hurtle rocks and boulders down on yer warriors below.”
Neil Cambel put his hands on the table and leaned over the drawing. “’Tis just like at Dalrigh.”
“I wasna at Dalrigh,” Domhnall said. “What happened?”
The Bruce’s eyes darkened, as did most of the men around the table. Owen rubbed his shoulder.
“’Twas two years ago,” the king said. “After the Battle of Methven, when the English destroyed us. We fled westward, only five hundred men and women with us. The MacDougalls blocked the path before us, and we didna have a choice but to fight. There were a thousand of them, all trained warriors. We had the remnants of my exhausted army, women, the elderly, and children.”
Amber swallowed hard as images of blood, pierced flesh, and dying people invaded her mind. She’d seen her fair share of torn body parts and blood soaking the ground. War was war.
She studied the Bruce’s mournful face, his dark eyes full of regret and pain. Would he let his people down, these Highlanders who had put everything on the line for their king?
“As ye can see,” the Bruce continued, “we escaped. Yer uncle, and yer father, yer brothers, too. James Douglas and Gilbert de la Haye were wounded, among others, and we put them on boats to escape. Then we had the worst winter of my life, hiding in the Isles and thinking the war was over.”
“’Tis nae over,” Owen said and slammed his fist against the table. “’Tis far from over. We ken what they have in mind. We can strike back.”
“Aye,” the men echoed.
“And we can finish the MacDougalls forever,” Craig said. He locked his eyes with Owen. “I ken who else would like to be at that battle.”
“Ian,” they both said.
“Aye, Ian,” Dougal said.
“’Tis my nephew the MacDougalls sold into slavery to the caliphate,” Neil explained to the Bruce.
“Aye,” the Bruce said. “Any Cambel is welcome to fight against our common enemy.”
“So what do ye want to do, Your Grace?” Owen said.
The Bruce sighed and studied the drawing thoughtfully. “How steep is the slope?”
“’Tis quite steep,” Owen said. “There are few places where one can climb it. I ken them.”
“Aye. Good. Then we need to take advantage of the knowledge. The biggest threat, of course, are the forces hidden up the mountainside. Owen, ye ken the terrain well. What do ye suggest?”
Amber bit her lip, nervous for Owen. This was his moment to shine or to fail.
“I suggest ye take the Pass as if ye dinna ken of the ambush. That’ll blind the MacDougalls and make them feel as though their plan is working. In the meanwhile, have some of yer men attack the enemy waiting to ambush ye in the mountainside, perhaps from their flank.”
“Aye,” the Bruce said. “’Tis what we’ll do.”
Amber remembered a similar situation in Afghanistan. They’d arrived at a city in six Humvees. They’d driven around a corner and found a street barricaded with old cars and rubble. Bullets and grenades had rained down on them from behind and above.
If it wasn’t for another unit that had come from the east and air support, Amber didn’t think they’d have made it out alive.
They’d been able to take out the snipers from the air. Obviously, the Bruce couldn’t use choppers, but his men could climb even higher and ambush the ambush from above.
“There’s something more you can do,” Amber said.
Everyone looked at her, and she bit her tongue, instantly regretting her interference.
“Woman, ken yer place,” Dougal barked, and men chuckled.
“Da, let her speak,” Owen said. “With yer permission, Your Grace.”
The Bruce pierced her with his eyes, and she cowered. What the hell did she know about medieval tactics and Scottish terrain?
The Bruce shook his head. “We dinna have time for a woman’s opinion. Ye’re here as a courtesy to Owen Cambel. Nothing more.” He turned to the men. “Now, I think our knights should attack the blockade. And the Highlanders—”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Owen said. “But ye should listen to what Amber has to say.”
The Bruce shot hi
m a murderous look.
“Owen, ye ken I respect yer opinion, but why should I trust a woman?”
“If ye trust my information, ye need to trust her.”
“Owen—” Dougal said.
But Owen insisted, “I beg of ye, listen and then decide. She has significant military experience. Ye want to give her the opportunity to talk.”
The Bruce held Owen in his heavy gaze. New worlds must have been born, lived, and died before the Bruce spoke again.
“All right.” He looked at Amber, who was still rooted to the spot. “Speak. Fast.”
Every man in the room glared at her, their attention heavy and estimating. Damn it. She could be wrong about this, and what then? Would she condemn the battle and the whole war to failure?
She walked towards the table on weak legs but a straight back. She’d give her best advice and let them decide if it was a good plan.
“You should ambush them with your own ambush.” She leaned over Owen’s drawing and drew a line an inch from the dots he’d marked on the mountainside. “Put a line of archers here. As many as you can, and let them attack these guys from behind and above. At the same time, have your Highlanders launch at them from the side, as Owen suggested.”
Owen nodded, pride shining in his expression. The Bruce propped his hands on the table and studied the diagram closer. “The main threat will be too busy fighting both sides. And the knights will finish those who block the Pass.”
He looked at Amber again, surprise and a hint of respect shining in his eyes. “Aye. This will work.” He turned his attention to a handsome man with long, dark hair and the longest beard in the room. “Douglas, yer men will be up on the mountainside. Ye and they ken how to move quieter than a cat.”
He looked at Owen. “Since ye ken the land, I want ye to lead the Highlanders and attack from the side.” He pointed at the dots.
Owen’s chest puffed up. Amber thought he’d stopped breathing. A smile threatened to spread his lips, but he tensed his mouth, and his eyes flashed.
The Bruce met Neil Cambel’s gaze. “I will lead the knights.”
Owen squeezed Amber’s hand under the table. She returned the gesture and intertwined her fingers with his. The connection of their hands sent electricity through her, a bizarre combination of desire and trust. Her whole body relaxed at the touch, filling with warmth and a soft, barely noticeable buzz. It was as though every cell in her body had come alive.
The Bruce looked straight at her. “I want ye to fight with us.”
Could she serve another leader who could use her so easily in his manipulations? A man who had all the power? She couldn’t do it again.
“No.”
The air became thick and charged. Every single man’s gaze stared at her in disbelief. The Bruce’s eyes turned as sharp and as dangerous as a snake’s.
But the worst response was Owen’s. He gaped at her with the pained expression of someone who’d just been betrayed.
Chapter 25
Owen felt his nostrils flare. Amber held her chin high, her back straight, her face not faltering under the heaviness of the gazes of a dozen battle-clad warriors. How could she say no when his people so clearly needed her, when the king himself had asked her to join them? If Owen wanted to be a successful leader, he needed to have all the best people on his side.
“Nae?” the king asked, his voice low and full of the apprehensive calm of the air before a storm.
Even as angry with her as he was, Owen realized she might be in danger now, and every part of him dashed to protect her. He shifted to stand between the Bruce and Amber.
The Bruce was a good leader, a strong warrior, and the king Owen was ready to lay down his life for. But Amber should make no mistake. He was ruthless. He was powerful. He could also be cruel.
After all, he’d murdered his opponent, John Red Comyn, in a church and proclaimed himself king. He’d raided and burned all of the Comyn lands in the east. He was a man who showed no mercy to his enemies.
Owen hoped Amber wouldn’t become one. And that he wouldn’t need to choose between the woman he loved and his king.
“No,” she repeated.
Hell…
Out of the corner of his eye, Owen saw his father’s face tighten and harden like a rock. Uncle Neil’s eyes bulged, darting between Amber and the king. The rest of the men stood immobile like statues. Only Craig moved, shaking his head.
“Ye can fight, canna ye?” the Bruce said, his voice still low. “Ye’re a mercenary and fought for Mackenzie, aye? And if ye fought for Mackenzie at Inverlochy, ye fought for me.”
Amber nodded, swallowing.
“So am I to assume ye dinna stand by yer own battle plan? How do I ken ye’re nae a spy hired by my enemies?”
“Amber isna a spy,” Owen said.
The Bruce looked at him like he were a noisy fly.
“Answer me, lass,” the king said, his nostrils flaring.
“Had you asked me a month ago,” Amber’s voice rang out loudly in the silent hall, “I’d have said yes. But not because I wanted to. Because I’d be afraid of you, of your authority, of your power. I’ve made myself small and obeyed the orders of my commanders my whole life. My father. My brothers. My superiors in the army. But the same superiors I trusted and fought for betrayed me.”
She inhaled sharply.
“So I won’t give anyone else power over my destiny. You fight for Scotland’s independence, King. I will only fight for mine. This is not my war. And you’re not my king. I have no king.”
The Bruce held her in his hard gaze for a long time. It was so quiet, Owen imagined he could hear mice scratching in the corners.
The Bruce crossed his arms on his chest. “Why did ye agree to serve Mackenzie in Inverlochy?”
Amber’s shoulder twitched. “I needed protection from those who chased me.”
“Who chased ye?” the Bruce frowned.
Owen might regret it later, but he couldn’t leave Amber in peril, fighting her fight alone. Even if it might cost him his king’s favor.
“The English,” Owen said.
The Bruce raised one eyebrow, the weight of his gaze like a boulder on Owen. “Are the English yer enemy?” the Bruce asked Amber.
“Aye,” Owen answered for her.
Amber nodded. It was at least partially true for her, after what de Bourgh had done to her.
“So if the English are yer enemy, will ye at least join me against them?” He chuckled, his mouth askew. “Even if I am nae yer king?”
She shook her head. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but no. I have fought against enough enemies. I’m done fighting.”
The Bruce nodded once, his lips pinched in his beard.
“I’m nae used to being rejected three times, my lady. Still, ’tis yer right, and I appreciate words said honestly. It takes courage to say nae to a king, and ye dinna lack any. I’ll take yer valuable advice and let ye go. But if ye wilna show yer loyalty to me by fighting by my side, ye need to leave this council now.”
Amber untangled her fingers from Owen’s. “Of course.”
She locked her eyes with Owen’s, and his stomach squeezed in awe at her. It was only a brief moment, but it felt like it lasted for a lifetime. It was as though Amber and he were the only two people left in the world, and there was no yesterday or tomorrow. No enemies, no one to judge them, and no one to respond to. She wasn’t a distraction. She was the only thing that made sense.
When she walked out, she left him with his chest hollow and scraped out.
Oh, he was so fecked.
“Owen! Owen!” He heard a voice calling him and turned his attention to the men around the table, his head still full of Amber.
The Bruce, Neil, Douglas, and everyone else stared at him, waiting. He only now noticed his father had come to stand right next to him.
“What is it?” Owen said.
The Bruce raised his eyebrows, his eyes hard in annoyance. “Is there a route up the mountainside?”
Owen cleared his throat. He needed to shake his feelings for Amber off and concentrate on the task at hand. If only it were so easy.
“Son,” Dougal murmured next to his ear, “ye need to focus. Ye lead one third of the Bruce’s army in this battle. Ye canna let a lass distract ye this time.”
Owen nodded. For the first time in his life, he completely agreed with his father.
“Aye,” he said to Dougal, then leaned over the drawing on the table and drew a thin, circuitous path on the right side of the mountain flank up the hill. “Here.”
And as the line got closer to the dots representing the MacDogualls, he realized with the clarity of the waters of Loch Awe that everything he’d ever wanted had finally happened. He was given great responsibility. He was a leader. He could finally make his clan proud.
He couldn’t let his love for Amber interfere with that.
Chapter 26
Owen sat in the courtyard staring at the flames of the campfire, deep in thought. He enjoyed the murmuring voices around him. The whole courtyard was full of campfires and warriors eating and drinking.
Craig was there, and several others, including two Mackenzie brothers, cousins of Kenneth. A worm of guilt turned in Owen’s gut—he was at fault for his death.
“I am sorry for yer cousin’s death,” he said.
“’Tis nae yer fault, Cambel,” said Angus, clearly the older one, with black hair and black eyes. “’Tis war. People die.”
Raghnall, the younger brother, who had the same raven hair but was even taller and leaner, sighed. He had a crooked nose and one eyebrow with a scar. He looked like someone who’d been in his fair share of fights. “Aye. We’re all going to die.” He raised his cup with uisge. “So better savor the joys of life while it lasts.” He downed it and grunted.
“I’m nae surprised to hear you say that, brother,” Angus said. “Nae wife, nae children, and nae land.”
Raghnall threw a dark glance at him. “Nae land? I’m nae Mackenzie nae more, aren’t I?”