CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROYCE WAS WAITING for her in the great hall.
Claire’s stomach was in knots. She had tossed and turned all night, acutely aware of the fact that Malcolm was above her in the tower.
But he hadn’t been summoning her. She had strained to listen for him but had heard nothing.
She interpreted his silence to mean he was firmly in control of any lingering dark urges.
Royce strode over to her. “Break the fast. We willna stop until we reach Iona.”
Claire met his gaze and saw no hostility, just quiet determination. She couldn’t care less about breakfast. “Where is Malcolm? I have to say goodbye.”
Royce said, “Outside.”
She had been afraid they would not have a last word before parting.
Claire hurried out. Malcolm’s fifty men were already mounted, their horses blowing impatiently in the brisk chill of dawn.
Instantly she saw Malcolm astride his big gray.
He glanced her way and their eyes met. Malcolm moved the charger toward her.
Claire rushed over to him. “You wouldn’t dare leave without telling me goodbye!”
He looked as tired as she felt, Claire realized, and that meant he’d had a rotten night, too. But she knew better than to believe he’d been tossing and turning over his undying affection for her. “I’ll go with ye an’ Royce as far as the sea loch,” he said.
Claire was thrilled. She grasped one of his reins. “What changed your mind?”
His gaze held hers. “Dinna think so hard, Claire. I go back to Dunroch and ’tis the best way. I never said I wouldn’t make part of the journey with ye.” He turned his mount away.
Claire looked around for her mount. She knew exactly who she was riding through the pass with. Royce joined her, leading the brown gelding. “Mount up, Lady Claire.”
Claire took Saint Will’s reins and swung into the saddle, finding the wood stirrups. When she looked up, Aidan was handing her a revolver.
Claire grinned, briefly forgetting all about being in a situation in which she had no say and no control. “You didn’t forget! Is it loaded?”
“If ye mean does it have six round pellets inside, aye, it does,” he said with a grin of his own.
Claire would have kissed his cheek if she wasn’t astride and if Malcolm hadn’t been so jealous yesterday. “Thank you. Not just for the dagger and the gun, but for everything.”
“I canna refuse a beautiful woman,” he said, smiling.
Claire glanced across the troops and saw Malcolm watching her. She hoped he was reading her mind now. “That is obvious,” Claire said. She leaned closer. “Be nice to Isabel. She’s very young for your shenanigans.”
His eyes widened. “Claire, she kens the way o’ the world.”
Claire thought it sad that she probably did at such a young age.
She wasn’t sure why she hoped to save Isabel from the broken heart that would be her fate, but she did.
She moved her horse toward Malcolm, tucking the revolver carefully in her belt.
Claire came abreast of him, uncertain. “Are you waiting for me?”
“Aye.” He gestured that they should follow the men trotting under the raised portcullis and through the middle ward.
A moment later, Claire was riding across the first drawbridge with Malcolm.
The sky was turning pale blue, the sun shining faintly yellow as it crept over the still waters of the loch.
To the north, Ben More and the lower, adjacent peaks remained shrouded in shadow and mist. As Royce and the first few men trotted onto the marshland, two does and a magnificent buck with huge antlers leaped out of the forest and across the road.
Claire smiled at Malcolm. So much had happened since that terrible battle with Moray and she missed him.
He met her gaze. His eyes were unguarded, almost soft.
“Are you eavesdropping?”
“Will ye shout?”
She almost laughed. “No.”
“’Tis called lurking, Claire, and with ye, I dinna have t’ even try to hear ye. Ye think so loud.”
Her heart raced as they passed through the raised portcullis. “Then you know that I miss moments like this one.”
His jaw flexed and his lashes lowered over his eyes.
“The rising sun, the crisp, clean air, the towering mountains, the scent of wood and pine…and you, here with me, like this.”
“I canna change the past. ’Tis nay allowed.”
“Malcolm.”
“Aye,” he said slowly, looking up at her. “I heard ye. But I willna say I miss the pleasant times. Dinna push me, lass. The affairs o’ the court weigh on me mind now.” He added, “’Tis where Moray has gone.”
“Tell me what you are thinking,” she said softly. “Do you have a plan for Moray?”
He gave her a look she could not decipher.
“Where does Moray fit in?” Claire asked. “He controls the royal armies. The king must depend upon him heavily.”
“Aye, he does. But he controls Moray, Claire, not the other way. James be clever, ambitious and devout. An’ ye can say a prayer o’ thanks to any god ye choose that the king be so faithful.”
Claire got his drift. James’s religious beliefs were keeping him out of Moray’s clutches. That was a relief. “How devout is James? Is he fanatical? Is that what it takes to make a soul secure?”
“Ye think I should pray.”
She wet her lips. “It can’t hurt.” And she started to think about the prayer she’d been saying when Malcolm had been dying on the ramparts. She hadn’t memorized that verse, but it had come pouring out of her.
Malcolm hadn’t died. And James wasn’t Moray’s soulless lackey. The gods were out there, and God had always been the bulwark against evil. She had to get religion.
“Ye want to use religion, Claire,” Malcolm said quietly, “but usin’ it, even fer a good cause, an’ havin’ faith be two different things.” The words were barely out of his mouth when a terrible expression of alarm covered his face. And that was when Claire felt a chilling wind rush over the marshes.
Royce whirled his horse, shouting commands in Gaelic, and she heard the wild battle cries of the approaching army as they burst into the glen.
Fear choked her. She saw perhaps a hundred mail-clad foot soldiers, wielding pikes and shields, and two dozen fully armored, mounted men.
Claire glanced behind her as the knights bore down upon them at a mad gallop.
Castle Awe was a mile distant. The marsh was no more than a mile wide from side to side, surrounded by impenetrable forested mountains, the pass ahead.
Claire wasn’t a military strategist, but she didn’t have to be one to know that they were too far from the castle to return safely to it, and that they were caught out in the open with no place to run or hide.
Royce galloped to them, slamming something at Malcolm, which he seized. “Take the page an’ Claire,” he said. “I’ll hold them off here.”
Claire expected Malcolm to protest as the first knights engaged his men, their bloodcurdling cries filling the dawn, lance against shield, sword against sword. But he seized her reins. “Claire!”
Claire grabbed the horse’s mane as they wheeled and galloped back toward Awe.
She looked back at the expanding battle.
Everyone was now engaged, even the foot soldiers, making them terribly outnumbered.
Horses screamed and men cried out, swords ringing, clashing, echoing.
She turned ahead as they galloped toward the castle, breathing hard.
The outer drawbridge was being slowly and cumbrously lowered.
In minutes, surely, Aidan and his men would emerge.
But her little gelding was on Malcolm’s steed’s flank, and she wasn’t going to be able to keep up with his stallion for long.
She looked over her shoulder again. A dozen riders were pursuing them, ignoring the main battle. “Malcolm!” she screamed into the wind. The drawbridge felt as if it were a hundred miles away.
And Malcolm thought so, too. He slowed his gray, holding out his hand. We’ll leap.
Claire reached out for him and their fingers brushed, but he missed grasping her hand.
“Claire!” He halted his stallion abruptly and it reared. Saint Will raced past the gray and was instantly flung backward by the rein Malcolm was holding, stumbling hard. Claire sailed over his head.
She somersaulted and landed hard right below her neck, where it joined her spine.
For one moment, she just lay there, stunned, stars shooting in the sky above.
Malcolm raced to her on foot now and Claire saw the pair of knights galloping toward him from behind, swords raised.
She sat, pointing the gun, her hand shaking wildly. “Malcolm!” she warned him, firing.
She aimed at the horse. It went down, the knight rolling just out of the charger’s way, avoiding being crushed.
Malcolm whirled, sword and shield raised, to meet the other knight’s attack.
On foot, he swung hard at the rider, who swung as hard back.
Malcolm staggered backward as their blades locked.
Three foot soldiers were upon them. Two wore mail shirts, one just a leine.
Claire knelt, aimed, fired and saw one man fall.
When he did not get up, she guessed they were men that Moray had turned to evil, not demons.
Suddenly two knights were hauling their horses to a halt before her, cutting her off from Malcolm.
The first lifted her visor. “Hello, Claire.” Sibylla grinned.
Claire froze, pointing the gun at her. Behind Sibylla, Malcolm was trying to fight three men at once. Her escalating heart rate made her feel faint. It was hard to aim straight.
“I wouldn’t make me angry, if I were you, Claire,” the redhead said, her smile widening. “You really don’t want to get on my bad side.” She rode at Claire.