CHAPTER 25
Malcolm hated the thought of Chloe leaving his protection, but he and Callum had decided it was best for them to get as far away from the fighting as possible.
They both knew Rory MacDonald was after them and the keystone.
If they weren’t in residence, then he couldn’t capture them if anything went terribly wrong.
He and Malcolm quickly organized the rest of the castle for battle. They emptied the armory and lined up the few archers they had along the ramparts, readying for the worst.
Torchlight glinted off spears, swords, and many other sharp things as the army approached. At the head of it, Rory MacDonald clutched his great axe. Next to him, his son. Both of them rode on their destriers, dressed and ready for battle.
Thankfully, the weapon was not glowing this time.
MacDonald’s army outnumbered them. If he decided to lay siege to the castle, they would have a difficult time defending it.
If he decided to starve them out, that could take months.
His brother had prepared for this moment all season.
He’d made sure the larder was stocked, and they had plenty of livestock.
But what of the women? Malcolm worried, as Callum did, that they would not make it away from the castle.
Dougal and Jamie planned to escort them to the Sinclair stronghold.
It gave him some peace of mind to know his younger brother and the steward were with them.
They were the only two men he and his brother trusted to see to their safety.
Should anything happen, they’d protect them with their swords and their lives.
They would remain there, in the safety of their ancestral home, until he and Callum rode for them.
Standing on the ramparts next to his brother, Malcolm clutched his claymore in his sweaty palm, watching the horde approach. At the head of the army, a group of men pushed a battering ram. Not exactly the best news.
“What’s yer plan, brother?” Malcolm asked.
“We fight them,” he said, his face impassive, his voice grim. His gaze was fixed on the distant army. “They’ll attack the gate first.”
“We’re outnumbered.”
“Aye,” his brother agreed. “We will use the archers to take out as many as we can before they attack.”
“And that battering ram?” Malcolm asked, eyeing the large equipment headed right for them.
“I have an idea for that as well.”
The army stopped their forward march out of reach of the castle walls.
Rory MacDonald and his son sat on their destriers at the head of it.
They were flanked by their men, each holding torches.
The orange-red light flickered over their battered breastplates, showing every nick and scar along the steel.
Neither Rory nor his son wore helms, as though they did not expect to fight.
“Open yer gates and we will no attack,” Rory called.
Malcolm cut a glance to his brother. His face remained impassive, his jaw hard and clenched. The muscles ticked along the edge.
“And why should I open my gates to the likes of ye?” Callum called back.
“Because ye dinnae wish to die this night, MacLeod,” he fired back.
In the distance, there was a commotion. Malcolm heard it and tipped his head, straining his ears to listen. He narrowed his eyes, as if that would give him a better view in the darkness. He saw nothing. He thought for sure he had heard panicked voices on the wind.
Movement distracted Rory. He turned his head and peered into the distance. A fierce grin split his face.
“Yer in luck this night, then, MacLeod. We willna attack.”
Alarm pounded through Malcolm. Why would Rory MacDonald come all this way with his army if he didn’t intend to attack? It didn’t make sense.
Then a man rode through the ranks, moving toward the front.
As he neared, Malcolm recognized the man’s face as the light from the torch flickered over it.
He would know those piercing blue eyes anywhere.
It was the same man who had followed Chloe through time.
The same man who had tried to take the keystone from her.
Bruce MacDonald. The man from the future. The man who had vowed things were not over between him and Chloe.
“Is it done then?” Rory asked.
“It is,” Bruce said with a nod.
Wild, hot terror pumped through Malcolm then as he realized the army before them was nothing more than a decoy.
Rory’s glittering gaze flickered back up to Callum and Malcolm standing high on the ramparts. A smile—a dreadful, sickly smile—parted his lips.
“Ye left me no other choice, MacLeod,” he said.
“What do ye mean?” Alarm tinged Callum’s voice. His fist clenched at his side while he continued to grip the claymore in his other.
“We have what we came for,” Rory replied. “All this…” He waved his hand to encompass the army behind. “’Twas nothing more than a show of force and a distraction.”
Next to him, Callum stiffened. Malcolm’s stomach plummeted to the soles of his boots.
“By God’s blood, ye filthy jackal, what have ye done?” The words burst out of Malcolm before he was able to stop them.
But neither Rory nor Bruce answered.
The distant thunder of hooves neared. Moments later, two men galloped around the edge of the castle walls, heading right for Rory, Bruce, and his son, Rufus. Riding with the men, their hands bound and their mouths gagged, were Evie and Chloe.
In a fit of fury, Callum pointed his sword at Rory. “Ye will pay dearly for this treachery, MacDonald!”
He merely grinned, lifted his great axe into the air.
It exploded into a bright, white light, ripping the space in front of them.
And then, Rory, Bruce, Rufus, and the two men holding their women captive rode through.
Chloe’s gaze lifted to his moments before she disappeared.
Her emerald eyes were full of dread. And then she was gone.
The moment they disappeared, Callum emitted a frustrated war cry that sent chills through Malcolm, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had never heard anything like that from his brother.
Malcolm’s stomach was tied in knots. He had failed in his promise to protect her with his sword and his body. Now, she and her sister were in the hands of their enemy.
MacDonald’s army retreated, thundering away from the castle, leaving them standing there on the ramparts to watch their forms disappear into the dead of night, heading back to MacDonald land.
No one moved. No one said anything. No one dared breathe. The archers stationed on the ramparts remained until their laird ordered them otherwise.
Jamie and Dougal had failed to protect the women. Which meant they were incapacitated or—worse—dead.
Rory had their women and the two pieces of the keystone.
In a strangely calm fashion, Callum sheathed his claymore. His gaze still remained on the horizon, watching the retreating army growing smaller as more distance was put between them and Dundale Castle.
“That bloody knave has my wife and I will see him dead for it.”
Callum said this so calmly, it sent a twinge of fear through Malcolm. He didn’t dare point out that he had the woman he loved, too.
It had never occurred to him until that moment that he was in love with Chloe.
Now, he had to get her and her sister back.
His brother turned from the ramparts and stalked down the rough-hewn steps to the ground. With his shoulders pulled back and his back taut with tension, he was a man on a mission. As he marched across the bailey to the stable, Malcolm knew what he intended to do. He sheathed his sword and followed.
“Callum, wait.”
He spun toward him, fury creasing his normally calm features. This was a man on the edge. A man ready to rip his enemy to shreds and not even think twice about it.
“I’m going after them.”
“We need a plan first. We need to find Dougal and Jamie.”
As if remembering their younger brother and the steward, the rage was wiped from his features as he glanced toward the gate that remained closed. He realized, as Malcolm did, that something must have happened to the two of them.
“Open the gate!”
A shout rose up from one of his men still on the wall.
Callum shoved by him and ran toward the gate.
Malcolm followed. The portcullis started its slow ascent.
When it was open enough, two men hobbled inside the gate.
Jamie held his arm against his side, his tunic damp with blood.
Dougal limped beside him, favoring one of his legs.
As soon as they were inside, they lowered the gate.
“What happened?” Callum demanded, halting in front of them.
“Ambush,” Jamie said. “Mercenaries.”
“There were too many of them,” Dougal added. “I’m sorry, Callum. We failed.”
Regret and torment gleamed in both men’s eyes.
Callum clenched his jaw again, tight. “We dinnae expect mercenaries.”
“Welsh ones,” Jamie added, then spit to show his distaste for them. “We can go after them, brother.”
“Aye, we can and we will. But for now, ye need yer arm stitched,” Callum said eyeing the cut down his left arm. “Malcolm, fetch Roslyn. Have her meet us in the great hall. And then we will decide how we get the women back.”
***
They rode hard throughout the night. Chloe tried to keep her panic down, but it was difficult when she was terrified of what was to come. Bruce made sure to ride next to her, keeping a watchful eye on her. On the other side, Evie and her captor.
All Chloe thought about was Malcolm would come for her. Callum would come for Evie. They would be saved from these brutal barbarians. Chloe knew enough about medieval history and how they treated women to start formulating her own plan of escape. She didn’t know how yet.