Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Tae yer posts, men!”
Malcolm’s voice cut through the alarm bells as he strode down the hallway in the opposite direction to the hurrying guards and servants who were responding to the call of the bells.
“Stay in yer rooms, lock the doors,” he instructed the milling castle-folk who had come out of their doors in their nightclothes to see what was happening.
He did not slow until he reached Catriona’s chamber, opening the door without knocking. He stopped dead to see her standing right in front of him fully dressed, arm outstretched, clearly about to open it herself.
“Malcolm!” she gasped, wild-eyed, moving back as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Is it Sinclair?”
“Aye,” he nodded, hating to see the fear in her eyes.
“Oh, Lord preserve us!” She threw herself into his arms, her face pressed to his chest, holding him tightly around the waist.
He allowed himself to embrace her briefly, to feel her soft curves pressed against him, to breathe in her scent. Because he knew that if Sinclair had his way, it might be the last time he ever did. It was up to him to make sure that did not happen, and he would die protecting her if necessary.
He pushed her gently but firmly away, gripping her shoulders as he looked into her beautiful eyes, so filled with love mixed with worry—his chest aching to know it was all for him.
“Hurry and go tae the secret place I showed ye,” he said urgently, an order not a suggestion. “The hidden passage. Wait there fer me, or if necessary, by the loch, as I told ye.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “Dinnae argue, Cat. I’ll nae be able tae fight if I dinnae ken ye’re safe.” That was the truth.
“All right, I’ll go. But Malcolm, ye must promise me ye’ll be careful. I couldnae bear it if anythin’ bad happened tae ye,” she said, her voice a breathy plea, green eyes shining as she gazed up at him.
“I will,” he told her, unable to help pressing a kiss to her lips—silently praying it would not be the last. “I’ll keep ye safe whatever it takes, lass. But now, I must go. The men need me. I’ll come and get ye when ’tis safe.”
He slipped out of the door before giving into the temptation to stay with her. For he was needed outside, to face whatever Sinclair had brought to his gates.
He hit the stairwell at a run, joining the steady stream of armed men exiting the keep to join those already stationed there to defend the castle, and burst out into the bailey.
Outside, dawn had barely broken, and torches were still burning in the bailey, piercing the fog that had settled overnight, eerily illuminating the scene. A tense hush fell over the bailey, all within the walls anticipating the fight that had come at last.
“Malcolm!”
Ewan was hailing him from near the guardhouse. He strode towards his brother, who was barking orders at the sergeants, sending extra men above to help man the walls as planned.
The pair converged by the gates, where a large group of guards were already stationed, ready to repel any sign of ingress by the enemy. From behind it came the familiar roar and metallic clatter of a multitude of armed men wanting entry and prepared to use violent force to obtain it.
Sinclair’s army.
“So, he’s come then,” he shouted over the din, well aware that the outcome of the battle would dictate the future for him and Catriona. “I’m glad. The uncertainty was killin’ me.”
“Aye, we can dae what we dae best now, Braither, fight. And Duncan’s goin’ nay where now, so we still have the numbers. I’ve deployed his men already according tae our plans.”
Malcolm nodded his approval, having already figured that out.
He had told his brother what had passed with his friend and how Duncan had left the study dragging Catriona with him.
He would not be able to take her away from him until the battle was resolved, although whether that was a good or bad thing he was not sure.
Duncan’s anger no longer mattered now either.
Because there was one thing they could agree on—keeping Catriona from falling into Sinclair’s clutches was paramount.
“Where is he?” he asked, looking around the bailey.
Ewan shrugged. “I havenae seen him yet, but mayhap he’s up on the battlements already.”
“How many men daes Sinclair have with him?” he shouted to his brother over the rising din coming from beyond the gates.
“’Tis hard tae say until the fog lifts, but ’tis a large force, several hundred at least, maybe more,” Ewan admitted grimly. “What with the fog and lack of light, the lookouts didnae see them until minutes before they arrived beneath the walls. They must have come through the woods on foot.”
“Damn the bloody fog,” Malcolm cursed, feeling that for all his preparations, Sinclair had somehow outwitted him.
The next moment, his blood froze in his veins as a bone-shaking rhythmic thudding began at the gates, mingling with the enemy’s roaring clamor. The giant gates shuddered with each strike of the battering ram, in time with Malcolm’s heartbeat.
“Christ,” Ewan said quickly, eyeing the gates with concern. “He’s nae wastin’ any time. He wants in.”
“He wants Catriona,” Malcolm growled, cold fury seizing him. “But he’s nae havin’ her. I swear I’ll kill that bastard before this is over.”
Crash went the ram, shaking the mighty gates. Malcolm’s warriors stood ranked before it, blades and targes poised, waiting.
“Where is she?” Ewan asked, watching the gates shuddering with each mighty blow from outside.
“The secret passage,” Malcolm told him, looking around again for Duncan but not seeing him.
“Good, she should be safe there.” He met Malcolm’s eyes and slapped his shoulder. “Well, Braither, we’ve done all we can tae prepare. All the men are in position. Now it comes down tae the fightin’.”
A grim, almost feral look crossed Malcolm’s features as the familiar bloodlust rose within him like boiling gall, filling every part of him.
“Aye, I’ve been waitin’ too long tae kill this bastard,” he ground out.
The ram pounded the gates with another sickening crunch, then another and another. The gate bar rattled in its sockets, and the gates themselves shed a rain of splinters as the oaken planks began to feel the strain.
A squire ran up to the brothers, handing them their helmets and targes. Malcolm thanked him as he pulled on the helmet, slung the targe over his shoulder, and unsheathed his claymore. Ewan did the same.
“Hold the gates. I’m goin’ up top tae have a look,” Malcolm told him. Ewan nodded, while Malcolm turned and ran across to a flight of stone steps leading to the battlements, reaching the top in a few leaping strides.
He ran to the edge of battlements, where a mixture of Gordon and Grant archers were unleashing volley after volley of arrows onto the enemy below.
In return, enemy arrows fell upon them like rain, taking some of the defenders out of action.
Others were engaged in repelling the enemy soldiers who were swarming up ladders, stabbing at their faces and chests with lethal halberds, shoving the ladders away from the walls, sending men screaming to their deaths.
“Good work, lads, keep it up!” he shouted before looking out over the attacking horde. Sinclair’s troops moved in a body at the foot of the walls, resembling swarming bees as they continued their relentless attempts to break into the keep.
He did not show his dismay when he saw for himself that Ewan was right.
The true size of the attacking force was impossible to estimate because a large part of it was obscured by the fog.
But the noise level, the fleets of arrows flying upwards from within the impenetrable white curtain, and the seemingly ceaseless forward flow of men to replace those killed or injured directly below the walls suggested it was very large.
He felt bad for not having had time to alert the villagers of Fochabers to come inside the walls, and he dared not dwell on the havoc Sinclair’s men might be inflicting upon his people. He could only hope they had had warning enough to run for the woods and hide.
Sinclair wants her bad, all right, but he’ll havetae get past me first.
The mad laird might have crept up on him, but he was prepared, with high granite walls and nigh on four hundred highly trained men on his side.
As he stood there, making a quick mental sweep of his men at their stations, working hard to repel the enemy, he saw no sign of Duncan. Wondering if he had gone to find Catriona, he ran down the steps, aiming to check on her, praying she had obeyed his command and was already safe in hiding.
Just as he jumped down the remaining steps into the bailey, the tortured shriek of splintering wood tore through the bailey.
“Christ, they’ve breached the bloody gates!
” he exclaimed in horror as the intruders kicked at the broken timber to enlarge the holes and forced their way inside.
Savage shouts of bloodthirsty provocation arose from the line of warriors set to defend the gates as they fiercely met the attack, Ewan at their head.
Steel clashed with steel as battle was joined. Threading one arm through the back of his targe, Malcolm he snatched his dirk from his belt, gripping it so that the blade protruded from the lower part of the shield, a lethal slicing weapon at close quarters.
In his other fist he gripped the hilt of his claymore, flexing it in his fist. Fueled by the fury of vengeance, he bounded forward with a snarl, hurling himself into the ferocious, fighting side by side with Ewan, steel clashing with enemy steel.