Chapter 28
The screams cut through the festivities like a knife.
Callum had only just made it to the courtyard after meeting with his councilmen—at least most of them. Some of them were nowhere to be found, most notably Reggie, who had been missing all day. And now, in the middle of the chaos, he didn’t know what was happening.
Some people were still dancing, unaware of what was wrong. Others were running around the courtyard, trying to get inside. And in the middle of it all, his guards were yelling at each other, those standing on the curtain walls shouting orders to those below.
It didn’t take him long to understand what was wrong. After all, there was only one explanation for this.
Barclay.
His blade was in his hand within moments. He looked around him as more people realized they were in danger and they all began to run, almost trampling each other.
“Slow down!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the chaos.
There was so much noise—screams, cries, the thud of boots on the ground. Dust flew up in the air, dancing in the firelight, creating a dense fog he could not easily see through. His eyes itched. His lungs burned. Every breath made him choke, and yet he kept shouting, hoping his people would listen.
“Inside! Get inside! Get the bairns!”
With a grunt, he turned to face the curtain walls, through which the enemy was trying to enter. His men fought valiantly, but there were only so many of them. Their forces had been depleted. Laird Barclay’s men were more prepared for this than they could ever be.
“Callum!” Hudson’s cut through the air.
Callum turned to see his friend running toward him through the sea of people that were trying to get into the keep.
Hudson pushed his way through, colliding with the bodies in his way, stumbling, then catching himself. Callum ran to him, meeting him halfway, and reached out a hand to grab his shoulder.
“It’s Barclay,” he said.
Hudson nodded. “Aye. But we’re ready for him. Well…as ready as we can be. The walls, they’ll hold.”
“Aye,” Callum echoed, though he wasn’t certain he believed it. “I need ye to do somethin’ for me. Take care of Rhea, Sienna, and Mabel.”
“Of course,” Hudson said, giving him a firm nod. Then, he looked around, searching. “Where are they?”
Callum looked around as well, scanning the courtyard. The women were nowhere to be found.
“Look for them,” he instructed. “I’ll do the same.”
They split up, each man going in a different direction. Callum kept his eyes peeled for any sign of the three women, or at least for Lara, who was bound to know where they were.
And yet, no matter how much he looked, he couldn’t find any of them.
The crowd was a flash of faces, a hurricane, people rushing past him in a panic.
The courtyard was lit orange by the firelight, but even the bonfires weren’t enough to reach the farthest shadows, those places that were cloaked in darkness.
“Rhea!” he called.
An enemy soldier suddenly appeared before him. It seemed that Barclay’s men had slipped through the castle’s defenses.
Callum looked around, noticing that many more had flooded into the courtyard.
He cursed under his breath just as the man lunged for him with a cry, his blade raised high. He planted his feet on the ground, steeling himself for the collision. When the soldier reached him, he easily parried the first blow.
The man was tall and lean, his eyes wide and wild as he dealt one blow after the other.
He was fast, tireless. Callum had the advantage of size, a wall where the other man was an arrow, but he wasn’t quite as fast. Parrying took a lot more effort, so he jumped back, trying to put some distance between them.
It gave him the time he needed to deliver an attack, swinging his sword high and bringing it down in an arc with a shout.
The man jumped back at the very last moment, but Callum followed him, giving him no time to recover before he thrust his sword forward, catching him on the shoulder. The man fell down with a cry of pain.
Callum spun on his heel and ran off, searching for the women once more. He didn’t care about the soldier. He would either bleed out or he would be killed by one of his men. Either way, Callum couldn’t bother with him, not when Rhea’s life was in danger.
The courtyard was fire and dust, the air already carrying the coppery tang of blood. Callum was instantly transported back to the battlefield, back to the middle of war. Rage coursed through him. The longer it took him to find Rhea and the others, the angrier he became with Laird Barclay.
How dared the bastard attack his home? How dared he put the people he loved in danger?
I’ll find him, and I’ll kill him with me own hands.
“Callum!” Hudson’s voice echoed across the courtyard once more.
Callum turned to see him waving, trying to catch his attention. Next to him were Sienna, Mabel, and Lara, Rhea nowhere to be seen. He pushed his way through the crowd, and when he reached them, his eyes were wild with concern.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where is Rhea?”
“I… I daenae ken,” Sienna stammered, shaking her head. “Mabel said she went to get more wine, but we havenae seen her since.”
Callum cursed once more, though this time, he didn’t bother trying to hide it. He pushed his hair back with a trembling hand and wiped the sweat that had gathered on his forehead, his breath coming hard and fast.
“Get them inside,” he barked.
He didn’t wait for Hudson to respond before he was off once more, searching for Rhea.
He didn’t have to look for long. By then, the crowd in the courtyard had thinned, most people fleeing into the keep and any other building they could enter, barricading themselves inside. He saw Rhea among those who were left, and next to her was Laird Barclay himself.
Laird Barclay was holding her by the arm, his other hand holding a dagger to her neck.
Rhea winced as the man dug his fingers into her arm, but she didn’t make a sound, not even when he pressed so deep that the skin around the pads paled and then reddened.
The blade glinted against the pale, delicate skin of her throat, burning gold in the firelight.
“Damn him.” Callum spat on the ground. His grip tightened on his sword, the callouses on his palms brushing the rough leather around the hilt. “Barclay!”
“There ye are!” Laird Barclay called as he moved closer, dragging Rhea along with him. She struggled in his grip, though she seemed well aware of the blade against her throat, from the way it restricted her movement.
When he stopped, he pressed the blade even harder against her throat, enough to draw blood. Callum froze at the sight of it.
Laird Barclay could take her life at any moment. She was completely at his mercy, her life hanging from a thread for as long as she was in his clutches.
But how could Callum save her? One wrong move, and he would be the cause of her demise.
Her eyes were pleading and filled with tears.
He wanted nothing more than to reassure her, to tell her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, but how could he promise her such a thing when he could hardly move a muscle?
It was as if his limbs had turned to lead, as if his body had turned against him and had rooted itself to the spot, refusing to budge.
“What’s the matter?” Laird Barclay taunted. “Are ye too frightened that I’ll kill yer precious wife?” He let out a laugh that chilled Callum to the bone.
The man was not only ambitious, but he was also a lunatic. He seemed to revel in Callum’s panic and Rhea’s pain. Everything he was doing, he was doing it because it gave him pleasure, and the thought of it sickened Callum, bile rising in the back of his throat.
“Let her go,” Callum demanded.
Laird Barclay let out another laugh, bright and amused. “Why would I do that, McMahon? I could ruin ye with one move.”
Callum gritted his teeth, rage threatening to blind him. But when he looked at Rhea once more, the panic was gone from her eyes, replaced by cold determination. He didn’t have time to react before she decided to take matters into her own hands.
As Laird Barclay began to speak again, she used his distraction to slam her heel hard down on his foot. Pain seemed to register a few moments later as he cried out, the surprise of the attack allowing her to slip out of his loosened grip.
Within moments, she was running away from him—away from them both.
Clever lass.
The farther away she was from them, the less Callum had to worry about her, and the more he could focus on finally getting rid of Laird Barclay for good. But as she ran away, Laird Barclay watched her, his face painted red with rage.
He let out a cry that reminded Callum of a furious animal, wild and unbridled. It seemed to shake his entire body with its intensity, reverberating through him and the air around him like thunder. Then, he fixed his gaze on Callum, his feet skidding across the ground as he broke into a sprint.
Callum gritted his teeth, every point of contact between his palm and the hilt of his sword burning with anticipation. His blade thirsted for blood, and he would be damned if he let the bastard escape him or defeat him.
Their swords met with a deafening clang, the sound echoing in the courtyard around them.
It seemed to drown out everything else—all the screaming, all the pained moans, all the footsteps as the two sides collided.
All around him, there was nothing but strife and death.
All around him, swords clashed over and over again, and men laid their lives for the safety of the clan.
But not for long. He would put an end to it himself.
Laird Barclay’s attacks were brutal. He swung his sword with rage and abandon, but Callum didn’t balk at the relentless onslaught.
With a grunt, he parried a blow, swinging his blade back before driving it upwards, only for Laird Barclay to dodge it again.
The point of the blade ripped his sleeve right over the bicep but drew no blood.
Jumping back, Laird Barclay threw him a mocking grin. “Ye think ye can best me?”