Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The upper hall of Inveraray had never been so loud. Margaret had barely reached it when the noise from the courtyard below rolled through the stone corridors. There were shouting men, the distant clash of steel, and somewhere beneath it all, the terrible crackle of fire.
Smoke drifted faintly through the high windows. The alarm horn sounded again.
Thomas hurried ahead of her up the final stair and pushed open the heavy doors of the upper hall. Inside, chaos had already broken out.
Women gathered their children with hurried hands.
Servants rushed back and forth with blankets, bundles of clothing, and whatever provisions they could carry.
The older children clung to their mothers while the younger ones cried openly.
A guard stood near the far archway, directing people toward the rear corridor that led to the hidden evacuation passage beyond the castle wall.
Margaret stepped inside. Thomas turned immediately.
“Me lady, ye must remain here.”
Margaret glanced around the hall. Remain here?
The air was thick with fear. Children were crying. Servants were struggling to move frightened families toward the narrow exit passage.
She turned back to Thomas. “And dae what?”
“Stay safe,” he said, fearing that was not the right answer.
Margaret raised a brow. “Safe?”
“Aye. The laird ordered it.”
She folded her arms. “Yer laird is currently fighting men who have invaded this castle.”
“That is precisely why ye must remain out of danger,” he reminded her.
Margaret shook her head once. “I have nay intention of hiding in a chamber while the household is under attack.”
“Me lady—”
But she had already stepped past him. Thomas stared after her in disbelief. Margaret crossed the hall quickly toward the frightened group gathering near the corridor entrance. One of the women struggled to lift a heavy bundle while keeping hold of a crying child.
Margaret reached her first.
“Here,” she said gently, reaching for the boy. “Give him tae me.”
The woman blinked. “Me lady—”
“Go. The passage is that way.”
The woman nodded quickly and hurried toward the archway. Margaret shifted the small boy into her arms. He clung to her neck immediately, burying his face against her shoulder.
“Hush,” she murmured softly. “Ye are safe.”
Another child ran past them, with tears streaking his cheeks. Margaret caught his sleeve.
“Stay with yer maither,” she said calmly.
“I cannae find her!” the boy cried.
She knelt slightly, bringing herself level with him.
“What is her name?”
“Mary.”
Margaret looked toward the corridor. “Mary!” she called sharply.
A woman turned instantly from the line moving toward the exit.
“Me lad!”
The boy ran to her and jumped into her arms. Margaret stood up again. Thomas had followed her across the hall, still looking unconvinced.
“Me lady,” he said quietly, “this is nae yer responsibility.”
Margaret turned toward him. “These are our people, Thomas.” she said simply. “We must help them. So, either help me help them, or stay out of me way.”
All he could do was nod to that, and he stayed right by her side as another wave of frightened voices rose as more servants entered from the stairway.
The evacuation line grew longer. Margaret moved again without hesitation, guiding a group of children toward the corridor while another servant gathered blankets for them.
“Keep moving,” she said calmly. “Stay thegither.”
The guard at the archway nodded to her with quick respect as the line began moving more steadily. Margaret handed the small boy she carried to his mother and turned back toward the hall.
“Next group,” she said calmly.
The evacuation had begun to find a rhythm. Women passed through the archway two at a time, clutching small bundles or with children clinging to their skirts. A pair of guards directed them down a narrow stone corridor.
Somewhere deeper in the castle the sound of fighting continued. Margaret forced herself not to look toward the sound. Instead, she focused on the task in front of her.
A young girl stumbled near the doorway. Margaret caught her before she fell.
“Easy,” she murmured. “Stay with yer brither.”
The girl nodded tearfully and hurried after the others. The line moved again. Then Margaret noticed something. Three men had entered the hall from the far stair. They wore dark cloaks like the others fleeing the lower corridors.
At first glance nothing seemed unusual, but they did not move like frightened servants.
They moved like soldiers. Margaret’s attention sharpened.
The first man reached the archway leading to the evacuation corridor.
The guard there stepped aside to let him pass.
Then the man’s cloak shifted. Margaret saw the blade.
“Wait—”
But it was too late. The man struck. The guard collapsed instantly, blood spraying across the stone as the blade cut deep into his side. And then, all hell broke loose. Screams tore through the hall as the other two men threw off their cloaks. MacGregor tartan flashed beneath the fabric.
“MacGregor!” someone shouted.
Women scattered instantly, grabbing their children and running for the corridor. One of the intruders grabbed a servant by the arm and shoved her aside as he forced his way toward the passage. She realized they had not come to fight. They had come for the evacuation route.
Margaret’s heart slammed against her ribs. They were trying to reach the women, trying to reach… her.
One of the intruders spotted her immediately. His eyes sharpened.
“There!”
He lunged forward. Margaret reacted without thinking. She grabbed the heavy wooden bench beside the wall and shoved it hard into the corridor entrance. The bench crashed sideways across the passage just as the second intruder rushed toward it. He slammed into it with a curse.
“Move!” he snarled.
Margaret did not move. Instead, she stepped back toward the remaining guards.
“Close the corridor!” she shouted.
Two guards rushed forward to hold the narrow entrance as the MacGregor men tried to force their way through the overturned bench. Behind Margaret, frightened families rushed down the evacuation passage as quickly as they could.
Wood scraped against stone as the intruders tried to shove the bench aside. One of the guards slammed his shoulder into it from Margaret’s side, bracing the barricade while the other drove his blade forward through the narrow gap.
A MacGregor man cried out. For a moment, Margaret believed they might hold.
Then, the door burst open. A rough hand seized her arm.
Margaret gasped as she was yanked backward.
Another man emerged from the smoke near the service stair, a fourth intruder she had not seen enter the hall.
MacGregor tartan flashed beneath his cloak.
“Got her,” he growled.
Margaret twisted violently, trying to wrench her arm free. “Release me!”
The man only tightened his grip. “Move!”
His companion abandoned the barricade and rushed toward them, grabbing Margaret’s other arm before she could pull away.
Margaret fought immediately. Her heel went down hard on the first man’s foot.
He cursed and jerked her roughly toward the side passage.
The narrow service exit lay just beyond the hall, a small door used by kitchen servants to reach the outer yard.
If they dragged her through it, no one would see. No one would stop them.
“Let go!” she shouted, twisting against their grip.
One of the men clamped a hand across her mouth.
“Quiet!”
Margaret bit him. He roared in pain and struck her arm to force her loose. The other man hauled her toward the side corridor.
“Move!”
The service door loomed only a few steps away now.
Margaret kicked wildly, her shoes scraping against the stone floor as they dragged her across it.
Behind them the barricade crashed completely as the remaining intruders forced their way through the bench.
The guards shouted, but they were too far and too busy holding the corridor.
Margaret’s heart pounded violently as she struggled. If they got her outside, she would vanish into the chaos.
And Domhnall would never even know where she had gone.
Domhnall drove another man backward into the stone wall. The fight had spilled farther into the inner corridors now. Smoke crept through the archways and the sound of shouting echoed from every direction. Cameron fought beside him, cutting down another intruder.
“They’re pushing toward the upper hall!” Cameron shouted.
Domhnall’s head snapped up. The upper hall was where he had sent Margaret.
A cold weight dropped into his chest. He turned immediately toward the inner stair. Two MacGregor men blocked the way. Domhnall did not slow. His blade flashed once.
The first man stumbled back, clutching his arm. The second lunged forward in desperation, but Domhnall drove him aside with brutal force and forced his way up the stair.
Behind him Cameron’s voice echoed through the smoke. “I’ve got the passage!”
Domhnall barely heard him. The hall above erupted in noise the moment he reached the landing. He could hear screams and running footsteps.
And then, the sound of Margaret’s voice.
“Let go!”
The sound cut through him like a blade. Domhnall turned toward the service corridor just as two MacGregor men dragged her toward the narrow exit door. Margaret was fighting them fiercely, twisting against their grip, but one of them had her arm pinned while the other forced her forward.
At that moment, Domhnall could see nothing else. Rage consumed him, fast and absolute.
The first man turned when he heard Domhnall’s boots strike the stone.
Domhnall crashed into him like a storm breaking against rock.
His blade came down with brutal force, striking the man’s sword aside so violently the steel rang against the wall and flew from his hand.
Before the man could even shout, Domhnall drove forward and slammed his shoulder into his chest. The impact sent him sprawling backward across the corridor. He hit the floor hard.
Domhnall followed immediately. The man barely had time to scramble onto one elbow before Domhnall’s boot came down on his wrist. Bone cracked. The MacGregor soldier screamed.
Domhnall did not pause. He drove the hilt of his sword into the man’s jaw with enough force to snap his head back against the stone. The sound of the impact echoed through the corridor like a hammer striking iron. The man went limp.
But Domhnall had already turned. The second intruder had tightened his grip on Margaret’s arm, trying to drag her through the doorway while the first man fell.
“Move!” he snarled.
Margaret twisted violently, fighting him with everything she had.
Domhnall crossed the space between them in two strides.
The MacGregor man raised his blade. Domhnall’s sword met it once, hard enough to jolt the man’s arm, then twice, forcing him backward.
Domhnall stepped inside the man’s reach.
The third strike came too fast for defense.
Steel tore across the man’s side. He staggered, choking on his own breath.
Domhnall seized him by the collar and slammed him against the stone arch beside the door. The impact shook dust from the mortar.
“If any of ye touch her again,” Domhnall snarled, “and I will end yer entire clan meself.”
The MacGregor soldier spat blood. Domhnall answered by driving his fist into the man’s face. The man collapsed to the floor beside the first.
Only then did he turn back to Margaret and saw her standing there alive, furious, and shaking with the aftermath of the struggle. He pulled her behind him as more guards flooded the corridor and the remaining MacGregor men began to retreat into the smoke.
“Stay back,” he urged.
Two more MacGregor men rushed from the hall behind them. He met the first attacker head-on. Domhnall stepped inside the man’s swing and drove his blade across the intruder’s side. The man collapsed instantly.
The second attacker hesitated. That moment of hesitation saved Domhnall’s life once more. He advanced. The MacGregor man retreated a step, then another. More guards were pouring into the corridor now. Castle steel filled the hall.
Outnumbered and suddenly exposed, the remaining MacGregor men began to fall back toward the broken servants’ gate.
“Retreat!” one of them shouted.
Domhnall cut another down before he reached the stair. The last of them fled through the smoke-filled passage and vanished into the outer yard. Within seconds the corridor fell quiet again except for the crackle of distant fire and the ragged breathing of the guards.
Cameron appeared at the top of the stair, with his sword still in hand.
“They’re pulling back,” he said.
Domhnall barely heard him. He turned immediately toward Margaret.
“Are ye hurt?”
Margaret shook her head. “Nay.”
His hands were already on her, checking her the way he had done when they had been in the chamber, only this time, it was more desperate and urgent. Only when he was certain she was unharmed did he finally stop. The rage still burned beneath his skin.
“They dared tae touch ye,” he said quietly, as if incredulous that anyone would dare.
Behind them the guards began securing the corridor again as Cameron issued quick orders. But Domhnall did not move. For one terrible moment in that passage, he had seen Margaret dragged toward the door. And the thought of losing her had struck deeper than any blade ever had.