Chapter 19
Ceana dragged herself upright in the saddle and fixed her gaze on the rise ahead.
A dull pain throbbed on the inside of her thighs. Her palms felt raw beneath her gloves, and her eyes stung after two nights of fitful sleep.
Bryce’s men held the north road, forcing them along the slower western route. Oscar had insisted on watering the horses and replacing the hardest-ridden mounts where fresh ones could be found. Her mare remained steady beneath her, even as her own body threatened to fold.
A line of blackthorn appeared along the slope. Beyond it stood a weathered stone she had passed hundreds of times while riding from Morrag. She touched Paisley’s embroidered ribbon and searched the higher ground for Morrag banners.
An overturned cart blocked half the track.
The blue-painted boards belonged to a woman who brought sacks of barley to the castle kitchens every autumn.
One wheel had split, and scattered grains lay deep in the mud beneath hoofprints.
Further ahead, a cow stood beside a broken fence with blood darkening one flank.
The nearest door hung from a single hinge.
Oscar raised one hand, and the men slowed down at once. The riders separated across the slope while the bowmen moved toward cover. Ceana guided her mare to the rise beside him, bracing herself as Morrag Castle came into view below.
A cluster of arrows covered the timbers of the north gate. The outer livestock fence had been trampled into the earth, and smoke rose from a burning pyre on the eastern side. Gilmore men crowded the main approach beneath Bryce’s banners.
Along the western wall, Morrag men fought in the narrow lane leading to the lower-side door. Their line had been forced close to the orchard, where little gaps in the old stone wall exposed the slope behind them.
Above it all, Morrag’s banners remained fixed on the battlements. Ceana gasped lightly when she saw them. Her family could be alive.
A horse screamed near the northern gate while steel struck steel within the western lane, followed by a hoarse command from somewhere near the opposite end.
She knew that voice. Bryce had shouted at her father across the wedding hall with the same raw authority. She could not forget how she felt when she first heard it.
Hearing about the war was one thing, but seeing it firsthand was entirely another, and it did not sit well with her. She could understand at that moment why Oscar had wanted her to stay at MacKane Castle.
Movement sounded among the shrubs below the ridge as two MacKane scouts rode forward, then dismounted beside a man struggling uphill with one arm cradled against his chest.
“Niall,” Ceana gasped.
She urged her mare down before Oscar caught her reins and kept her at his side.
Niall reached them with blood soaking the sleeve of his tunic. A strip of green cloth had been tied around his brow, and Ceana recognized it as one of the scarves her mother kept for the guards during winter watches.
“Lady MacKane.” Niall bowed his head, breathing hard.
The title tightened her fingers around the reins. She had been taken as Laird Morrag’s daughter. Now she was seen only as Oscar’s wife.
“Does the castle hold?” Oscar asked.
“Aye, me Laird. We still have the walls.” Niall glanced toward the western lane. “I came through the lower path before Bryce’s men pressed closer.”
“Me faither?” Ceana prompted. “Me maither?”
“I didnae see them before I left, me Lady. I cannae tell ye more.”
She swallowed and looked toward the path he had come from. “Have ye seen Angus?”
“Nay, Bryce gives the orders. His standard has moved west with the reserve.”
Oscar released Ceana’s reins and studied the slope. The visible track descended toward the orchard before curving toward the path that led back into the castle.
“That ground willnae carry them,” Ceana said. She pointed below the orchard, where the plants rose stubbornly. “Can ye see how uneven that path is? It is because water gathers there beneath the turf. Horses unfamiliar with it will sink to their knees.”
Oscar followed her finger. “Then how do the people reach the castle?”
“Behind that path,” Ceana said, pointing slightly to the left.
“Can men on horses pass?”
“Only in a single file from here. But the lane widens near the orchard.”
Niall shifted his injured arm. “It was open when I came through. Gilmore’s men were watchin’ the visible track.”
Oscar called Lennan forward. “Take the leadin’ riders along that path and reinforce Morrag’s western line. Send four men through to the postern with word that MacKane has arrived. The rest dismount before the narrow ground.”
Lennan looked once toward the gorse Ceana had identified. “Along the path, then into the western lane?”
“Aye. Bowmen, take the higher ground beside the orchard.” Oscar drew his sword. “I will strike Bryce’s western force and drive them away from the entrance.”
The men were moving before Lennan reached the bottom of the ridge.
Oscar led Ceana toward a broken section of the orchard wall. Two guards took positions on either side while another man helped Niall sit against the stones.
“Ye remain behind that wall until I come for ye,” he said.
“I can identify Morrag men and the signals from this place.”
“Then give what ye ken to the guards. Ye willnae approach the line.”
He leaned down and swept her cloak aside.
His fingers closed around the sheath at her hip, testing its position before shifting it within easier reach.
His knuckles grazed her waist, and Paisley’s ribbon briefly tickled his wrist. Her lower belly tightened at the contact while he checked the knife with rigid care.
After the sheath sat correctly, he kept hold of her reins. “Behind the wall,” he repeated, his voice quieter. “Until I come for ye.”
“Bring me parents out alive.”
He looked toward the postern, then returned his gaze to her. “I will find them.”
He released the reins and rode away before she could answer.
His raised sword sent his men toward the western lane. Lennan’s force emerged from behind the stone path and struck Bryce’s men on ground they had tested and found to be secure. The Gilmore line turned toward the new threat, giving the defenders near the other path even more room to advance.
Oscar joined the fighting at the front. He caught the first descending blow on his sword and drove the attacker aside.
A second man rushed him. He turned, struck once, and moved forward while the Gilmore soldier fell away behind him.
When men crowded the lane, he pulled his force back two paces, opened space, then sent them forward together.
Ceana gripped the broken stone until its edge dug through her glove. She watched intently as men moved within the smoke, their bodies reduced to dark shapes. Then Oscar’s command carried across the slope, and the MacKane line shifted toward his voice.
He emerged near the postern a while later, forcing two Gilmore men away from its narrow approach.
A guard beside Ceana lifted his bow toward a defender scrambling through a gap in the orchard.
“That is a Morrag man,” she said. “The brown plaid. His name is Alasdair.”
The guard lowered his bow. “Aye, me Lady.”
A white cloth appeared above the lower side door and was swept twice across the opening.
“They mean to pass wounded men through,” Ceana explained. “Tell Lennan to keep the lane clear.”
One guard ran the message forward. Moments later, MacKane shields closed around the short stretch outside the side door, creating a narrow corridor to the orchard.
The door opened, and soon enough, two wounded defenders stumbled through with help from men inside. Heather appeared behind them.
Ceana felt her heart skip a beat.
Her mother’s sleeves were dark with blood, and loose strands of hair clung to her face. She looked across the orchard, spotted Ceana behind the wall, and gathered her dress.
“Maither!”
A defender reached for Heather as she came through the side door. She pulled free and ran into the exposed corridor. Another wave of Gilmore men surged again at the western line. One broke past a MacKane shield and drove toward the gap.
“Stay here, me Lady,” the nearest guard ordered.
However, Heather was still several feet from shelter. One of Ceana’s guards tried to reach for her cloak, but she was already over the broken wall and running.
The guard’s sword rang behind Ceana as she reached her mother. Her mother caught her by both shoulders and searched her face and then her gown for blood.
“Where are ye hurt?”
“Nowhere. Where is Faither?”
“Alive. He is in the inner courtyard directing the defense.”
Ceana’s knees wobbled. She pressed her forehead against her mother’s and drew in a full breath. Her grip then relaxed on her mother’s sleeve.
Heather turned at once and pulled her toward the lower side door.
“Daphne!”
Ceana blinked.
Dear God.
“Daphne, is that ye?” Bryce’s voice called again from the western reserve.
Ceana looked across the lane and found him staring at her through the smoke.
His eyes held furious recognition, and she could see it in the way he moved.
For now, the smoke and distance between them concealed the absence of Daphne’s freckles, but the loosened hair around her face was much like Daphne’s.
At that moment, a riderless horse bolted from beside the burning pyre. Men scattered away from its hooves, opening a gap between the Gilmore reserve and the broken orchard wall. Bryce left his command position and drove straight through it.
One of Ceana’s guards ran to intercept him. A Gilmore soldier caught the guard before he crossed the lane, while a second forced his way through the men behind her.
Heather shoved her toward the side door and snatched a fallen sword from the ground. She then placed herself in Bryce’s path.
“Maither, ye need to move!” Ceana shouted.
Heather swung at him, but Bryce struck her wrist with the hilt of his blade, sending her sword clattering across the ground. His hand then closed around her shoulder.