*
Armed to the teeth, the four men climbed to the ramparts to watch for any sign of the ship.
“This is the best place to observe their movement,” Domnall said. “We must post at least two men here. Alexander, have ye any skill with a bow?”
“Nae,” Alexander shook his head. “I never learned because we dinna eat animal flesh at the monastery, only fish. But I see as well as a hawk. I can keep watch.”
“And ye?” Domnall asked Gillecolum. “How well do ye hunt Normans?”
“Having spent far more of my life on the sea than on land, I’m afraid I am a far better sailor than a huntsman,” Gillecolum replied. “But I am nae unskilled with sword and ax.”
“Then I will wield the long bow,” Domnall said, thankful for all of his years of hunting for game while in the Borderlands. “If we are blessed with moonlight, I will pick them off before they e’er reach the castle. Faither Gregor, pray tell the women we need all the torches lit by nightfall. We must have light if we are to see them. The prince must stay where he is with the door locked. Say naught to him of this attack.”
“Aye,” the old priest replied and departed to carry out Domnall’s orders.
“When the ship comes within our sight they will lower their sail to become less visible,” Gillecolum said. “Then they will reveal to us the strength of their numbers.”
“How so?” Domnall asked.
“If they are many,” Gillecolum answered, “they will act with boldness and come straight in to attack. But if they are few, they will wait until nightfall and move with stealth.”
When the boat finally came into sight, it remained at a distance, as if hoping to disguise itself as a fishing vessel.
“They have revealed their plan,” Gillecolum declared with a smile. “They are few in number and will come at night.”
Thankfully, nightfall was still hours away, which gave them more time to strategize. The next hours were a flurry of activity in making ready for the assault.
The castle was as bright as a banefire with every torch burning. The children were armed and locked safely behind bolted doors, and some of the women were helping to prepare for the anticipated assault.
Father Gregor soon rejoined them. “I will man the gatehouse murder holes. The women have built up the kitchen fires and filled the cooking pots with lard. There will be a few surprises for any intruders. ’Twill surely be a long night. Refreshment anyone?”
“Aye,” Gillecolum accepted the skin with a grin.
Domnall stood on the parapets, his eyes locked on the horizon. The sun had begun to sink, painting the sky in shades of pink, purple, orange and gold that reflected on the shimmering waters. The day had been fair and the seas were quiet, sending waves softly lapping the shoreline, but a storm was brewing in the firth and would soon come ashore in the form of Eachann’s murdering mercenaries.
“What now?” Alexander softly asked.
“We wait,” Domnall replied grimly.
*
It wasn’t long after sunset that Alexander detected movement. “There,” he pointed. “See the ship? They have moored and are coming ashore.”
Domnall followed the direction of Alexander’s finger. The ship was a black shadow against the lighter background of moonlit sky. As Domnall had hoped, they were indeed blessed with a nearly full moon and clear skies that robbed the would-be attackers of another advantage.
Without access to the seagate, the men were forced to wade ashore in small groups. Had Domnall had a greater force of men, he would surely have met them on the beach, sword in hand. But as it was, he would make a strong defense.
Domnall squinted, struggling still to adjust to the descending darkness. There appeared to be four clusters of men, maybe fifteen or twenty in total. They quickly split into groups.
“It appears they are going to try to surround us. They will either attempt to break through the gate, or scale the walls. Perhaps both. But they will nae succeed,” Domnall said. “We are ready for them.”
*
Although Castle Kilmuir had always served as a residence, its basic structure was highly defensive. The tower rose five stories high which allowed a miles long view of the ocean and the surrounding countryside. A seagate was the only access to it from the firth, and a gatehouse, built into the thick curtain wall in the front, was the only other entrance.
Eachann’s men had no siege machines. They would have to construct battering rams if they had any hope of breaking through one of the portcullis entrances, but even if the attackers managed to breech one of them, there was but one now heavily-barricaded entrance into the keep itself.
For hours, Domnall and Alexander vigilantly patrolled the ramparts. All of their senses were on the alert for any sign of the intruders—a shifting shadow, the rustle of leaves, or the sudden snap of a twig, but nothing stirred beyond the briny breeze.
They had taken every conceivable precaution to defend the keep. Even Domnall’s blind grandmother stood at the ready above the gatehouse murder holes armed with a spear. Had the attackers realized they’d been discovered? Had they aborted the mission?
Or was this delay part of the plan? Did they hope the defenders of the castle would eventually grow weary and complacent? He feared exactly that until he heard a soft grunt and then the clank of metal hitting stone. A grappling hook? They had chosen to attack by stealth.
He squinted into the darkness, looking for the glint of steel that would tell him where to aim his bow. Alexander came to his side and pointed to the place he sought. But just as Domnall nocked his arrow, there was a second similar sound on another section of the curtain wall. A two-pronged invasion had begun. Alexander moved quickly to determine the second location. Would there be a third?
Domnall raised his bow and drew back the bowstring… and waited with his pulse beating in his ears. There was no room for error. His aim would have to be true. The top of a head appeared. Domnall took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out as the intruder’s chest came into sight. The arrow shot forth with a swish. The invader’s body twitched. A hit! Domnall didn’t wait to watch him fall, but grabbed his quiver and darted to the location of the second wall scaler. He was almost too late. He took aim once more and his second arrow flew as straight as the first. The man slowly swayed on his feet and then toppled back over the wall.
“That’s two,” Domnall murmured in satisfaction.
Several more grappling hook attempts ensued, but he was able to thwart them as well. Would they continue this incursion? A dull thud in the direction of the gatehouse told him they would. It also revealed they had not been idle in the preceding hours. A second louder thump confirmed that it was, indeed, a battering ram striking the portcullis.
Gillecolum had taken command of the gatehouse defense. He was ready with his sword to face anyone who broke through, if they managed to get by the murder holes.
Domnall debated joining Gillecolum on the ground but his vantage point was far superior from where he stood. As long as they didn’t cross the bailey, he could inflict the most damage with his bow.
The thuds grew louder and closer, sounding more like thunderclaps. How long would the gate hold? A few minutes later a crash and shouts of victory answered his question. Bollocks! They’d breached the portcullis!
Now, there was only a thick oak door keeping them from entering the bailey. But that same door had them trapped in the gatehouse, where the priest and Domnall’s blind grandmother awaited above them with spears and boiling lard.
“The battering ram could be naught but a diversion,” Domnall said. “We must remain where we can watch their movement.”
Another attempt with the grappling hook confirmed that his instincts were right. But this time, his arrow missed its mark. “Damn!” Domnall cursed and nocked another but his target had made it over and was headed for cover.
Domnall’s gut compelled him to join Gillecolum, but doing so would leave the walls vulnerable. “Gillecolum! There’s one in the
bailey,” Domnall shouted at the top of his lungs as screams of agony sounded from within the gatehouse. The intruder would try to get past Gillecolum and open the gatehouse door to his men on the other side.
With sword at the ready, Gillecolum spun to face his attacker. Domnall nocked another arrow, hoping for a clear shot while the two men below him parried strikes.
The gatehouse had gone silent. The only sound was the clash of steel in the bailey. Domnall watched and waited but he had no clean opening. Both men were highly skilled but, suddenly, Gillecolum feinted and then sliced horizontally, striking just above his opponent’s shoulder. The man dropped to his knees with a grunt. The second blow from Gillecolum’s blade finished him off.
But there was no rest for the weary warrior. The battering ram had recommenced, thundering repeatedly until the oak shook. There were more shouts and screams until the clamor reached a deafening crescendo that climaxed with the loud crack of splintering wood.
They had breached the bailey! Gillecolum could not fight them alone. Domnall threw down his bow and raced for the stairs. Alexander stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gillecolum, Kingslayer in hand. Alexander was willing to fight but he was no match for these men.
“Go ye to guard the keep!” Domnall shouted as the door fell from it hinges.
Alexander responded with a nod and a look of relief.
Domnall lost all sense of time and place as he threw himself into a frenzy of fighting. Standing, back to back, he and Gillecolum confronted and foiled every man who attempted to pass into the bailey. Though their swords dripped with blood, he had no idea how many they’d killed, or how many still remained.
Some of them might even be his own. He’d been hit, a blow to his shoulder that he’d managed to ignore thus far which told him it wasn’t a very serious wound.
“There’s another on the wall!” Alexander called out. Domnall broke from Gillecolum to confront the new threat. The intruder raced toward Alexander, sword raised as if to cleave him in twain, but Alexander’s sword remained sheathed.
“Alexander!” he cried, realizing he would never get there in time. “For God’s sake, defend yerself!” Even as he spoke, Alexander responded with a flick of his wrist that sent a flash of steel spiraling through the air. His assailant froze in his tracks with Alexander’s sgian-dubh imbedded in his throat. Blood gurgled from his mouth as the life force drained from his body. Seconds later, he dropped to the ground. The monk might have no skill with a sword, but he was unsurpassed with a sgian-dubh.
When Domnall turned back to aid Gillecolum, he found his friend standing over another lifeless body. He wiped his blade on his sleeve with a grin. “It seems they dinna like our hospitality. The rest of them have fled.”
“How many?” Domnall asked.
“I dinna ken. Ye want to go after them?”
“I would ken who they are,” Domnall said. “The dead ones are unlikely to tell us verra much. We’ll use the seagate to intercept them.”
Alexander remained behind while Domnall and Gillecolum pursued those who’d fled. By the time they reached the shore, however, the men were already swimming toward their boat.
“I’m a good swimmer,” Gillecolum said. “But I canna catch them before they reach the boat… at least not without attracting sharks,” he added dryly.
It was only then that Domnall noticed the blood gushing from his friend’s midsection. “Ye are wounded! How bad?”
“I dinna think it’s deep. I only now noticed it myself.”
“I couldna have prevailed without ye my friend. I am much indebted to ye,” Domnall said.
“Aye?” Gillecolum grinned. “Then let the women treat our wounds while we drink to victory.”
*
Alexander and Father Gregor had begun stacking the dead bodies to be burned when they arrived back at the keep.
“Domnall!” Alexander exclaimed. He was kneeling by the man he’d struck down with his knife. “Come! Ye must see this.”
As Domnall approached, Alexander asked, “Do ye recognize him? Is this man who I think he is?”
The lower part of his face was covered in blood and his expression was frozen in a grisly grimace, but Domnall, indeed, recognized him as the imposter who had come to Kilmuir weeks before bearing Somerled’s name. “’Tis Ranald,” Domnall declared. “I am certain of it. Or at least ’tis the man who called himself Ranald.”
“’Tis his name all right,” Gillecolum said. “But what the de’il is Ranald Olaffsson doing here?”
“Olaffsson?” Alexander and Domnall repeated in unison.
“Aye, he is… or was… my stepmáthair’s half-brother. He and my faither had a falling out some time ago and he left Kintyre.”
“I thought I saw him at Dunfermline,” Alexander said. “But only the once. I suspected then that he might have come to Kilmuir as a spy for David.”
“’Tis curious, indeed,” Gillecolum said.
“Do ye think it possible that ’twas he who led the attack against the prince?” Alexander asked. “Mayhap that was why he was at Dunfermline?”
“I was wondering the same,” Domnall said. “I wish we could have interrogated him. Not that I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m glad of it and I wish I had been the one who killed him. I would have enjoyed it.”
“I take no joy in killing,” Alexander said, staring at the dead body. “But at least I shall suffer no remorse for it, now that I ken who he is.”
“Let us put him with the others and dispose of them. I will nae allow them to stink up the keep.”
*
After burning the bodies and bandaging their wounds, the weary warriors sought the comfort of the hearth in the great hall where Father Gregor produced a skin of uisge-beatha. They passed it around in silence, each taking a long draught.
Although Domnall’s body felt battered beyond exhaustion, his spirits soared. They had prevailed against overwhelming odds this night. But he knew his victory would be short-lived. Two of the men had escaped. Soon, an entire army would be on the march to Kilmuir. Perhaps they were already on the move.
Gillecolum caught his eye. “Ye think they will be back with more men?”
“Aye. They will be back with a force to annihilate us.”
“What will ye do?” Gillecolum asked.
“We must leave here, but we canna travel and expect to keep Prince Malcolm a secret,” Domnall said. “I have a mind to give him back.”
“But the king has refused to release MacAedh and Sibylla,” Alexander protested.
Domnall took another burning swallow of the fiery liquid. His limbs had relaxed but his mind had never felt more lucid. “Which is why we must convince the prince of Eachann’s guilt and our innocence.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Domnall rapped once as a courtesy before unlocking the prince’s door. Malcolm was seated by the window with a puzzled look. “There is much smoke outside the castle walls. Was there a fire?”
Domnall followed his line of vision to the only remnants of last night’s battle—thick, gray smoky spirals that continued to foul the air. “Yer sleep was nae disturbed last eve?” Domnall inquired with surprise.
The prince shook his head. “I was given a sleeping draught.” He frowned. “But I had particularly vivid dreams. I imagined the castle was under siege.”
“’Twas nae dream,” Domnall said. “There was, indeed, an attack.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Who was it? Did the king send his army to rescue me?”
“’Twas a small force if they intended rescue,” Domnall said.
“How many?”
“’Twas nae more than twenty men,” Domnall answered.
The prince looked puzzled. “Why didn’t the king send his entire army?”
“Because the king dinna send these men,” Domnall answered. “They came by order of Eachann of Mearns. Given his history, we dinna ken for certain if their purpose was a rescue or an assassination.”
“Assassination?” The prince pa
led. “You think they came to kill me?”
“Mayhap,” Domnall answered with a shrug. There was no harm in planting seeds of doubt. He needed to create a wedge between the prince and the Earl of Mearns if their plan had any hope of success.
“Why would you think it?” the prince asked.
“Because Brother Alexander recognized one of them as a man who we believe worked for the Earl of Mearns. We also suspect ’twas he who led the attack on ye at the River Beauly. Since they didna succeed in killing ye there, mayhap ’twas another attempt.”
“If ’tis true, we must obtain a confession from him!” the prince declared. “He must answer to the king for his treachery!”
“He canna offer up a confession, Highness. He was slain in the attack last eve.”
“What of the other men?” the prince asked.
“Two escaped us. The rest are dead.”
“My first siege and I slept through it all?” the prince remarked with a look of dismay.
“There will surely be others, Highness,” Domnall replied. “But I, for one, wish no repeat of last night.” He paused. “The king believes ’twas me who attacked ye which endangers all of my family.”
“And he will ne’er negotiate as long as you are an outlaw,” Malcolm said. “Unless you go to him on bended knee—”
“I will ne’er do it!” Domnall said. “I committed nae crime. ’Twas an act of self-defense.”
“Then an outlaw you shall remain,” Malcolm said.
“But my kinsman who is imprisoned committed nae crime,” Domnall argued.
“MacAedh refuses to swear allegiance,” Malcolm replied. “Disobedience to the king is, indeed, a crime.”
Domnall snorted. “Then half the kingdom should be imprisoned.”
“What do you intend to do with me?” Malcolm suddenly asked.
“I came to ye this morn with the hope of striking a bargain. ’Tis my hope of proving my innocence by setting ye free.”
The prince regarded him dubiously. “You will release me? With no exchange?”
“My offer is nae unconditional,” Domnall said. “I would free ye with yer promise that my kinsman will be allowed to live—just as ye have been allowed to live under our care. I ask ye, Highness, do ye believe that I or any of my kinsmen intended ye harm?”
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