“Enough!” Graham roared, a note of futility echoing in his tone. “Gretna Cameron has never done a one of ye wrong, yet ye’d condemn her to such a horrible fate?”
“Burn her! Cleanse the clan!” The chant started again, growing stronger, louder. More voices, voices Gretna recognized as those she’d lived and worked with all her life. She bit harder into the rope between her teeth, hot tears squeezing free of her closed eyes.
Suddenly, all went quiet. Gretna couldn’t tell why, nor did she care. She was doomed to die. Condemned by her own, by those she’d helped and healed. Please protect my sons, she prayed. Please keep them safe from these heartless fools. It was a slim prayer that would most certainly require God’s own miracle. Once the witch hunters were done with her, they’d surely come for her boys next. Please comfort Ian, too, she added. Her poor Ian. God help him.
“This guard shall ride with ye to ensure Mistress Cameron arrives safe and alive for her trial in Inverness,” Graham said. “More MacCoinnichs will follow in a day’s time—as well as her husband.”
The gun barrel slid away from her head, and the wagon bed shifted. One of the men must’ve returned to the driver’s seat. “Good enough, then,” Lonnie said. “Tell Master Cameron to make haste if he wishes to see his wife alive one last time before she burns.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Ye’re sure they’ll send him back? Even if nothing’s amiss?” Ian stared northward, scanning the sky. “The bird likes Finn almost as much as he likes ye.”
“Merlin will return,” Magnus assured, squinting at the horizon. “He knows we’re on enemy ground and could need him.”
Ian doubted the falcon had that much insight into the situation, but he kept it to himself. Everyone’s nerves were raw. No need to nettle Magnus about his beliefs in his bird.
They stood on the balcony between two of Kilchurn Castle’s tallest towers overlooking Loch Awe, most definitely the heart of hostile territory—Campbell land. Upon their arrival and during yesterday’s tense, evening meal, Angus Neal had been unnervingly cordial, as had John Campbell, the first Earl of Breadalbane.
It had taken every ounce of self-control Ian possessed to refrain from drawing his sword and running Breadalbane through. The man was rumored to have had a part in the massacre at Glencoe. The bastard deserved to die, preferably a slow death, but Ian would take whatever form of demise opportunity offered.
Squinting against the brisk wind blustering in off the loch, Ian studied the surrounding area. The fortress had been converted into a proper garrison. Quarters large enough to house some two hundred men lined one side of the courtyard, and the place teemed with armed warriors. Ian recognized several from Tor Ruadh’s village. He hadn’t realized so many Neals no longer wished to be counted among the MacCoinnichs. “What has Angus promised them to make them rise against us?”
Alexander looked as weary and beaten as if he’d fought a battle. “I’ve no idea.” He blew out a heavy sigh. “Or it could be something as simple as pride in their bloodline.” He leaned against the wall and stared out across the loch. “Their terms for peace surprised me. Far fewer demands than I expected. Half their ancestral lands, half the horses, and any Neal who wishes to join them be allowed to do so and take whatever they own when they move south. I’d assumed they’d demand some or all of the wealth we’ve attained over the past ten years, but they consider it Catriona’s. A clean split from Clan MacCoinnich and a revival of their own line. How many times did they utter that?” He tilted his head and slowly shook it. “Angus Neal has come of age and appears to be a great deal more cunning than either his older brother or his father. Were we in his place, I wonder, would we ask for anything less?”
Ian agreed the terms had been surprising. In fact, their wants were so simple, they could’ve been sent in a message rather than this strange meeting. The situation still puzzled him. Had they been invited here merely to see that the Neals were allied with the Campbells? Ian took hold of Alexander’s shoulder and squeezed, hating the internal struggle the man was going through. “Ye’re actually considering what they ask?”
“There,” Magnus interrupted, pointing at a spot above the horizon.
Shielding his eyes, Ian scanned the skyline. A dark speck raced toward them. Merlin’s familiar cry pierced the air as the bird drew closer.
Magnus held out his arm and waited. The falcon chattered out a greeting, then landed. The bird stretched a moment, resettled his footing, then folded his wings. A scarlet ribbon was tied to his right leg. A dark look creasing his brow, Magnus nodded toward the tie. “I told both Sutherland and Finn to use the red ribbon to call us back. Something dire has happened.”
“Riders approaching!” shouted a guard posted at the gate.
“Coming from the north,” Alexander said as the three of them spotted the horse and rider speeding toward the keep at full gallop. “And they wear MacCoinnich colors.”
Ian beat them all to the steps leading down to the courtyard. An ominous dread hammered through him with every heartbeat. He itched to draw his sword but refrained. If the bloody Neal and Campbell alliance had a part in whatever had befallen Tor Ruadh, he’d need to keep a level head to ensure none of them rushed any deeper into the trap that had been set.
“Ye’ll not pass until ye’re searched,” shouted a Campbell guard.
“We’re not bloody cowards like yer lot! I dinna have a bomb shoved up me arse to explode once I’m inside!”
Ian recognized the enraged voice. “Open the gate. They’re MacCoinnichs!”
The garrison’s gate swung open, and Sawny and Tom rode inside. “Master Ian!”
Sawny, greeting Ian before he greeted his chieftain, was not a good thing. Something was very wrong, and Ian knew in his heart it had to do with Gretna. “What is it? Tell me what’s happened?”
After handing off his horse to one of the MacCoinnich guards who had traveled with them, Sawny strode over to Ian but didn’t make eye contact. Instead, the young man stared downward and clenched his hands at his sides. “It’s Mistress Gretna. They took her. A group of the traitor Neals joined with the witch hunters. They’re headed to Inverness to judge her.”
Rage hit him so strong and hard, Ian saw nothing but a red haze. “How did they get in the keep?” he forced through clenched teeth, already knowing the answer. Gretna had gone outside the wall, and this spineless bastard standing before him had gone against direct orders and not stopped her.
Sawny shook his head, keeping it bowed. “They didna. Mistress Gretna had a powerful craving for greens from the eastern wood. She begged me to let her forage for a wee bit since the rains had stopped. Her and Flora.” He shifted uneasily. “I didna see the harm. She swore she wouldna be long, and the east wall is always quiet. We watched over them from the wall.” He lifted his head, regret and shame written across his face. “Then Lonnie McNaughton showed up and convinced her to run to the village. Flora said it was some such lie about a child Mistress Gretna had treated before. The bastards overpowered her on the road. Had her hooded, tied, and in a wagon quicker than a heartbeat. Graham and I rode out with guards to fetch her, but they held a gun to her head and a knife to her throat. Threatened to kill her right there if we attacked.” Sawny shook his head. “We stood down to keep them from harming her.”
Ian’s heart burned with the pain of it. Without a word, he punched the lad and knocked him to the ground. He lunged forward to thrash the life out of this unthinking fool who had cost him his wife and unborn child. “I’ll kill ye!” he shouted as he clutched Sawny by the throat and drew back his fist.
“Ian! Hold fast!” Alexander ordered as he and Magnus grabbed hold and pulled him back. “I understand yer anger, but ye canna believe Sawny meant any harm. Beating him to death willna solve anything. It’s just a waste of precious time. Ye know that as well as I.” Alexander shook him. “Think, man. Calm yerself and regain yer senses. All is not lost. She is not dead yet.”
Ian tried yanking himself free, but bo
th men held him firm, so he threw back his head and let out an enraged roar.
Rubbing his jaw, Sawny rose from the dirt. He bowed and backed up a step. “I canna beg yer forgiveness enough, Master Ian. I hate myself for being such a fool. I swear, I do.” He kept his head lowered as he continued, “Sutherland is manning the keep. Graham and a troop of our guards have accompanied Mistress Gretna and those devils to Inverness to make sure she gets there alive.” Sawny finally looked up, but he turned to Alexander. “A dozen or so from the village had signed statements against her, lies for the witch hunters to use as evidence. In yer name, Sutherland banished all who signed. The statements were all made by Neals connected to Colin. The heartless curs he banished are headed here to join with Angus.”
“I’m surprised Sutherland didna execute them rather than banish them,” Alexander said. He turned to Ian. “Take as many of the guards we have here as ye wish. Take them all, if ye want. Magnus and I will head back to Tor Ruadh to secure the clan even more, then we’ll send more warriors yer way.”
“I have one thing I must do first.” Ian strode forward, plowing across the courtyard before anyone could stop him. Angus Neal had requested his presence at this meeting. Asked for him by name—and now Ian knew why. It had all been a part of that sniveling whoreson’s game to torture Clan MacCoinnich by stealing away their talented healer and having her tried for witchcraft, then destroyed. He felt sure Colin Neal had convinced Angus to do such. Colin’s life would end in Inverness. But before Ian left to save Gretna, Angus Neal needed to die, too.
Ian slowed his pace as he entered the main meeting hall. He’d learned last night that when Angus and Breadalbane weren’t in their private chambers, both men stayed in the largest of Kilchurn’s rooms. Last night, at supper, they had said so themselves, revealing their shared penchant for pouring over maps and plotting their holdings. They’d intended it as a veiled threat. Ian had taken it as the mistake it was—a wise man never revealed his habits to the enemy.
True to their word, Ian saw both men leaning over a table at the far end of the hall, a map spread out in front of them, beside a stack of parchments. Angus’s younger brothers, twins Murray and Dougal, meandered around the room, their boredom obvious.
Anticipation and bloodlust mounting, Ian felt a calm settle across him—the familiar, deadly calm he always felt right before battle. A glance to his right assured him that the pompous bastards still hadn’t stored away nor locked down their elaborate racks of throwing axes, halberds, and lochabers displayed on the entry wall. Even though their enemy was in their midst, they flaunted their collection of weaponry like arrogant fools.
And I thank them, Ian said to himself. Ripping an axe and a spear from the display, he surged forward, never slowing as he chucked the axe with all his might, then passed the spear to his throwing hand and hurled it as well. The axe head buried deep in Angus’s chest. The spear passed through Breadalbane’s left thigh, then embedded above his right knee, effectively stitching his legs together.
Ian frowned and unsheathed his sword. He’d never been very good with a spear. No matter. He’d finish off the bastard with his blade. The intimacy of steel cutting through a man’s body was so much more satisfying than the impersonal method of gunfire. Besides, murdering quietly was a boon as well. No need to announce his actions to the entire garrison.
“Kill him!” Breadalbane shouted as he dragged himself backward, scuttling like a crippled spider. “Kill him and sound the alarm to take care of the rest.”
A halberd shot past Ian and took down Dougal. A short sword whizzed through the air and took out Murray. Neither young man uttered a sound louder than a choking gurgle as they sagged to the floor. Ian glanced back at Magnus and Alexander. Each of them gave him a nod.
“Ian!” Magnus pointed to something beyond the map table, the direction Breadalbane had been dragging himself.
A heavy scraping, stone grinding against stone, confirmed the earl’s escape. A long smear of blood across the floor abruptly stopped, disappearing under a block wall between two columns. He had left behind the spear that had ripped through his legs. Ian drew a little comfort from the knowledge that it had probably hurt like hell to remove it.
“There’s no telling where that tunnel leads,” Magnus said, frowning down at the bloodstained floor. “Hopefully, it’s just a hole for hiding rather than a path to another room.”
“Sawny should have the men and horses ready by now. I’d warned them all that we needed to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.” Alexander motioned for both Magnus and Ian to follow. “Come. We must get beyond the gate before the alarm sounds.”
“Wait.” Ian halted them. “We should do one more thing to throw them off when Breadalbane attempts to get the crown involved.”
“What?” Alexander asked.
“Sign the agreement to split the clan. See if they left both copies over there beside the map. With the agreement signed, it’ll look as though we had no issue with their terms.” Ian went to the table, unrolled the pair of parchments, and tapped the bottom of each of the papers. “The arrogant arses already signed both of them, and their scribe witnessed it. Come look.”
“Watch the door,” Alexander ordered Magnus as he joined Ian at the table. He snatched up a quill, inked the nib, and signed his name to the bottom of each document right beside Angus’s signature. Waving the paper to dry the ink before he folded it, Alexander nodded. “We’ll be taking this copy with us.”
“All is ready. Our men are waiting.” Magnus urged them forward. “We must make haste.”
Alexander and Ian hurried out, both assuming a calm, indifferent attitude as Ian closed the door behind them. They went to their horses and mounted as though nothing was amiss. Alexander nodded and led the group out the gates at an orderly pace. As soon as the last MacCoinnich had exited, they urged their horses to a full gallop and rode hard for as long as the beasts’ strength held. There was no way of knowing when the Neal bodies might be discovered or Breadalbane would emerge from his hiding place to raise the alarm.
They reached Loch Tulla and stopped to give the horses a rest. Ian glanced up at the sun’s position. They’d ridden a solid couple of hours. The surrounding area was clear enough, few trees and a gently rolling landscape. If anyone approached, they’d spot them easily. It was also a good place for him to leave the group and ride on to Inverness. He’d decided he’d take no men with him.
As a warrior, he’d always worked better alone. He also had no doubt that Gretna would have to be liberated from the jail using stealth rather than legalities. Such a job would require the wiliness of a man alone. He strode over to where Alexander and Magnus stood talking to Sawny and Tom. Ian completely ignored the two younger men, especially Sawny. It was the only way he could keep from killing him. “I’ll be riding on to Inverness from here,” he announced.
“How many do ye wish to take with ye?” Alexander asked.
“None.” Ian looked across the blue-green waters of the loch, squinting at the sunlight dancing across the ripples. “I’m sure they’ll be watching for me. I can slip in easier and steal her away if I’m alone.”
“I shall go with ye,” Sawny said, stepping forward and lifting his chin as though waiting for Ian to knock him on his arse again. “I’m as good as any when it comes to stealth. I helped Lady Catriona escape her brother’s prison when I was but a wee lad.”
“And I helped him,” said Tom. Tom McNamara had been Sawny’s best friend since they were bairns at their mothers’ knees. The two were rarely seen apart. “Ye’ll need more than just yerself to get Mistress Gretna away, and a lock doesna exist that I canna pick.”
“Ye need someone with ye,” Magnus said in a gentle prodding tone. “These two are as good as any since Alexander and I need to get back to the keep in case Breadalbane launches a full-on attack.”
“I need ye to comfort Evander, Rory, and Finn.” Ian shifted in place, ignoring the prospect of allowing Sawny and Tom to accompany him. He
couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t wring Sawny’s neck if the fool came along. He nodded at the falcon perched on Magnus’s shoulder. “Especially Finn. He seems to connect with ye much easier than Sutherland.”
“It goes without saying I’ll watch over the boys,” Magnus said, then smiled at his bird. “And Merlin here will help me.”
“I want ye to take Sawny and Tom,” Alexander said in a tone that sounded more like an order than a request. “As soon as we assess the situation at Tor Ruadh, I’ll send Sutherland with more men.”
Ian glared at the two young men. He’d known them both since they were twelve years old. Liked them well enough. Watched them grow into men. And now he’d just as soon kill them as to look at them. He’d never been a forgiving man—especially when it came to someone who had caused his loved one’s grief. “It is best I go alone.”
Sawny stepped closer, dangerously close. “Ye can thrash me to death once we’ve saved her. At least then, I’ll be able to be at peace in my grave because I’ll know I undid the grievous wrong I committed with my poor judgment.” He took another step, standing so close all Ian had to do was reach up and wrap his fingers around the lad’s throat.
Ian felt the boy’s regret and shame, for that’s all Sawny really was—an overgrown boy who hated himself for failing. But it was Gretna and his unborn child who had been harmed. Neither his heart nor his conscience could let that fact go.
“Come on, man,” Magnus urged. “Ye’re wasting time. Dinna let yer stubbornness place yer lass in even greater danger.”
That comment didn’t deserve a response, not when Magnus would do the same were he in Ian’s place. Without a word, Ian returned to his horse. Thankfully, his mount preferred motion to standing still and had already taken to fidgeting. Once in the saddle, he turned and looked back at Magnus and Alexander. “Tell my sons I’ll bring their mother back to them soon. They’re not to worry, aye?” He ground his teeth and forced out the words he prayed would never come to pass. “And tell them no matter what happens, they will always be my sons and have my protection.”
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