The Warrior

by Margaret Mallory

  “Ragnall?” he asked.

  “We brought a mallet for the chains,” Ragnall said.

  “That was my idea,” the girl said.

  Duncan felt laughter bubbling inside him, like a madman. Surely, God was having a joke with him—or giving the famed warrior a lesson in humility—by sending two bairns to rescue him.

  He took the mallet from Ragnall’s hand and felt for the chain that shackled his legs to the wall. Then he slammed the mallet against the chain again and again until one of the links broke. He did the same with the chain that held his arms to the wall, and he was free.

  “We must be very quiet as we go up,” Duncan warned the children. “Ragnall, you’ll come with me. Sarah, we’ll see ye safely to your bedchamber door first. Where is it?”

  Sarah had been permitted to sit at the high table with Ragnall, and she appeared to have free run of the castle and time to play. That meant she was from a highborn family and would sleep in one of the bedchambers, rather than in the hall or the kitchens. She was probably being fostered here like Ragnall.

  “I’m not going to bed,” Sarah said. “I’m staying with you and Ragnall.”

  “There will be trouble tonight, and ye must be safe in your bed with your clanswomen,” Duncan said. “Now, which bedchamber is it?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  Ach, she was stubborn enough to be a MacDonald lass. “Ragnall, where is it? ’Tis far too dangerous for her to come with us.”

  “Two floors above the hall,” Ragnall said.

  Sarah made a sound like a growl, which Duncan ignored. With that settled, he led the pair through the iron-barred door, up a set of steep stone steps, and along a narrow passageway. At the end of it, light shone around the edges of the low wooden door that led into the undercroft. Duncan put his ear to the door. It must be late indeed, for there were no voices or sounds of clanking pots coming from the kitchens.

  “Where are ye taking Ragnall?” Sarah asked.

  “To his mother,” Duncan whispered, using up the last of his patience. “Now hush, Sarah. Not another word—unless ye want to see me back in that dungeon.”

  Duncan opened the door and made sure no one was in sight, then the three of them walked on silent feet past the kitchen and up the stairs that led to upper floors of the keep. Duncan heard the snores and snorts of the sleeping men as they passed the entrance to the hall and continued up the stairs.

  Duncan patted Sarah’s head and left her outside the door of the bedchamber she likely shared with several clanswomen. He was relieved to have that task done. Now he could go to the tower room. He hoped her family would not punish her too severely when they learned Sarah had helped them—but then, they would never know unless she confessed, which seemed unlikely.

  Duncan took Ragnall’s hand and hurried back down to the ground floor, all the while praying that the guards had already made their last check on their prisoner for the night. He half expected to hear shouts and see men come running at him from all directions.

  Very carefully, he eased open the door that led into the building adjoining the keep. The MacLeods expected no threat from within, so this inside door was unguarded. He and Ragnall crept up the stairs to the large room where he had found the children playing with wooden swords.

  It was empty, as he had expected. He had learned that this was where Alastair MacLeod slept when he came to the castle. If the ghost existed, apparently she was gracious enough to stay in her tower and not disturb the chieftain’s sleep.

  Before opening the door at the far end of the room, Duncan checked to see that the bit of twig he had stuck in it the day he arrived was undisturbed. Relief surged through him when he found that it was still there. No one had entered the turret room after he was here.

  As soon as he closed the door behind them, Duncan dropped to his knees to retrieve the rope, flint, and rush lamp he had hidden under the narrow bed. Then he opened the shutters, and prayed that Alex was still waiting for the signal.

  “If the guards chance to see a light that comes and goes,” he told Ragnall as he lit the lamp, “they’ll believe it’s the ghost.” Or so he hoped.

  He held the lamp to the window, counted to a hundred, then closed the shutter. Then he did it all again three more times.

  “Are ye taking me to my mother now?” Ragnall asked.

  “The other MacDonald warriors and I must first take this castle from the MacLeods,” Duncan said, crouching down to rest his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Ye must wait here for me until the fighting is over. You’re not afraid of the ghost, are ye?”

  Ragnall shook his head. Since most of the castle folk were afraid to enter the turret room, Ragnall should be safe here.

  “As soon as we have secured the castle, I’ll come back for ye,” Duncan said. “You’ll be on the first boat sailing back to Dunscaith.”

  Duncan tied one end of the rope around the leg of the bed, and then he leaned out the window to drop the rope. The sound of the surf crashing on the rocks fifty yards below filled his ears as he watched the rope disappear into the darkness. The blackness of the sea below was broken only by whitecaps.

  Duncan stayed at the window, waiting. He was hours late with the signal. The others could have assumed things had gone awry—which they had for a time—and left.

  Come on, Alex.

  After what seemed like a long while, Duncan saw the shadow of a boat below him. From the way it was gliding impossibly close to the cliff, that had to be Alex. Duncan shook the rope to make it easier for the men in the boat to see it. A moment later he felt the rope grow taut.

  “They’re here,” Duncan said, turning to nod at Ragnall.

  Alex was the first on the rope, his fair hair visible even in the dead of night. It was a long climb, and the wind was blowing hard. When Alex was a few yards away and close enough to hear him, Duncan made the soft sound of a dove to let him know it was safe.

  When Alex finally reached the top, Duncan took his hand and pulled him through the small window. Then he jerked the rope to signal for the next man to start up. Duncan could not find a single rope long enough to scale the cliff, so he had tied three together. Because the knots made it weaker, the men were climbing one at a time to be sure the rope would hold their weight.

  When Alex saw Ragnall, his eyes widened; then he glanced at Duncan and raised an eyebrow. Duncan ignored the question.

  “I’m Alex MacDonald, your mother’s cousin,” Alex said.

  Ragnall examined Alex but said nothing in reply.

  “The lad is spare with words and smiles.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “Reminds me of someone…”

  Duncan gave him a look meant to end the conversation. Alex was a good friend, but he never knew when to be quiet.

  Alex turned his back on Ragnall and said in a low voice, “Have ye told the lad?”

  Duncan shook his head. “That’s for his mother to tell him.”

  “It won’t wait. You’d best tell him before someone else remarks upon it.” Alex glanced over his shoulder at Ragnall. “They will, ye know.”

  Duncan did not respond, but he considered Alex’s advice as he helped the next man through the window. The tiny room was soon cramped with MacDonald warriors, so he lifted Ragnall to stand on the bed.

  When the last man was up the rope, Alex shook it again to signal to the men remaining in the boat to leave. “I hope to hell they don’t scrape my galley against the cliff.”

  “There are half a dozen guards at the gate and another half dozen patrolling the walls,” Duncan said, imparting the critical information quickly. “They don’t sleep, so we must be cautious.”

  “All right,” Alex said, and the others nodded.

  “These MacLeod warriors are well trained,” Duncan continued. “We’ll wait for Connor and Ian at the gate. If something’s happened and they don’t come, we can escape that way. No sense dying for nothing.”

  Duncan, however, would have to return here first for Ragnall.

&
nbsp; “I need a moment with the lad,” Duncan said to Alex. “Take the men into the room just below.”

  “Be quick,” Alex said as he led the others out.

  Duncan put his hands on Ragnall’s narrow shoulders.

  “Are you my blood relation as well?” Ragnall asked.

  Duncan met his son’s direct gaze and promised himself he would never lie to him. “Sean was not your father,” he said. “I am.”

  Ragnall blinked several times, then gave him a slow nod.

  “I did not know it myself until a short time ago,” Duncan said, and he hoped that one day both Ragnall and Moira could forgive him for their years with Sean. “I’m very glad to be your father.”

  Alex leaned his head in from the next room. “Duncan, we must go!”

  What does a man say to his son when he is going into battle? Duncan never had a father to show him.

  “I must leave ye now to fight for the good of the clan,” Duncan said. “I do it for you, for your mother, and for all the members of our clan.”

  Ach, what a trite and useless thing to say to a six-year-old lad. Duncan felt wholly inadequate, but he did not know what else to say.

  “My mother says that is what a man of honor does,” Ragnall said.

  “Your mother has taught ye well,” Duncan said, and for the first time thought of how hard it must have been for Moira to raise Ragnall under Sean’s roof. “I’ll return for ye as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful,” Ragnall said.

  Duncan ruffled his son’s hair. “I’ll make quick work of these MacLeods and be back before ye know it.”

  Ragnall surprised him then by throwing his arms around Duncan’s neck. As Duncan held his son, he realized how much he already cared for this child, blood of his blood, begat of a young love. Duncan had put his life in danger for others a thousand times because that was what honor and duty required. But he knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing he would not do to protect this child.

  Chapter 38

  Duncan and Alex crept through the courtyard to the gate as silent as shadows while the four other MacDonald warriors went up on the wall to take out the guards above. There were more guards at the gate than Duncan had counted before, but they were not expecting an attack from within. Before the men knew they were in danger, Alex and Duncan had them bound and gagged.

  Duncan shoved back the bar that braced the wooden doors of the gate. As soon as the MacDonald warriors who had gone up on the wall rejoined them, Duncan motioned for two of them to go inside the gatehouse and crank up the portcullis. The weight of the iron grille, which had spikes at the bottom to impale attackers, made it easy to drop quickly, but slow to raise.

  While the iron chain creaked and moaned, making an ungodly noise, Duncan stood next to Alex with his back to the gate, his claymore ready, and every sense alert. With each turn of the crank, he expected to see MacLeods pour out of the keep.

  Finally, the portcullis was up. Duncan and the other men kept watch over the courtyard while Alex went out to alert Connor and Ian. If something had gone wrong on their end, Duncan and Alex would learn of it now. Duncan recognized the sound of Alex’s dove call. A short time later, he heard two faint dove calls in the distance.

  “Is that them?” the MacDonald warrior next to Duncan whispered.

  “Aye,” Duncan said. “Be ready.”

  His blood pounded in his veins in anticipation as he heard the muffled footfalls of a hundred MacDonald warriors running up to the gate. The time had finally arrived. This night, the MacDonalds would retake Trotternish Castle from the MacLeods.

  Tonight, Duncan would take it from Erik and be made keeper in his place.

  Though it was dark, Duncan recognized the familiar shapes of Connor, Ian, and Alex as they came through the gate at the front of the men. Connor clasped Duncan’s arm in greeting.

  “I don’t know if he still is, but Hugh was here,” Duncan said to him in a low voice.

  “Hugh?” Connor said. “Catching him here would be good luck. ’Tis past time I settled matters with my uncle.”

  “The MacLeods are bound to hear us soon,” Duncan said. “We should go quickly into the keep.”

  “Lead the way,” Connor whispered back. “You deserve the honor.”

  Duncan raised his claymore high and waved it for the men to see in the darkness, then started running for the keep. As planned, they did not shout their battle cry. Surprise and cunning would win this night.

  Duncan burst into the keep and through the doors of the hall. Some of the MacLeod warriors, who were sleeping on the floor and benches, sprang to their feet with their weapons in their hands, while others seemed slow to recognize the invasion for what it was. In moments Duncan’s clansmen had encircled the room.

  “Put down your weapons and ye won’t be harmed!” Duncan shouted.

  The clank of swords and shouts of alarm filled the air as some of the MacLeods began to fight. A few recognized that too many of their warriors had been caught off guard for them to prevail and relinquished their weapons. Others charged the doors to escape. Duncan knew that the MacDonalds would not capture them all, but holding too many captives had its own risks and was generally more trouble than it was worth.

  After fighting a short time, Duncan could see that victory was close at hand. He clenched the hilt of his claymore in frustrated fury as he scanned the room. Where is Erik?

  Connor appeared at his side and shouted over the noise. “Have ye seen Hugh?”

  “I don’t see him or Erik,” Duncan said. “Hugh could have left the castle before tonight, but Erik is here somewhere. I’m going to find him.”

  * * *

  The devil take me, this is a disaster.

  One glimpse into the hall and Erik could tell that the castle would be lost. Though he knew he must get out quickly, he stood for a long moment staring at Duncan MacDonald. How could he have been fooled into believing this powerful warrior was a piper? Erik’s men were falling before the man’s sword like oats to a scythe.

  Yet the captain of the MacDonald guard was not as tough as he ought to be. Any MacLeod warrior who gave up his sword to him, Duncan spared. He had a weakness for honor that could be used against him.

  Erik remembered the lad.

  A hostage would increase his chances of escape—and what better hostage could he hope for than the MacDonald chieftain’s heir. If he held a blade to the lad’s throat, they would let him out the gate. Later, he would decide whether to give the boy to Hugh Dubh or slit his throat himself. He would enjoy telling Duncan MacDonald how he did it the next time they met.

  And Erik would make certain that they did meet again.

  * * *

  Erik must have been asleep when the attack began, but Duncan wondered why he had not come down when he heard the fighting. Well, Duncan would bring the fight to him.

  As keeper, Erik should have the bedchamber right above the hall. Duncan pushed men aside as he ran to the arched doorway that led to the stairs. After racing up the circular stone steps, he paused outside the bedchamber on the next floor. Unlike the keeper, the men who guarded his bedchamber door had left their post to join the battle downstairs.

  Battle lust pulsed through Duncan as he slowly lifted the latch. At long last, he would have his revenge for the shame Erik MacLeod had brought upon him and his mother. All the years of fighting to prove himself worthy and to raise himself to a position of respect within his clan would come to an end in this room with Erik’s death.

  Duncan eased the door open. His sword made a soft whoosh as he swung it in front of him and stepped inside. No one was waiting on the other side. With his heart pounding, Duncan waited until his eyes adjusted and he could make out the curtained bed.

  As much as Erik deserved an ignoble death, Duncan would not kill him in his bed. It was not Duncan’s own honor that held him back as much as his pride. Duncan wanted to do battle with his enemy, fight him warrior-to-warrior, and crush him.

  When he heard th
e rustle of bedclothes, he tensed. He held his claymore at the ready, waiting for Erik to emerge through the bed curtains with a blade in his hand.

  But nothing happened.

  “I’ll give ye time to get your sword,” Duncan said, “and then I’m going to kill ye.”

  “I don’t have a sword!”

  The voice was a woman’s. Duncan backed up, turning his head side-to-side, searching the shadows for Erik.

  “Don’t kill me!”

  The lass sounded terrified. Duncan moved the curtain aside with the tip of his sword. She was fair-haired, pretty, and far too young to be here. And she was alone in the bed.

  “I’ve come for Erik,” Duncan said. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He left when we heard the shouting coming from the hall. Then he came back in a fury and said he was looking for the lad.”

  Duncan’s blood turned to ice. “What lad?”

  “The quiet one with the red hair,” she said. “Sarah’s friend.”

  * * *

  Please, God, don’t let Erik find Ragnall before I reach him. Surely, Erik would not think to look in the turret for him.

  Duncan flew down the circular stone steps three at a time. He was moving so swiftly that he almost crashed into the small figure before he saw her. Just in time, he lifted her up. He carried her down several steps before he could stop.

  “Sarah,” he said as he set her on her feet again, “what in God’s name are ye doing wandering the castle?”

  “I was looking for ye,” she said, slipping her small hand into his. “Erik has Ragnall, so ye must come quickly.”

  No! The devil had his son. “Where, Sarah?”

  “I followed Erik into the other building and up to the turret.”

  “Get back into your bedchamber and stay there!” he shouted and took the rest of the stairs in one leap.

  By the time he reached the long room that led to the turret, Duncan’s heart was pounding hard enough to explode. He flung the door to the turret open and froze.

  The room was empty.