The Campbell Trilogy (14 page)

The anguish in his voice mirrored her own. She grabbed him by the face and forced him to look at her. “There is nothing we can do for him now, Brian.” Her chest twisted. The truth was almost too much to bear, but she needed to be strong for Brian.
Don’t think.
“We need you. We have to set fire to the stairs.”

His eyes were bright and wild; she didn’t know whether she’d gotten through to him until he nodded.

Mor had already started to instruct the girls on where to place the lit torches; they didn’t have any more time to waste. It seemed to take forever, though it was only a few moments before everything was in place and the torches were lit. They stood by the door, watching and praying for the wood to flame. The torches burned, but the stairs only smoldered and smoked.

Mor cursed behind her. “ ’Tis the wet weather the past few days,” she said. “The wood has not dried out enough.”

Caitrina could hear the shouts from below and knew that their effort had not gone unnoticed. Nor had she. She felt the eyes of their leader on her but ignored the chill of foreboding. A few of the attackers started to work their way up the stairs, her father’s men doing everything they could to prevent them. Knowing there was nothing more they could do but pray the stairs burned quickly, she closed the door and lowered the bar.

Caitrina didn’t need to look at the frightened faces
around her to know what they all were feeling—it was what she felt: absolute terror and disbelief.

Mor grabbed her by the shoulders. “Take your brother upstairs and hide in the ambry. No matter what you hear, do not come out.”

“But what about you and the others?”

“We must separate.” She paused. “It’s not servants they want.”

“Who do they want?” Caitrina asked, recalling the Campbell’s words to her father.

Mor gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I don’t know, child. Now go.” To Brian she said, “Take care of your sister.”

He nodded grimly, his expression hard and determined beyond his years. Her sweet young brother would never be the same. Neither of them would ever be the same.

Caitrina hesitated and then threw her arms around the old woman, resting her cheek one more time against the familiar shoulder. Mor gave her one last squeeze before gently urging her away. Caitrina took Brian’s hand, and together they ran across the great hall toward the stairs. She had to force herself not to look out the windows. All they could do at this point was pray that her father’s men would prevail—that strength of heart would defeat strength in numbers.

When they reached her solar, Caitrina hurried to the ambry and threw open the doors. She groaned.

“We’ll never both fit in there,” Brian said, echoing her thoughts.

The ambry was stuffed full with gowns. If they tried to remove them, it would only make their hiding place more obvious—though at this point, Caitrina realized there wasn’t much they could do to prevent discovery. She fought against the rising panic, but the desperate nature of their situation was making it difficult to think. What could
they do? Ascog Castle was not a particularly large or complex castle; there were few places to hide.

The sound of an ax striking the door below made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. They were out of time … and options.

Brian pushed her toward the ambry. “You hide in there, I’ll go under the bed.”

There was no time to argue—nor was there a better choice. She nodded and climbed in. If the soldiers were already trying to come through the door, that meant …

No.
She forced her thoughts away from the battle below. She wouldn’t let herself think about Malcolm and Niall. She had to close her eyes to fight back the tears.
They had to be all right.

Time crawled forward. It was warm and dark in the ambry buried between all the heavy wool and velvet gowns. All of her senses seemed heightened, homing in on the sounds below. Every small noise made her heart skip. Her heart drummed unnaturally loud in her ears.

The waiting was interminable, though it was probably only a few minutes before she heard the unmistakable sounds of men clambering up the stairs.

“Find the lass!” a man shouted.

Me. Merciful Mary, they mean me.

The door to her solar opened with a bang, and she held her breath. The helplessness of their situation, the futility in trying to hide, came rushing forward in full fury. How long would it take before they found—

“Let go of me!”

Her heart lurched.
Brian. Dear God, they had Brian.

“What have we here?” a man said. “The Lamont’s whelp, I’d wager? What’s left of them anyhow.”

Caitrina stifled a cry, her nails digging into her palms.
It can’t be true.

“The lass has to be around here close,” another man said.

The sound of Brian’s struggles as he tried to distract the men from finding her was more than she could take. She pushed through the smothering stacks of hanging gowns and burst through the ambry door. All she could see was the wide backs of two mail-clad warriors, one of whom had Brian by the neck.

“Let him go,” she yelled, jumping on his back and hitting him hard enough on the temple so that he cried out in pain and dropped Brian.

She would have wrapped her arm around his neck, but she found herself yanked from him and clasped in the steely embrace of a tall, heavyset man. In her haste to reach Brian she hadn’t noticed that there was a third man in the room.

His face was red, puffy, and sweaty below the rim of his helmet. “I found the lass,” he shouted in the direction of the doorway.

“Let go of me!” She tried to wrestle free.

His hand tightened around her arm until she thought it might break. He gave her a lecherous once-over and smiled. The look in his eyes chilled her to the bone. It was the look of a man intent on reaping the spoils of victory. “Not yet,” he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. “Brian, no!” But it was too late.

“Get your filthy hands off my sister!”

Brian had somehow managed to slide the claymore from under the bed and came rushing toward the man holding her. But the weapon was too heavy for him to maneuver, and he managed only a few steps before one of the other men caught up with him from behind. Time seemed to stand still. She saw the silvery flash of the blade as it descended toward her brother’s head. She lurched forward with a sudden burst of strength, but she wasn’t able to tear herself from the man’s arms.

Brian’s eyes, wide with shock, met hers as the force of the
blow temporarily stunned him, before he crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. The cry that tore from her lungs was surely not her own. She went mad with rage, lashing out at the man holding her and managing to rake her nails across his face before he backhanded her across the cheek with such force that she stumbled to the floor. Her jaw exploded in pain.

“What’s going on here?”

The man she’d seen before, the one she’d assumed to be their leader, stood in the doorway.

“We found the Lamont lass,” one of his men said.

His eyes fastened on her. “So I see.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she rose to her feet, cradling her injured face, but her eyes reflected her hatred for this man who had brought death and destruction to her home. “What kind of
man
makes war on women and children? Only a Campbell would have so little honor.”

“Proud as well as beautiful? You have spirit, lass, but use it wisely. Tell us where he is and no one else needs to get hurt.”

She looked over at her brother’s still form, blood streaming down his face from the gash on his head. As if he knew her thoughts, the leader crossed the room and stepped between her and Brian, preventing her from going to him. “Who?” she croaked, her voice raw. “Who is it that you seek?”

“Alasdair MacGregor.”

She gasped.
My God, this was all some horrible mistake.
She shook her head. “You have come to the wrong place. Alasdair MacGregor is not at Ascog.”

The man’s expression turned hard and unforgiving. For a moment, he reminded her of Jamie, but this man had a cruel edge that Jamie did not possess. “It is you who are
wrong. MacGregor was seen in the area with your father yesterday, and he’s likely been hiding here for weeks.”

That was impossible. Her father wouldn’t be so bold—or foolish—in defiance of the king. Harboring MacGregors could get you … killed. But then she remembered the bond between the clans. Her chest squeezed with pain. “You lie.”

His mouth tightened. “And you test my patience. Tell me where he is and I may be persuaded to let you go.” His eyes slid down the length of her. “Before or after I let my men have some fun with you. It’s your choice.”

She refused to show him her fear, though it wrapped around her like an icy noose. “I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

He gave her a long look and shrugged. “Then you are of no use to me.” He turned to one of the men. “Get rid of the lad.”

“Brian!” She tried to go to him but was restrained by the man who’d struck her earlier. Instead, she watched helplessly as Brian was dragged unconscious from the room.

The leader’s eyes were on the trunk at the foot of her bed where she’d carefully folded the plaid that Jamie had lent her the day he’d rescued her from the tree—which she’d neglected to return to him. He gave her a calculated stare and seemed about to say something, but then an odd look came over his face. “Find out what she knows,” he said instead to the man holding her, “but be quick about it. The place is already on fire. If MacGregor is in the castle, we’ll smoke him out.”

Her father. Her brothers. Her home. This man had taken everything from her for nothing. Something inside her snapped. With her hand balled into a tight fist, she took aim at his face and hit him with all the hatred and anger burgeoning inside. She’d never hit anyone before, but her punch landed squarely on his nose and she heard the satisfying
crunch of bone. His head jerked back with the blow. When he looked back at her, blood gushed from his nose. There was a moment of stunned disbelief, before retaliation came hard and swift. His hand met her temple. A burst of pain, and then everything went black.

Caitrina couldn’t breathe. She was dreaming of a man on top of her, the heavy weight of mail crushing her chest. The stench of sweat and blood filled her nose, and bile rose in the back of her throat. She groaned and struggled against the weight crushing her. Rough hands gripped the tender skin of her thighs, trying to pry open her legs.

It wasn’t a dream. Her eyes fluttered open. A man was on top of her, one arm flat across her chest to hold her down, the other lifting up her skirts. She opened her mouth to scream, but she wasn’t sure whether anything sounded before she felt another burst of pain across her cheek and her eyes closed again.

Darkness beckoned like the sweet song of a siren. She wanted to stay asleep, to escape to the safety of her dreams. But something wouldn’t let her. She had to wake up. She couldn’t let this happen. She had to fight.

She opened her eyes. The man’s face swam before her gaze. Everything was fuzzy.

Suddenly, the weight crushing her chest was gone. She took a deep breath, wanting to fill her lungs with air, but inhaled choking smoke instead. Her body racked with coughs.

She thought she heard a man curse, but it was so difficult to hear with the ringing in her ears. She was lifted from the bed and cradled against a warm, hard chest. For a moment, she was confused; she felt safe. But then she remembered. The man started to carry her away. She flailed against him, but he held her firm, soothing her with gentle words. The voice was familiar but hovered just beyond the edges of her consciousness.

It was so hot. She opened her eyes, but they burned and filled with tears. She couldn’t see through the thick smoke. She wanted to know who held her, but his features blurred.

He looked like Jamie Campbell. Her eyes fluttered again.
Jamie. It was Jamie. He’s here.

She relaxed against him, feeling a moment of elation before the sliver of a memory filtered through her consciousness: Campbells had attacked Ascog. And Jamie was a Campbell.
No.
She didn’t want to believe it, but why else would he be here?

You will regret your refusal of my offer.

“You—” she choked; her throat felt stripped bare. “You did this,” she cried, feeling as though her lungs were being shredded apart. “Campbells.” She couldn’t get the words out, she felt so horribly weak and tired. “Why?” The pain moved from her lungs to her chest, precariously close to her heart. She didn’t hear his reply. The fight had left her, and she gave over to the pull of darkness.

Toward Castle, Cowal Peninsula, Three Months Later

A sharp wind blew across the moors, sending long strands of Caitrina’s hair flying across her face as she made her way down the steep path from the castle toward the small beach. Even the sturdy heather that blanketed the countryside with its soft purple flowers was not immune and leaned with each gust. Gathering her tangled curls in her hand, she adjusted the wool plaid scarf farther over her head to better ward off the wind and cold. An autumn chill was definitely in the air. With Michaelmas behind them and winter approaching, the days—like the heather—would soon darken, turning shorter and colder.