She kicked his sword out of his hands and looked around. The battle stopped. Archers stood on the walls, their arrows pointing at the remaining MacDougalls. The men were exhausted, but many glanced at her and John MacDougall with a question in their eyes.
“Leave,” Marjorie spat. “Take yer men and leave if yer life is dear to ye. And never come on our lands ever again.”
“Ye dinna decide over my life. Ye won, wee bitch. Finish me. Kill me. Dinna ye want me dead after what we did to ye?”
Marjorie’s arm jerked a little.
“Oh, I want to kill ye. But I wilna take my son’s grandfather’s life. Take yer loss and crawl back to yer castle, and live with the knowledge that ye’ll never see yer grandson. That the wee bitch won. That she’s stronger in every way than ye.”
Taking someone by force and torturing them wasn’t strength. Strength was coming back from it and choosing not to take a life. Making the choice was the strength.
The strength was hope.
And she had it now.
Chapter 25
Colin peeked from behind the merlon at the retreating remnants of the army that had just attacked his home. Arthur, his wooden sword, shook in his hand. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard as he watched the big man with white hair attack his mother.
“Ye’ll never see yer grandson.”
That was his other grandfather—an enemy of his clan. A MacDougall.
His family had never told him who his father was, but Colin wasn’t a simpleton. He suspected something bad had happened to his mother.
And now he knew that this MacDougall’s son had done bad things to her. He knew his mother was strong and kind and capable. But sometimes, he’d see her stare into the distance with a sad look in her eyes.
Colin knew now that she looked like that when she remembered the bad things that had happened to her. He wished with everything that he was to shield her from the memories, even with his wooden sword.
After all, his mother and Glenkeld were in danger because of him. His evil grandfather could come back and hurt his mother to get to him. He should be like Uncle Ian and his Great Grandfather Colin. Brave. Capable. He should protect his mother and his clan.
No one would suspect a wee lad like him to follow them. He could get close and kill the MacDougall when he didn’t suspect it.
Colin looked around. Everyone was busy. Mother was helping with the dead and wounded. Isbeil commanded the clan about, directing the wounded into the great hall. Tamhas, who had left his post by Colin’s door when the MacDougalls retreated, was helping carry the fallen warriors. Konnor was bandaging a wound on someone’s leg. There was no one on the walls anymore, save for dead bodies.
His grandfather’s sword!
He hurried into his bedchamber. After Konnor had fought Colin’s attackers, the sword had been cleaned and oiled and hung on the wall, glistening like new. Colin stood on a chest and took the hilt with both his hands. With a grunt, he lifted the weapon, only to have it sink back down and fall on the floor. It was almost as long as he was. No. He needed something smaller and lighter.
A dagger!
Colin hurried back to the wall. He saw a dagger lying next to a dead warrior. He grasped it, hid it behind his belt, and quickly sprinted down into the courtyard, through the broken gates, and after the MacDougall army, unnoticed by anyone.
Konnor frowned as he watched a tiny figure run through the castle gates and crouch behind a bush. He’d came to take any wounded from the northern wall down into the great hall where Isbeil could help them.
Given the disadvantage in numbers, Konnor was relieved at how few casualties they had. Most of the dead bodies belonged to the MacDougalls. As far as Konnor could see, Glenkeld had lost about fifteen men, though every single one who was still alive had wounds of some sort.
The small figure peeked from behind the bush, rose, and sprinted after the MacDougall army. A boy. There was something familiar about him… A white stick swung violently attached to the boy’s waist as he ran. A sword?
A wooden sword?
That couldn’t be…
Konnor’s blood chilled. Someone went passed him. “What the feck are ye looking at, man?” Tamhas asked him as he walked towards the nearest body. “Dinna have nothing to do?”
“Where the fuck is Colin, Tamhas?” Konnor growled.
“In his chamber, of course.” But his voice didn’t sound confident at all. Tamhas stopped and followed the direction of Konnor’s gaze.
Without saying a word, Konnor ran to check Colin’s bedroom.
Empty!
Tamhas stopped behind his shoulder. “No, no, no!” He darted towards the round stairs and down. “I left to help with the wounded when the MacDougalls started leaving.”
Konnor dashed after him, his heart beating heavily in his chest. His legs didn’t move fast enough, as though his feet weighed a ton and felt as cold as ice.
Tamhas ran towards the stables, and Konnor followed him, but all the horses were unsaddled.
“Goddamn it,” Konnor growled. “I’m going after him on foot. He isn’t that far.”
“Aye, man. I’m coming.”
Konnor’s muscles were tired from a sleepless night full of physical strain, battle, and nerves, but he gathered the remnants of his strength and willed his body to ignore the burning pain in his ankle. He sprinted after the boy.
The grass flashed under his boots, and a breeze chilled his sweaty body under the tunic and the leine chroich. There, he saw Colin about a mile in front of him, a small figure, about to run into the forest. He and Tamhas ran faster.
Konnor hoped the MacDougalls wouldn’t see the boy. If they did, and John MacDougall realized who the boy was, that was it. There was no way he’d let the boy go. The battle would start again, and no matter how wounded John was, there was no way the Cambels could win out in the open like this.
They’d lose Colin.
Konnor couldn’t imagine what that would do to Marjorie.
He had to retrieve him. He and Tamhas had to. Konnor sped up.
By the time they reached the first trees, Konnor was out of breath, and sharp pains from running stabbed his stomach. Tamhas and he stopped and hid behind the trees and peeked.
“There he is,” Konnor said.
A white tunic flashed between the trees half a mile or so before them.
“Let’s go, man,” Tamhas said.
Panting, they both resumed the pursuit. Konnor’s whole body felt like it was on fire. He was so tired. At some point, his mind went blank with exhaustion while his body kept running. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and saw that about two hundred yards before them, one of the MacDougalls had caught Colin and dragged him forward by his shoulders.
Konnor went cold. His foot caught a root, and he tumbled down, scraping his palms raw.
“Go!” he yelled to Tamhas while he was getting up.
Goddamn it! He didn’t believe in magic, or God, or much of anything, but at this moment, he prayed. To God, to the universe, even to Sìneag the Highland faerie. Please, let us save the boy. Please, let us get him back.
Tamhas sped up, his long, dark hair flying on the wind behind him. He drew his sword.
“Stop!” he yelled, and the MacDougall stopped and turned.
His eyes widened.