“I’m fine. Let’s not waste any time.”
But before they could move to take the stairs, the door to the other wing of the dungeon opened. Hamish and five English warriors entered the space.
They froze. Hamish’s expression changed from astonishment to shock to furious determination. His sword glistened in the light of the torches as he drew it from its scabbard. Five more swords appeared.
“You Scottish animals,” growled one of the men.
Owen stood protectively between them and Amber, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon. Muireach assumed a defensive position, dagger in hand. The air crackled with tension, as though lightning had struck nearby. No one moved.
Hamish glared at Owen with something unreadable in his eyes. Then his eyes darted at Amber, and he nodded to his right. It was such a small twitch, he almost didn’t notice it.
Hamish whirled and stabbed the English man to his left in the chest. The rest of the soldiers stared in pure astonishment, so did Owen. The only one who didn’t lose his wits was Muireach. Using their surprise to his advantage, Muireach stabbed the soldier closest to him and let out what sounded like a battle cry as he jumped forward with surprising agility for a man his age. The soldier raised his sword and deflected the blow.
One of the other men launched at Owen, and he finally came out of his stupor and raised his sword. He brought his blade down and it bit into the man’s ribs. The guard yelled but managed to strike out at Owen. The weapon only missed Owen by the length of a fingernail.
Owen swung his sword again, but he was too slow. The guard blocked it and thrust his own blade towards Owen’s neck. Owen didn’t have time to deflect, but before the blade met his flesh, a shadow passed behind the man. There was a loud thud, and the guard stumbled and fell to the floor. Amber stood with a wooden plank in her hands.
Hamish dealt a deadly blow to the last guard standing, and Owen looked around. Every single English enemy lay dead, blood spreading around them like small, dark lochs. Hamish wiped his blade against a cloth, and Muireach was already walking towards Amber with his bloody dagger still in his hand.
Amber leaned down and removed the helm from one of the guards. She put it on, and it hid her face somewhat, but her long, curly hair stuck out in all directions from under it. She quickly shoved the mass under the helm. Owen hoped it would stay under there and that the dark night outside would conceal everything else.
He took another one of the helms and put it on. He undid a guard’s belt and cinched the scabbard and sword around his own waist. Muireach helped Amber do the same with another sword and sheath.
“Go,” Hamish said. “Quickly.”
Owen laid his hand on Amber’s shoulder, but before he stepped on the stairs, he turned to Hamish. “Why did ye help us?”
Hamish sighed and looked at Amber. “I couldna let him hurt her like that anymore.” He glanced up towards the stairs. “Now go. I still have a mission to complete in Stirling. But I hope I wilna meet ye on the battleground.” Owen turned to follow Amber and Muireach, but Hamish said, “Owen, I am sorry about Lachlan.”
Owen drew in a quick, angry breath. This was not the place nor the time to talk about this; though, it did make him feel a little better that Hamish regretted what had happened with Lachlan. He nodded, and then they fled up the stairs to the ground floor of the tower, through a larger door, and farther out into the cool, summer night.
Owen had forgotten how sweet fresh air was outside, how soothing the chirping of night crickets and the hooting of an owl was. It was liberating to look out into the vast open space and not see the confining thick, granite walls.
The yard was empty, and no smoke rose from the kitchen’s chimney. The stables and cowshed were quiet. The great hall, too. Down the hill, torches illuminated the wooden palisade and the unforgiving outer curtain walls of the Stirling fortress.
“There are nae guards that I can see by the palisade,” Owen said. “But there will be at the gatehouse. We must convince them to let us out.”
“Aye,” Muireach said. “Let us get the horses.”
They went into the stables, and Muireach and Owen worked as quickly as they could to saddle the horses. He’d rather ride double with Amber since she was still recovering and weak, but that would raise suspicions, and they’d be faster on separate mounts.
Two horses were saddled, and Owen began saddling a third.
Muireach frowned. “Three horses?”
“Aye. Ye’re coming with us.”
“Nae.”
Amber touched Muireach’s shoulder. “You must. De Bourgh will know you helped us escape. He’ll kill you. Come back to the Highlands. Don’t die here with no purpose.”
Muireach let out a long sigh. “Aye. Ye’re right. But it will be more difficult for us to get out of the castle with me. Guards ken I’m the warden and needed here day and night. Why would I suddenly leave in the middle of the night? They’ll smell a foul play like vultures smell carrion.”
“I wilna leave without ye, man,” Owen said. “We’ll think of something.”
Muireach grunted and continued saddling the third horse. When it was ready, they walked back out into the night. Amber’s long, strong legs brushed against him as he helped her mount. She looked at the horse as though it were a kelpie, but she didn’t say anything. Mayhap she didn’t know how to ride, which wasn’t surprising, considering she was from the future. Amy grew up on a farm and could ride, but Kate, Ian’s woman, had learned to ride here.
“Everything all right, lass?” Owen said, his hand still on her ankle. “Ye can ride, canna ye?”
“Yep. Yep.”
“We’ll go slowly until we reach the forest. Then I’ll take ye on my horse. I dinna want yer wounds to reopen from hard riding. We dinna want ye to bleed again.”
“Okay. I’ll try not to bleed to death.”
Muireach and Owen mounted, and they slowly rode down the hill. They passed the castle buildings, the dark palisade, and went into the outer yard. The thatched houses were quiet until a dog barked a couple of times from somewhere. Owen put one hand on his sword, but the night fell quiet again, the only noise the soft thumps of the horses’ hooves against dry dirt.
Finally, walls as tall as mountains stood before them. The gatehouse had two square towers on either side that loomed over them and seemed to support the black sky. The small windows on the first floor were illuminated from the inside with the golden glow of torches. Owen wondered how many sentinels were up there.
He glanced up and cleared his throat. He needed to do his best impersonation of an English accent. “Open the gates!” he called.
Someone appeared in the window. “Who goes there?”
“William and I have been sent to accompany Muireach on a mission from the commander,” he said.
Owen was a good singer and could mimic people well, but he could hear his accent slipping.
The dark figure was silent for a moment. “But the commander left. He never said anything about letting anyone else out.”
Owen almost said, aye, but stopped himself. “Yes. But he gave me the mission before he had to go. Open the gates. We must make haste.”
“Why must Muireach go? He never leaves the castle.”
“It’s none of your concern,” Owen said angrily.