Amber’s eyes filled with hurt. “You know what, Owen. Go. Whatever. I never should have said anything about loving you. Now you feel like you’ve won, don’t you?”
Owen frowned. “Won?”
“Yeah. Won. Got the girl. Because all you have are bullshit excuses. You’ve always been a player, haven’t you? All you wanted was a piece of ass from another time, am I right?”
All wrong. All lies. But it was better this way, anyway. Better she believed that and left and never returned. He walked to the door, opened it, but turned to look at her for the last time.
“If I never see ye again”—his throat fought the onslaught of emotion—“I want ye to ken ye’re the best part of my whole life.”
He left, aching as though he’d just torn his heart from his chest and left it with her.
Chapter 30
They marched early the next day. As the castle got smaller and smaller in the distance, Owen finally allowed himself to look back at the tower where his bedchamber was, hoping he’d get a final glance at Amber. The window was heartbreakingly empty.
Leaving without saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
The back of his horse swayed as he rode. The trees to the right rustled in the wind. Loch Awe to his left was stormy and gray with angry waves clashing against each other. They went northeast to bend around the loch’s most northern point.
The Bruce was worried that MacDougall had planted scouts that would spot the army moving, so James Douglas had gone ahead with his archers to position them above where the ambush would take place.
Owen rode next to his father, Craig, Ian, and Domhnall. Their whole clan rode behind them, along with the Mackenzies, Camerons, Macleans, Mackintoshes, MacKinnons, and others. The king, Uncle Neil, and the rest of the knights rode in front of them.
The way was windy and cold after the storm of last night. Even the small army of men following him wasn’t enough to make Owen focus on the task ahead. Even with the wind blowing in his face and the breathtaking beauty of Loch Awe that opened up in front of him, all he saw in his mind was the beauty of the woman he loved.
Time passed quickly, even though they made one quick stop to rest. The closer they got to the Pass of Brander, the tenser the men got, the wearier their faces grew.
They arrived early afternoon on the same day. Through the gaps between branches and leaves, Owen saw three birlinns, West Highland ships, on the river.
“MacDougalls,” he muttered and pointed for his father and his brothers to see. He exchanged a glance with Ian and Craig.
Tension in Owen’s shoulders released. The enemy was here, just like he knew they would be. He hadn’t let his king and his clan down.
“Ye were right, son,” Dougal said, narrowing his eyes at the river.
“Aye,” Craig said. “Well done, brother.”
They reached the mouth of the Pass. To their right, the steep flank of Ben Cruachan started. Owen saw a small mountain path starting between rare bushes and trees up the slope. He’d take that path with his men as soon as the king gave him the signal.
To their left, behind the bushes and undergrowth, there was an almost vertical drop into the river. The path before them grew more and more narrow and would soon become only a few yards wide. No one from the birlinns could see them through the bushes.
The Bruce stopped the procession, and they waited until a figure climbed down the steep slope of Ben Cruachan—the messenger from Douglas to say that he and his men were in position.
Owen rode forward to the king.
“’Tis all true,” the Bruce said when he saw him. “There’s an ambush. The road is blocked. Douglas has taken up his position. Are ye and yer men ready?”
Owen’s heart beat hard against his rib cage. Was he ready? Was he focused? Would he lead his men to victory?
He inhaled deeply, his chest rising, his shoulders straight, his head high. Amber’s face was in his mind, and her sweet voice rang in his head. But surprisingly, that didn’t feel like a distraction. She gave him strength and power.
She gave him love.
Now he knew who he wanted to fight for. He wanted to fight to come back to her. To tell her he loved her.
He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Owen said. “I’m ready. So are the Highlanders.”
The Bruce’s eyes shone with dark determination and a fierce, unapologetic drive for victory. “Then let’s finish the bastart MacDougalls.”
“Aye,” Owen said. He would have roared, but they still needed to be quiet.
“Go. As planned.”
“I’ll see ye on the battlefield, Your Grace.”
They nodded to each other, and Owen rode back to his men. He halted and faced his troops. Some of them were on horses, too, but most of them were on foot.
“’Tis time,” he said, trying to keep his voice as low as he could. “We go. Those of ye on horses, leave them here. We go up on foot.”
They dismounted and tied the horses’ reins to the bushes and trees. The Bruce’s troops moved forward, and Owen, his father, Craig, Ian, Domhnall, and the rest of the Highlanders took the barely visible, circuitous route up the slope.
Owen crouched as he went. Small rubble and shingles crumbled from under his feet. Bushes and undergrowth were more and more rare the higher they went. He could see the Bruce and his troops down below as they moved. He could also see that the road in front of the Bruce was blocked by at least five hundred men.
Five hundred English men. He saw the red flags with golden lions. Oh, he hoped de Bourgh was somewhere down there. He hoped this would be the day the man would pay for what he’d done to Amber. He wished he could be the sword that would pierce his heart.
If the Bruce came any closer, the men hiding above would send arrows and boulders. Why was Douglas not taking action?
Then arrows flew from somewhere high in front of them, and pained cries and yelps came from the bushes. When the last arrows from Black Douglas landed and the warlike cry of his men came from above, Owen knew they were charging the MacDougalls.
It was time. His time to shine. His time to show to everyone he wasn’t just a jester and a rebel. He wasn’t just a sword. He was a leader. He deserved to be taken seriously. He could be the leader his clan needed him to be.
“Cruachan!” Owen straightened to his full height and pumped the fist with his sword in the air.
“Cruachan!” Cambel men echoed.
Somewhere behind them, other clans called their war cries, and they all mixed together in one Highland roar as they surged forward.
The time had come for the MacDougalls to pay. He’d fight for Amber. For Marjorie. For Ian.
He’d fight like the leader he should have always been.
There they were, the MacDougalls, at least a thousand of them. They were disoriented and already dealing with Douglas’s force that had crashed into them from above.
A man ran at Owen, and he swung his claymore and it clashed with the man’s ax. More men collided, and the ring of metal against metal pierced the air. Shouts and cries of pain came from below. Owen’s opponent deflected his sword and slammed a shield in his face. Owen ducked, but the shield caught him and cut the skin on his cheekbone. He slashed his sword across the man’s head, and the enemy fell, blood spraying everywhere.