Helen grasped her skirts and headed toward the door. “They burnt out the Gilles’s croft in Sunart. Why should they be sailing to Mingary on a goodwill sortie?”
Sarah drew in a sharp gasp. “Lord Jesus, help us.”
Before opening the door, Helen faced the nursemaid. “I am leaving my daughter in your care. She is the one person in this world I love most. Protect her with your life.” Blinking to recover her wits, Helen raced for the top of the battlements.
With only a skeleton crew of aged fighting men, this would be a harrowing day indeed. Regardless of the odds, she would defend Mingary and fight until she drew her last breath. May God have mercy on our souls.
Atop the wall-walk facing the sea, Helen stared at the black cannon Aleck had brought in from Portugal. It was an ugly thing that looked like death. She glanced at Mr. Keith, the old guard who’d been left in charge of safeguarding the castle. “Do you know how this contraption works?”
“I’ve had a bit of training with it. ’Tis not too hard. You ladle in the black powder, tamp it down, then drop in the ball and set your sights, light the slow match and pray.”
Helen definitely would hold up her end with praying. “Do you have enough of those lead balls to sink both the MacDonald galleys?”
He gazed out to sea and shuddered. “God, I hope so.”
The galleys had sailed close enough that she could see the colors of their pennants. MacDonald for certain.
Mr. Keith pointed toward the stairwell. “You’d best go inside, m’lady.”
Helen crossed her arms. “I will do no such thing. In the absence of Sir Aleck, I shall direct this battle, and pray it does not turn into a siege.” Where in Heaven’s name are the men? Aleck left me here alone with a handful of old guards and had the gall to call me daft? I shall never forgive him for this.
Archers approached carrying barrels of arrows. Helen dashed toward them. “Have you lit the brazier?”
“You want us to fire flaming arrows?” Torquil asked as if she’d sailed down from the moon.
“Aye.” She held up a finger. “Let them make the first move. If they’re hostile, we shall show no mercy, and flaming arrows will set their boats afire. My father always said the most dangerous thing for a galley ship is a fire.” Thank heavens she’d listened to Da’s tales of fighting in The Crusades.
Every muscle in her body clenched while she marched back and forth atop the wall-walk, watching the MacDonalds sail nearer. Never in her life had a sailing ship appeared to take such a long time with its approach. Jitters twitched along her skin.
The men set two braziers burning with peat—one on either side of the sea-facing wall.
Mr. Keith grasped Helen’s arm. “I mean it. You must go inside, m’lady. They’ll be firing arrows soon and you haven’t even a hauberk or a helmet.”
Nor did she have a cloak—and an icy gale blew relentlessly from the sea. “I’ll not leave.”
“Then at least seek shelter behind a merlon.”
The MacDonald galleys were now near enough she could see the warriors lined on one side with bows and arrows ready to fire. She ducked behind the safety of the stone and raised her arm. “They’re preparing to fire. Light your arrows!”
The men stared as if they’d never been in a battle before—or perhaps they’d never been commanded by a woman before.
Sucking in a stuttering breath, she peeked beyond the stone and out to sea. Arrows soared toward them. “Now!” she screamed, covering her eyes.
“In coming!” someone yelled from down the wall-walk.
The men all ducked behind the safety of the four-foot stone walls as arrows hissed overhead and smacked against the stone battlements. Helen dared look. No one had fallen. “Fire!” she shrieked.
She peered around the stone merlon and watched the MacIain arrows fly. Some hit the nearest ship, but they’d need more. Clenching her fists, she mustered her strength. “The only way to keep them at bay is to beat them. We have the power to hold them off, but every single man on this wall must shoot straight and hit your mark!”
The men reloaded their bows with trembling hands.
Helen bolstered her resolve. Cowering behind the stone wall was no place for a woman who must instill confidence in her soldiers. Keeping her head down, she hastened around to the back side of the cannon. “Set your sights Mr. Keith, and sink those two galleys.” She marched down the row of elderly men, now firing their arrows at will. “They think they can attack Mingary? I assure you, it will take a great deal more than two galleys filled with fighting men to conquer us. We have five-foot thick walls and a grand gun from Portugal on our side.”
The cannon boomed. Helen jumped so high, she nearly fell off the wall-walk. She coughed at the acrid smoke burning her throat. And while the haze cleared, her ears took on a high-pitched hum. She peered through a crenel notch and strained until she could again see the galleys. Curses, the cannonball missed its mark, but flames leapt above the hull on one of the galleys.
Helen’s heart skipped a beat.
They’d made their first gain.
She raced toward Mr. Keith. “Can you make an adjustment and actually hit one of those galleys?” The words rattled from her tongue in an anxious high pitch.
“That’s what I’m trying to accomplish.” Sweat dripped from his brow as he turned the crank. “I cannot believe I actually got the blasted thing to fire.”
She gave a sharp nod. “You’re doing well. But we must stop them from reaching the sea gate.”
Baring his teeth, he strained with one more crank. “Stand back, m’lady.”
She stared at the long black gun as if it were about to explode and take down the wall. The thing nearly killed her when she strolled on the beach. Would it now be her salvation? ’Tis time to make the gun worth its while.
At the chilling sound of a man’s anguished shriek, Helen whipped around. “Oh, no.” She sprinted to the far end of the wall-walk. Torquil lay writhing on the stony floor, gasping and grunting from an arrow shot to the shoulder.
Helen dropped to her knees beside him. “Hold on and we’ll set you to rights.” She glanced over her shoulder. Every able-bodied man was needed to defend the keep from the pillagers below. And she knew better than to try to pull the arrow out now—but there must be a way to help him endure the pain. “Have you any whisky?”
“I-I-I’ve a flask in me sporran,” he managed through panting breaths.
Finding it, she held the spirit to his lips. “Drink it all.”
He guzzled greedily.
“They’re coming ashore, m’lady,” Mr. Keith hollered.
She stoppered the flask and set it beside him. “Hold on, sir. We’ll see to your comfort as soon as we are able.”
Torquil’s weathered face ashen, he nodded.
Helen picked up the man’s bow and ignited an arrow tip. The MacDonald men were jumping over the side of their galleys and splashing through the water toward the sea gate. A row of men carried a pole as thick as a tree trunk—a battering ram for certain. Heaven help us, they aim to smash through the gate.
She trained an arrow straight down on a man. She’d hunted deer and rabbits, though had never killed a human being—but these men were attacking her home. Holding her breath, she released. Her arrow fell short. She must raise her sights to account for the distance.