She pulled a second arrow from the barrel and lit the tip.
The cannon boomed.
This time Helen didn’t flinch. With the ringing in her ears intensifying, she focused on another MacDonald raider and let her arrow fly. Smoke and the stench of burning sulfur stung her eyes as she lined up her sights. She hit her mark and the man fell to the ground, writhing and clutching at the arrow.
Her insides squelched like she was about to vomit.
Ahead, the whistling cannonball smashed the stern of a MacDonald galley—though it wasn’t enough to sink the boat, Mr. Keith had done some damage.
But there was no time to celebrate. The battering ram boomed as it slammed against the sea gate. The bailey walls shook. Stones crumbled. It was a matter of time before the MacDonalds breached the walls.
Nonetheless, Helen and her crew of grey-haired warriors fought while the cannon blasted and the battering ram blow thudded, cracking timbers with each strike.
Helen fired arrows until her fingertips grew raw from the bowstring. Beyond the sea gate, the MacDonald men were chanting a cadence of heave-ho with every thundering impact from the battering ram.
Unable to find a clear shot, Helen closed her eyes and prayed. Dear God in heaven, please save us. Her eyes flew open when a bellowing roar erupted from the courtyard.
Eoin and the men poured in from the forward gate, weapons drawn.
With a horrible crash, the sea gate gave way. Spurring to action, Helen pulled back her bow. She shifted from side to side, looking for a shot. Before her eyes, mayhem erupted while MacDonalds collided with MacGregors and MacIains. If she fired now, she could kill one of her own. Holding her bow at the ready, blades flickered in the sunlight in a brutal battle.
Helen had always thought watching men spar was like a dance, but this was nowhere near the same. Ugly, brutal, vicious, the men attacked. Iron clashed with screeching scrapes of metal on metal. Blood curdling screams made chills slither over Helen’s skin.
Helpless to fight from the battlements, she and the archers watched in horror as blood spurted and the cries of men echoed between the inner bailey walls. Helen had never been witness to a battle in her own home. If the men failed, there would be little hope for survival. They might even try to ravish her…or…
She shuddered in concert with another blast from the cannon.
I will die before one of them places his filthy hands on my daughter.
Directly beneath her, Eoin fought two at once. By the saints, he was quick on his feet. His deadly sharp sword whipped through the air so fast, Helen only saw a silver blur swinging in arcs around him while he defended every blow. Just when he cut one down, another stepped up.
On and on the battle raged with terrors far worse than the stories Helen had heard—and no one ever described such raw violence—uglier and more brutal than anything she could have imagined. War truly embodies hell on earth.
“To the boats!” a loud bellow boomed over the throng.
Before Helen could make out who’d given the order, the MacDonald men ran for their galleys. Helen raced to the other side of the wall-walk. Mr. Keith’s cannonballs had sunk one of their galleys. Eoin and his men gave chase while the surviving MacDonalds climbed over the hull and took up their oars.
Mr. Keith stepped in beside her. “Should I fire the cannon at them, m’lady?”
She’d seen enough bloodshed to last her lifetime. “I think not. Besides, if that noisy thing misfired, the men down on the shore could be injured.” She had first-hand experience with that.
He grinned at her, stretching his weathered features. “My thoughts as well.”
Eoin stood on the beach and watched the galley sail pick up the wind. It didn’t look so proud with a torn pennant and the tip of its stern blown off. But Eoin looked magnificent with his sword in one hand, dirk in the other. Drawing in deep breaths, his shoulders rose and fell in a slow rhythm. He stood with his feet apart, braced as if he were ready for another attack.
A sunbeam broke through the clouds and illuminated him.
A warrior sent from heaven.
After the galley disappeared around the point of Ardnamurchan, Eoin turned and looked directly up at Helen. Her heart swelled in her chest. Time slowed for a moment while their gazes locked. Even if Helen had wanted to, she couldn’t turn away.
If only I could race down to the beach and fall into those brawny arms.
Then Helen realized Aleck hadn’t been involved in the battle at all.
Keith tapped her shoulder. “They’re leading Sir Aleck into the keep.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth and dashed to the other side. “Oh my heavens.” Aleck was walking, but his shoulders stooped, and he held his arm close to his body.
Helen rushed to the stairwell and pattered down three flights until she met Aleck and his men at the second-floor landing. “What happened m’laird?”
“Broke my arm fighting in Sunart.” From the looks of the purple bruise spreading from his forehead and around his eye, he’d nearly broken his head as well.
“We must tend it directly.” She reached for the elbow not in a sling. “Please allow me to assist you to your chamber.”
He jerked away. “I need neither your sympathy nor your help. Send Mary up with a flagon of whisky.”
“M’laird.” Helen looked over her shoulder at the stunned faces of the guard. Eoin stepped behind them. “At least allow me to see to your comfort and then—”
“Be gone with you and do as I say.” He raised his hand as if to deliver a slap, but the wallop stopped midair.
Eoin’s big hand wrapped around Aleck’s wrist. “The lady just held your keep against Alexander MacDonald and your thanks is to strike her?” Eoin’s voice seethed, as if he could snap Aleck’s arm in two.
Sir Aleck faced the MacGregor Chieftain and snarled. “If I weren’t waylaid, I’d finish this now.”
“Aye?” Eoin emitted a spiteful chuckle. “Backstab the man who saved you in Sunart?”
Aleck jutted his face so close to Eoin’s, their noses almost touched. “I told you I didn’t need saving.”
“Too right,” Eoin growled. “I should have let the MacDonald bastard run you through.”
“You sicken me. Have you not a beloved sword to sharpen?” Aleck turned his shoulder and limped toward his chamber. “Send Mary up with my whisky and leave me be.”
After the door closed behind him, Helen clapped her hands to her cheeks and ran. Must her husband now humiliate her every time she saw him? So, their first born was a lass. They weren’t the only couple in the world who had produced a female child first. Did Aleck want a boy so he could cast her aside and never have to perform the vile act of consummation with her again?
Worse, did Eoin MacGregor have to ascend the stairs just as Aleck was issuing his retort? And would she have ended up with yet another blackened eye had Eoin not intervened? Helen gasped. Would Aleck seek retribution against her dear friend and ally? Undoubtedly he would. He could not withstand any man who made him appear weak.
Tears dribbled down her cheeks as Helen reached the far stairwell and started up toward the nursery.
“Lady Helen,” Eoin called after her. “Please wait.”
She shook her head. “Go away.”
Starting up, she hoped he’d turn around, take his men and sail back to Argyllshire. But his hand wrapped around her wrist. He grasped her firmly, but not so hard his fingers would leave a bruise. “Please stop. I’d like to talk—to thank you for all you have done.”