Page 69 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
If the night atop the watchtower was one of wonder and joy, the days that followed were a trial that pressed Donall’s patience to the limit.
The morning after he asked Lydia to wed him, he confronted the Council with his choice for a bride. As he had expected, none of the Elders were happy to hear of his decision. There was shouting, arguing, and several protests that only ended when Donall made it plain that he had no intention of changing his mind. And when Ewan made it clear that Lydia had the favor of many people in the keep.
In the end, he had obtained the support of his clan, but Donall knew well that it was a grudging support, and that several of his Council would be looking for any excuse they could find to try and force him to relinquish his decision.
Then, Alex was called back to his clan to handle some urgent clan matters. It was somewhat of a blessing, as his friend would be better placed to carry messages to his kinfolk and to gatherallies if the worst came to pass, but it was frustrating for Donall not to have one of the few men he trusted at his side at a time when he had no idea what was likely to happen in the near future. But such were things and he was lucky to see his dear friend as much as he did.
The day after Alex departed, the messenger he’d sent south returned. The news he bore was not encouraging. Lord Wycliffe had refused his request for permission to court and wed Lydia. He had likewise refused the offer of an alliance.
Within half a day, another messenger arrived, to announce that Lord Wycliffe was marching north with a large force of English mercenaries. The source of the message believed that he intended to meet with his Highlander allies and march on Ranald Keep.
That report was worrisome enough, without the added note that the messenger had no idea of the number of mercenaries that were travelling with Wycliffe, or how many warriors his allies might bring to stand behind him.
The only bright spot was Lydia. The morning after their meeting atop the tower, Donall had her moved into the quarters beside his own, both in deference to her status as a lady, and her new status as his betrothed. There was little time for them to do more than share a meal, or exchange smiles and glances, but having her close by made his sleep easier.
Then, on the fourth day after their betrothal, riders appeared, approaching the walls of Ranald Keep. Donall stood on the ramparts with Ewan, his heart heavy as he noted the numbers.
Ewan scowled at the field. “I recognize the Cameron banners, me laird. Dae ye think the others are Laird Wycliffe’s men?”
“Some o’ them. That standard there…” Donall indicated one flag. “Is the Silver Wolves Mercenaries. They’re said tae be fierce fighters, with five-score in their troop alone.”
“There’s at least… three other flags.” Ewan’s jaw clenched. “That’s nay peace party - thats an army, fer the purpose o’ a war. I’d lay odds tha’ they’re preparin’ tae storm the keep.”
“’Tis nae a wager I’d be willin’ tae take.” Donall scowled. “Have the servants gather the villagers an’ bring them intae the safety of the keep. Tell Evelyn an’ Lydia tae prepare as much medicine and bandages as they can.”
Ewan nodded and hurried away. Donall watched the approaching banners for a moment, then went to don his armor and weapons.
When he returned, the Great Hall was filled with women and children. Donall spotted Lydia among the throng, working alongside Evelyn, but there was no time to talk to her, not even a brief word of reassurance. He had scarcely reached the main doors when the alarm bell sounded, and a shout rang out. “Attack! Attack!”
Donall raced out the door, just as the first arrows came sailing over the walls, some of them tipped with fire. With spectacular bad luck, one of them lodged in the thatch of the stable, diverting the warriors’ attention for a crucial instant.
With bloodcurdling cries, the soldiers under the banners of Cameron and Wycliffe crashed into the defenses. Crude ladders of little more than rough hewn logs bound with rope were flung against the walls. Mercenaries charged the gates - not only the main gate, but the side gates as well. The air filled with shouting, screams, the faint crackle of the flames that servants were already racing to smother, and the clang of steel on wood and metal and flesh alike.
Ewan and his warriors met the first charge, pushing over ladders and defending the gates with the ferocity of wolves defending their den. Donall remained with the second group of warriors in the courtyard, waiting.
Then it happened. One of the ladders remained in place long enough for some of the men clambering up it to cross the ramparts. The first and second were slain, but then there were bodies in the way, and some of them managed to descend the stairs to attack the warriors at the gates from within. Donall waved his men forward, but it was too late. Caught between two attacks, some of the younger, less seasoned warriors were overwhelmed. One man, then a second and a third, fell at the gates, and the enemy shoved their way in.
The courtyard dissolved into a chaos of fighting as Donall and his men engaged the intruders, fighting to drive them backdespite the greater numbers. Donall took his first opponent by surprise as he crashed into him, getting in a lucky thrust of his blade.
The second was a Silver Wolf who attacked him with an axe that Donall deflected with the shield Ewan had insisted he carry. Donall often preferred dual blades or a double-handed longsword, but he was grateful for the extra protection as the double-bladed axe skittered across the studded shield front. He blocked a second blow, dodged, then slashed in a diagonal that opened the warrior’s belly and left him on the ground, blood staining the cobbles red.
The battle fever fell over him then, his focus narrowing to each opponent as he came upon them, his blood singing and his heart pounding the drumbeat of war and combat. Donall lost track of how many enemies he faced, how many men he stabbed, slashed, maimed or killed. He was aware, at one point, of breaking someone’s nose with his shield, but the battle seemed to settle into a series of disjointed flashes.
Ewan was at his side, his men at his back, and even elders like old MacEvoney stood shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield, defending their home and their honor with their lives.
In Donall’s peripheral view, servants seeked out the wounded for treatment, doing what they could to help the defenders. Lydia and Evelyn, helped a man who couldn’t walk to safety.
Donall blinked as the world crashed back into focus.
Lydia?
He thought he’d imagined her, but no, there she was, she and Evelyn and Maisie, all of them attempting to take the wounded to the safety of the keep.
“There!” A shout went up, and Donall whipped around to see a grizzled old veteran, a Northern Blade by his attire, point at Lydia. “That’s her!”
Nay.Coldness like an icicle to his gut slammed into Donall as he realized the truth. The goal wasn’t to conquer Ranald Keep, as he’d suspected it might be. This was a raiding party with one purpose in mind - to take Lydia.
