Page 143 of Bride of Fire
As hopeless as it was, he’d have to try diplomacy.
“Who is my accuser?” he called down.
“Roger of Firthgate,” he barked. “And I’ll be carving that name into your flesh.”
His men roared in solidarity.
“Roger, ye’ve got the wrong man,” Morgan shouted. “I’ve ne’er set foot in England.”
Their reply was an earth-shaking charge against the doors.
“Hold!” Morgan shouted. “I have no quarrel with ye. Can we not settle this like reasonable men?”
Again they banged against the doors.
Morgan glanced down at the heavy-laden cart blocking the doors from the inside, rocked by the blow. Three of his strongest men were currently managing to hold it in place. But for how long?
“What proof do ye bring o’ this crime?” Morgan tried.
“My brother’s blood is on your hands, you filthy Highlander!” Roger shouted back.
Roger’s soldiers, fueled by bloodthirst and beyond reason, sent up a bellow, rattling their weapons upon the doors.
Beside him, Jenefer was clearly done with diplomacy.
“Amor vincit omnia,my arse,” she muttered. “I’m rounding up the archers.”
He stopped her with a hand. “They’re already posted atop the towers.”
“The towers? We need them all at the front wall.”
He shook his head. “We can’t leave the flanks unprotected.”
“But they’re not at our flanks. Not yet,” she argued. “We need a show of force. Make them think there are more of us.”
He creased his brow. She had a point.
He nodded. “Fine. But I’ll do it. I need ye in the hall with the others.”
“Ballocks,” she scoffed. “You need me up here.”
He leveled a brow at her. “I won’t argue with ye, lass. I’m—”
“Good. Then ’tis settled. You handle the men-at-arms. I’ll command the archers.”
“Jenefer,” he growled as she headed for the stairs. “Jenefer! If ye don’t go straightway to the great hall of your own accord, I’ll have the Campbell brothers toss ye in on your arse.”
“They can try,” she called back.
He shook his head. With the enemy at the door, he didn’t have time to discipline the lass. Nor could he spare the Campbell men to enforce his threat.
“M’laird!” John cried. “They’re fellin’ a tree for a batterin’ ram!”
Morgan ran his hand across his jaw. The hotheaded English commander apparently wasn’t going to waste time with a siege. He wanted blood. And he wanted it now.
Morgan had to save his clan. Even if, in the end, it required a sacrifice.
“Jenefer!” he shouted, loping after her.
