She let her silence and her eyes tell him all the anger and betrayal she felt at that moment. But he was too caught up in his own self-righteous rage to read beyond the surface.
She saw the exact moment the truth came to him. He recoiled and just as quickly she read the denial in his face. She couldn’t be the woman he sought. She was too lowly for his liking. Her eyes snapped with anger. Turning, she stalked across the courtyard, barely hobbling, head high.
Watching her go, Rafe felt the possibility bite at him again, then pushed it away. It couldn’t be. Tiredly, he mounted his horse and rode along the line of people who had come out to stand along the road as he’d ordered. Pushing aside the niggling doubts that by doing so, he’d behaved as carelessly of their dignity and rights as Baen had done in the past, he set himself to the task of finding the woman from the pond. Carefully, he studied each face, knowing in his heart he’d not find the one he sought. Or had he already?
He was nearing the end of the line when he heard a commotion in the distance. Gare and several of his men rode hell-bent toward the castle. Rafe spurred his horse to meet them before they reached the village.
“He’s coming,” Gare shouted above the pounding hooves. “The bastard’s on his way here.” He slid his horse to a stop, stones and clods of grass flying around him. “Baen and his force got past our border patrols during the night, and they’re headed this way.”
“Get the villagers inside the castle walls,” Rafe ordered and whipped his horse into a gallop to warn the MacIntyre men. God be praised he’d been distracted, so he hadn’t taken them out on patrol. He had a full garrison of men inside the castle. He galloped through the gate and shouted at a lookout.
“Sound the alarm!”
Instantly, a horn was blown. Inside the castle walls and without, people were galvanized to action. Though they’d seldom had cause to flee to the castle, especially since the Campbells had ruled, every man and woman knew what to do. The village and the dwellings beyond became a beehive of activity as children were brought close, belongings were snatched up, and cattle were gathered and driven toward the safety of the castle walls.
“I’m thinking Baen may not know the MacIntyres have come to reinforce our ranks,” Rafe told Gare as they sat astride their mounts waiting for their men to assemble.
“Aye, we could be a mighty surprise to them,” Captain Aindreas observed gleefully. “We’d best take advantage of the surprise.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” Rafe replied. “Take your men and ride out to the edge of Oban woods. Make sure they’re well hidden. In the meantime, Gare, take a force of men to the south over those hills, so you won’t be seen.”
“Aye, we’ll trap them between us,” Gare chortled. “I’ll be looking at Baen’s face when he realizes he’s ridden into a trap, the bastard.”
“We’ll spring that trap when he’s ridden too far into the clearing to retreat. Look for a red arrow to signal your attacks.”
The two men nodded in agreement, gathered their men and galloped off to their allotted posts. The road to the castle was filled with bawling cattle, wagons and carts laden with the poor goods of the villagers and farmers struggling to reach safety. Impatiently, Rafe rode among them, urging them to a faster pace, wishing he might order them to abandon their goods and think of their own safety first, but he knew bedding and temporary shelters would be needed in the baileys and milk cows, and cattle would provide food should there be a siege. These poor souls had thought of these essentials and had done their best to provide for themselves. Rafe felt a swell of grateful pride in these tough MacDougall peasants. Once again, he thought of Annie with her resilience and intelligence.
His musings were interrupted as a rider approached, driving his mount mercilessly.
“What is it, man?” Rafe called, spurring his horse to meet him.
“Baen and his force be but a mile away, sir,” the man cried, bringing his exhausted animal to a halt. The winded horse stood with trembling muscles and heaving sides while the messenger stared over his shoulder fearfully. “’Tis a mightier number than I would have reckoned he could draw.”
“How many men?” Rafe asked, quieting his own skittish mount.
“Looks to be close to a hundred.”
“We can handle such a force,” Rafe said roughly. “We have the Campbells and the MacIntyres combined. Baen doesn’t stand a chance. Now get yourself a fresh horse and ride back to your post and be prepared to fight like the proud Campbell ye are.”
“Aye, sir.” The man grinned. “It won’t take us long to wipe out such rabble as Baen has no doubt collected.” He kicked his mount’s sides and galloped toward the castle to claim a fresh mount.
Rafe hastened to the castle walls where he deployed the guards he wished to remain in the castle’s defense, then gathered the rest to ride out and meet their adversaries. As he approached the castle gate, he caught a glimpse of a beautiful face with great emerald eyes and sun-drenched hair and his heart leaped. He’d found her! Then he blinked and saw that it was only Annie. He nodded a farewell and hoped she would wave, but she remained somber and unresponsive, her eyes behind their veil of pale wispy hair as cold and determined as before.
He put her from his mind. He must concentrate on the battle ahead, but he knew he would clash with the lowly goose girl in time, and though he was the nephew of the laird, Rafe wasn’t sure if he’d best her or not.
* * * *
Baen rode straight into the meadows that lay south of the castle, expecting the sheer number of his force to intimidate those within. He’d carefully planned this moment, timing his attack before Campbell reinforcements could arrive and late enough that Rafe and his men might have grown careless, believing he would not attack after all. Eyes fixed on the distant castle, which he anticipated would soon belong to him, he rode at the front of his force, looking neither to the left or right.
He was only moderately surprised to see Rafe and a group of men ride out of the castle toward him. He should have expected it. Rafe Campbell would want the battle to be in a location outside the castle walls where there was more room to maneuver. So their first skirmish would be here, but Baen and his superior forces would defeat Rafe and his pitiful handful of men and drive them back inside the castle. After that, the battle would change.
There would be a siege, and Baen felt certain he knew Dunollie’s weaknesses and where her walls might be best breached. Had he not lived within the great castle these past ten years? He drew his mount to a halt and faced the line of men ready to defend the Campbell stronghold. He thought of Archibald, the old warrior, so amenable as long as he was given an ever-increasingly generous ration of wine each day. He’d been easy to trick and maneuver, so Baen had ruled the castle from behind the old chief’s back.
Then Rafe had come.
Baen growled with fury. Well, it was time for things to go back the way they had been. His sword would smite the arrogant Campbell heir, leaving only Baen to lay claim to Dunollie when the old chief died, and Baen intended that would be soon, perhaps this very day. Sir Archibald had betrayed him, and he must pay with his life.
“Vengeance!” Baen held up a fist and bellowed the word. It echoed in the little valley, past the village and over the castle walls so all those within heard his cry. Some of the MacDougalls heard and answered with their cry.
“Listen to the fool,” Bryce muttered from his perch on the wall. “Baen thinks he can win against the Campbells because he doesn’t know about the rest of the men Rafe’s got hidden.”
“Too bad no one warned him,” Innes Dubhgall whispered.
“I’ve not forgotten Baen’s past cruelties to the
MacDougalls
, but
I’ve a
great
desire to overcome the Campbells, enough so I’m willing to throw my lot in with an old enemy. We’ll deal with Baen when the castle has been wrested from the Campbells.”
“Aye, Dunollie in MacDougall hands again,” Innes said, rubbing his hands together.
“Make your way down there and get word to Baen that he’s ridden into a trap. It’s too late for him to back away now, but they could escape around the castle to the south.”
“Are you daft, man?” Innes protested. “They’re on horseback. I’d be trampled to death.”
“Not if you take a mount from the stable. Hie now and do it.”
“What good would it do us if he runs away?” Innes asked, sending a spume of chewed tobacco onto the parapet. “I hate the Campbells rightly enough, but I have no wish to die this day.”
“He and his men will not be wiped out if they can regroup and attack again, and they’ll know they have friends within the castle.”
Innes studied him for a moment. “’Tis treason we’re contemplating here.”
“Aye, treason against the hated Campbells who have no right to rule us anyhow.” Bryce tightened his grip on his blacksmith hammer. “Are you with me?”
The clansman was silent for a moment then slowly shook his head. “Aye, I am and so is my brother and my son. When this is over, you’ll be the head of the MacDougall clan. I expect you to reward me for my services.” The two men grasped each other’s forearm then Innes rose and made his way down the stairs.
The parapet was lined with soldiers, archers and even able-bodied and willing village men armed with scythes and axes. Annie saw that Sir Archibald Campbell had been carried to the stone wall walk where he’d taken up a position near one of the crenels. From there, he could safely watch the battle below. All was bedlam on the walkway as men used chains to position great timbered beams into place to hold the hoarding. Other men followed, lowering the planking into place for a protected corridor from which rocks, boiling oil and burning lime could be dropped down on those who tried to breach the main gate. For further protection, a wooden roof covered with treated leather bindings to guard against flaming arrows was being erected. The men worked feverishly, knowing their efforts would protect the castle and the people within.
Dodging the grim-faced guards, Annie had taken up residence in a corner near one of the towers and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She studied Bryce where he was stationed near one of the crenels staring morosely down at the scene below. In his great fists, he gripped his blacksmith hammer and a stout forked stick, which would be used to catch the rungs of ladders as the enemy tried to scale the castle walls. His guarded exchange with Innes troubled her. She no longer trusted her clansman. He would cause trouble wherever he could.
Cautiously, she crept forward and gazed through the opening in the hoarding. Rafe sat upon his horse and watched the bunch of riders lined up along the peaceful meadow. The sun had risen high in the morning sky, its golden light adding a benediction to this day, which must bring death to some men.
From his perch along the wall, Bryce’s fists tightened in rage, but he forced himself to play the role of a willing defender. He was expected to fight to protect the castle and villagers, but given the chance, he would happily fall upon the Campbell men. He gaze flew to the tall, erect figure of the Campbell commander seated on his fine horse. He would be the first Bryce would strike down. The memory of Rafe’s nude body covering Annie’s inflamed Bryce’s senses. The man had no right to beget Campbell bastards on the laird’s daughter. If Annie had no clan loyalty, then Bryce must have enough for both of them. One day, after the cursed Campbells were driven out, he planned to marry Annie and rule Dunollie, himself. He’d allow none of Rafe Campbell’s bastards to mar his plans. If Annie bore such a bairn from her tryst in the woods, he’d drown it in the loch. He watched the drama play out below, his anger festering like an old sore.
Chapter Ten
Annie watched as Baen signaled his men and they swept across the field, not minding that they trampled crops that would be needed to provide winter food, or caring that they scattered cattle that had been left behind. He spurred his mount, drawing blood, and raced toward the village
and
the castle beyond seemingly blind to all as he led his men forward. His force was large enough to visibly waken some dread, especially when they brandished their claymores and roared the Highland yelp that seemed to demoralize more than one man on the battlefield.
Annie’s gaze sought out Rafe in the milieu as he motioned to his archers who stood waiting. At once, two red arrows were released into the air, one to the east toward the woods of Oban, and the other to the southern hills. Rafe led the charge toward Baen. Annie’s heart swelled with a mixture of admiration and fear.
“M’lady Jean, you can’t be up here. ‘Tis too dangerous,” someone called, and Annie turned and saw Jean ascend the steep stairs. Her expression was pinched with worry, but she raised her chin regally.
“I would view the battle,” she replied firmly and stepped to the crenel where Annie had taken up a position.
“Then she’ll have to go,” the man said implacably.
Annie hadn’t guessed they knew she was there. Now the guard approached, his face scowling.
“She stays,” Jean said, throwing out an arm to block the man from reaching Annie. “Now put your attention on the battle down there, my good man, and leave us poor women to do what we can in such an event, which is to worry about the men we love.”
“He’ll be fine, m’lady,” he said in a placating tone. “Rafe Campbell is a fierce fighter. Naught will happen to him.” He turned away before Jean could answer, but hearing his words eased the tightness in Annie’s chest.
Now the two women stood shoulder to shoulder, peering through the crenel at the fearsome scene below. Hundreds of men galloped across the plain, intent on their own purposes. In the distance, from the dark shadows of Oban, Captain Aindreas MacIntyre led his troops forward in a furious race toward Baen’s forces, while from the south, Gare and his men swept over the hills. Baen was effectively caught between the two groups, but had not yet recognized his dilemma.
Baen’s men had reached the village wall, where Rafe and his forces engaged them, their broad claymores slashing left and right. Annie studied Baen’s ragtag band, warriors of broken clans themselves. Like many she guessed, they nursed a hatred for the cursed Campbells who’d profited mightily from the spoils of war and thereby, symbolized the cause of all their misery. But even festering resentment was not enough to overcome the greater number of the Campbell forces, Annie saw. Bodies fell before the heavy claymores of disciplined fighting men and were trampled beneath the hoofs of warhorses. Annie’s heart couldn’t help but feel sorrow for Baen’s men who were suffering greatly, their numbers dwindling. Finally, it seemed even Baen’s blind arrogance couldn’t hide the fact he’d been outmaneuvered and outnumbered. He guided his mount toward the edge of the fighting field. One of his men signaled him and pointed toward a hooded man astride a broad backed Highland pony.