Silently, they made their way down the stairs and through the great room, pausing in the hallway outside the door.
“There’ll be men outside, surely,” Robby whispered. “Take my clothes. And I’ll wear yours.” He was already pulling off his plaid and the course linen shirt that he wore.
Frazier nudged Bram. “Hurry, lad. The boy is right, ye’ve a better chance o’ makin’ it out of here if yer dressed as a common man.”
Robby Corley was anything but common. But as the horse master, he wore only a muddy brown plaid and his shirt. Bram pulled his own plaid free and slipped out of his fine linen, quickly donning Robby’s clothing. “I’ll wear your clothes but you canna wear mine. To be seen in them would mean certain death.”
His friend held his gaze for a moment, jutting his chin out in stubborn defiance.
“I need you alive, Robby. At the moment, I’ve got more enemies than friends, and I’ll no’ lose another this night.”
“So be it.” Robby shrugged, pushing the plaid behind a barrel, clad now only in the linen shirt and his trews. “But you stay behind me. I’ll no’ have your blood on my hands either.”
Bram allowed himself a smile. “Agreed. We all survive this night.”
Moving low, they made their way along the shadowed walls of the tower’s courtyard. The main gate was well guarded. And the only chance they had to escape was through a small gate in the back wall. Bram prayed that the key was where his father had always kept it.
As they rounded the final corner, a great commotion sounded on the steps in the front of the tower.
“They’ve discovered you’re gone,” Robby said, pushing Bram forward, even as he raised his claymore. “Go now. We’ll stay here and deal with anyone who tries to follow.”
Frazier nodded his agreement.
“No.” Bram shook his head. “If they think you helped me escape, they’ll kill you both for sure.”
“Mayhap, but I swore an oath to serve and protect the laird of Dunbrae, and from where I’m standing that man is you.” Robby’s tone brooked no argument.
“But I’ll need you,” Bram said, his gaze locking with his friend’s then cutting to the other man. “Both of you. God’s blood, if I’m going to fight this, I’ll need all the men I can get.”
“Then we’ll convince them we’re on their side.” Frazier swung his fist, connecting with Robby’s chin, showing surprising strength for one so old.
“Now, what did you go and do that for?” Robby asked, whirling angrily on the man, his claymore raised.
“So they’ll believe I took your clothes.” Bram laid a hand on his friend’s arm. “You’ll make sure Frazier comes to no harm?”
“I’ll do what I can.” Robby shrugged, rubbing his chin, his gaze still angry. “Now go. Or it’ll have all been for naught.”
Bram took one last look at the two men and the tower behind them. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “And we’ll avenge my father’s death together.”
The two men nodded, their expressions fierce, and, fighting a surge of emotion, Bram sprinted into the shadows, the noise behind him growing louder. Slipping behind the small stand of bushes that grew in front of the gate, he prayed that the invaders wouldn’t know of its existence.
For a moment he grappled with the pain of losing his father, his mind turning to the men he was certain were behind all of this.
Comyns.
He could think of no other enemy strong enough for an assault on the scale of this one. But even if he was right, someone still had to have betrayed them. Someone on the inside. He fought a wave of anger, pulling a loose stone out of the wall and reaching behind it for the iron key that opened the gate.
His fingers hit cold metal and in a few moments more he’d unlocked the gate and pushed it open, slipping outside into the relative safety of the moonless night. His fist tightened on his claymore, his heart screaming for him to stay and fight. To avenge his father, here and now.
What else was there for him to do?
And somewhere deep in his mind, even as he moved back toward the tower, his rage building, a soft voice soothed him, the memory of a face floating through his mind.
“Live,” she whispered. “You must live.”
“You must be Bram Macgillivray,” Katherine St. Claire said as she moved into the chamber off of the great room where he’d been taken to wait.
Iain Mackintosh’s wife was more beautiful even than the stories he’d heard, tall and regal with a heavy plait of golden hair coiled at the nape of her neck. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and for the first time in days, Bram felt himself relax.
