That drew a snorting laugh and made Catriona grab her side. “Aye, Father, but I beg ye, dinna make me laugh.”
“Hold tight to the arms of the chair. The lads will be as careful as they can but ye’ll still jostle about a bit for certain.” Father William motioned the boys forward and directed them to the chair. “One to the back of the chair and one to the front. Lift the feet and tilt her back a wee bit so she doesna slide out.”
The young men complied. Catriona held her breath as they carried her through two sets of doors and out into the hallway. The farther they traveled, the more she trusted the young men and breathed easier as they headed to the front of the keep and the stairs leading to the parapet and the battlements above the great door built into the skirting wall. Still a bit lightheaded, Catriona had to admit that the throbbing in her side and her shoulder seemed somewhat lessened with her exertion. Catriona smiled. The thought of reaching Alexander’s side as he faced Jameson Campbell surged newfound strength through her.
When Mathy pushed open the door to the parapet, Magnus met them with pistol and sword drawn. Eyes wide and mouth ajar, he eased back, as though he'd just come upon a poisonous viper. After tucking his weapons away, he held the door open whilst they carried Catriona through it.
“I’m no' responsible for what Alexander does about this, Father,” he said with a meaningful look at the priest.
“'Twas my idea,” Catriona said, sitting taller in her makeshift litter and stretching to see over the wall.
“What in God’s name is this?!” Alexander’s roar echoed down the mountainside.
“Hail Marys all around, Father,” Magnus advised under his breath as Alexander stormed toward them.
“I shall have each and every one of your heads!” Alexander shouted to the wide-eyed boys then turned to the priest. “And yours as well, Father!”
“Alexander!” Catriona clapped her hands together, flinching as she did so. “If it’s anyone’s head ye should have, 'tis mine and no others. Now leave them be and help me to the front battlement so I can see what we face.”
Alexander glared a long, stern look at each of the boys, Father William, and Magnus then directed them down the parapet. “I would have a word with my wife,” he said through gritted teeth.
None of them paused but took their leave as though their shirt-tails were on fire.
Catriona’s flesh prickled as she lifted her gaze to meet Alexander’s scowl. With his teeth bared and fists clenched, she couldna remember if she’d ever seen him this angry before—at least no' toward herself. “Now, Alexander…”
“Do ye wish to unman me and cut off me bollocks in front of your people? The verra people ye asked me to lead?” His tone was dark, low and rumbling, like a powerful storm building to a dangerous crescendo.
Alexander’s perspective on what she’d just done dawned on her and the regret for showing him in such a poor light made her drop her chin and stare down at her hands knotted in her lap. She’d never meant to humiliate him.How could I be so foolish?Never one to think before she spoke or took action, she'd oft paid the price. But surely Alexander knew she meant him no harm. 'Twas merely her wish to show her support and stay at his side.
“Well?” he demanded as he resettled his stance in front of her.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. She forced herself to look up and face his scowl. She deserved the imminent scolding. “I wanted to be with ye,” she defended in a meek tone. “To help.”
Alexander scrubbed a hand down his face, blew out a huffing growl, and turned to glare over the battlements. “Can ye no' understand that I canna defend either yourself or your people if my focus splinters? How can I plan with wisdom whilst pulled apart with worry about ye at my side?” He looked back at her and shook his head. “I ken ye are a strong woman, Catriona, and I admire that—I swear I do. But ye must stop defying me at every turn and so easily disregarding what I ask of ye or aye and for certain, I will grow to resent ye as ye fear.”
He could never have said a worse thing in a thousand years. Catriona ducked her head again and blinked hard to stop the tears and rein in the hurtful pain that was so much worse than the ache from her wounds. How could she make him understand? They had reared her to always be the strong one, the one taking matters into her own hands. Of course, her doing such had oft gone afoul. Of that, she freely admitted. But if her actions risked pushing Alexander away…
She closed her eyes and refused to allow herself to cry. Marriage and good wifery was so feckin' complicated.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, pulling in a deep breath and lifting her head. “I will change, Alexander. It willna happen again.”
Alexander stared at her for a long moment, weariness and worry deepening the lines in his face. “Can ye walk at all?” He pushed away from the battlement and came to stand beside her chair.
“Not far,” she admitted.
Before she realized what he was about, he scooped her up into his arms and strode down the path of the skirting wall behind the crenelated parapet. He stopped behind one of the merlons so they were shielded as she peeped down through the adjoining embrasure notched into the wall to permit the firing of weapons. He sidled her closer so she could see down into the glen below.
“So many,” she whispered as she clasped her arm tighter around Alexander’s neck. “Why would he bring so many? 'Twas supposed to be nothing more than a wedding feast.”
Jameson Campbell’s men covered the rolling hillside in front of the keep like a swarm of teeming insects. Clan Campbell’s tartans and flags hung from tall poles beside two rows of wagons filled with supplies and cannons, flapping in the wind as though whispering a warning of what might come to be. Tents dotted the landscape and more were being erected. At the far end of what couldn’t be called anything less than an amassing army was the largest tent of all, Clan Campbell’s colors flying on either side of its doorway and all around its sides.
“Duncan and Sutherland said sixty.” Alexander blew out a disgruntled huff of air. “Me thinks their count was a mite shy.”
“Father William might know more of what they’re about.”
Alexander shook his head. “I already asked the man, and he knew nothing. Said they’d barely speak to him since most of Campbell’s men have converted and now consider themselves followers of the king’s Protestant beliefs.” He propped her atop the stone block meant for holding extra weapons and pointed to an impressive array of firearms, swords, and spears stacked beside the main tent. “Look there. Their intent is to claim this keep, lass. Every man ye see is armed and they have all those stores in addition to what they carry.”
The sight struck fear deep into her soul, causing a pain that was much worse than her wounds. With their stronghold butted up against the mighty Ben Nevis, they could hold the Campbells off for a while—but how long? The only thing Catriona knew of warfare and battles was the havoc and loss they caused. She became aware of Alexander’s gaze upon her. “What?”
