Fire and damnation.
The escort was here already to take Selene to Raasay.
The taste of her kisses lingered on his lips, unbidden and painfully vivid. He was not ready –oh, not yet – to watch her taken from his keep. Would he ever be ready to surrender her to duty and distance? His shoulders slumped in resignation. If Halvard had sent his men, then hospitality demanded he must receive them.
He signaled to the guard to raise the portcullis and descended to the gate to await the riders and their men.
Callum appeared at Kenneth’s side, his broadsword already drawn, his breathing sharp and even. Together they strode forward, as one of the gate guards crossed the courtyard to meet them, his helm tucked beneath his arm.
“Our scouts rode in minutes ago,” the guard reported quickly. “Sighted them approaching along the shore. I bade the piper sound the alarm.”
Kenneth nodded once. “Ye did well. I thank ye fer yer vigilance.”
A shout rang out from the wall above, sharp with urgency.
“’Tis the crest of MacLeod of Raasay!”
Kenneth exchanged glances with Callum. He glimpsed sympathy flash in his friend’s gaze. He understood what anguish this meant for Kenneth.
Kenneth’s jaw tightened as the chains on the portcullis began rattling until, groaning mightily, the huge iron gate began its slow ascent.
Outside, the men waited, horses stamping, weapons glinting faintly in the torchlight.
Then, at the very moment the iron teeth had cleared the ground sufficient to allow for entry, all hell broke out.
Instead of entering at a measured pace, the four riders spurred forward, horses lunging into the courtyard at a gallop. The foot soldiers surged after them, voices rising in a harsh war cry that tore through the night.
No order was shouted. None was needed. These men were already primed to attack.
Kenneth’s stomach dropped, his chest tightening, the breath hitching in his throat.
His men scrambled to form ranks, drawing their swords, caught off guard somewhere between the instinct to defend and the shock of betrayal. Blades slammed against shields. The courtyard erupted into chaos – torches swung wildly, causing light to fall here and there in the darkness like some other-worldly madness, horses reared, he and his captains shouted orders that vanished into the din.
More of Kenneth’s warriors poured in from the barracks behind the stables, drawn by the skirl of the pipes and the unmistakable sounds of conflict. The fight thickened into a brutal, close-quarters, melee.
Eyes scanning the chaos, Kenneth grabbed Callum by the arm just as he was about to plunge into the fray.
“These couldnae possibly be Halvard’s men,” Kenneth snarled. “The MacLeods of Raasay are nae friends, but Halvard is an honorable laird. He would ne’er send an attack disguised as an escort fer his wife’s sister.”
Callum’s expression was grim as he nodded. “Aye. Ye’re right. This reeks of treachery.”
“Aidan,” Kenneth said darkly. “And this time, the foul swine has come fer blood.”
Shouts rose from the ramparts as archers scrambled uselessly into position. The poor light and the closeness of the fight would ne’er allow archers to find their marks. Other men were sprinting to seal off inner passages within the keep, blocking access to the great hall. The clash of steel echoed off the stone walls, sharp and unrelenting, along with the men’s grunts, their furious, shouted, curses and the screams of the wounded.
Kenneth’s gaze moved fast, assessing and measuring, trying to make sense of the mayhem around him. He felt the hair at the back of his neck lifting – something was terribly wrong.
The raiders were skilled, yes, but they were clearly outnumbered. They struck hard, then fell back. Harried, distracted, but never committing fully. Never pushing toward far beyond the gatehouse or attempting to breach the inner defenses.
Why send so few when if would be foreknown they would be sorely outnumbered?
“This is nae attack,” he muttered looking around, watching the parrying and withdrawal tactics on display. His heart filled with an awful dread. “’Tis naught but a distraction. Aimed at turning our attention from the bastards’ true purpose.”
His eyes narrowed as four figures peeled away from the heart of the skirmish. They moved low and fast, slipping through gaps in the fighting like wolves through a scattered herd, angling not for the walls – but for the keep itself.
Kenneth’s blood ran cold.
Callum followed his line of sight, his face tightening. “Aye. I ken what ye say. They’re hunting elsewhere.”
