But what of the women? Malcolm worried, as Callum did, that they would not make it away from the castle. Dougal and Jamie planned to escort them to the Sinclair stronghold. It gave him some peace of mind to know his younger brother and the steward were with them. They were the only two men he and his brother trusted to see to their safety. Should anything happen, they’d protect them with their swords and their lives. They would remain there, in the safety of their ancestral home, until he and Callum rode for them.
Standing on the ramparts next to his brother, Malcolm clutched his claymore in his sweaty palm, watching the hordeapproach. At the head of the army, a group of men pushed a battering ram. Not exactly the best news.
“What’s yer plan, brother?” Malcolm asked.
“We fight them,” he said, his face impassive, his voice grim. His gaze was fixed on the distant army. “They’ll attack the gate first.”
“We’re outnumbered.”
“Aye,” his brother agreed. “We will use the archers to take out as many as we can before they attack.”
“And that battering ram?” Malcolm asked, eyeing the large equipment headed right for them.
“I have an idea for that as well.”
The army stopped their forward march out of reach of the castle walls. Rory MacDonald and his son sat on their destriers at the head of it. They were flanked by their men, each holding torches. The orange-red light flickered over their battered breastplates, showing every nick and scar along the steel. Neither Rory nor his son wore helms, as though they did not expect to fight.
“Open yer gates and we will no attack,” Rory called.
Malcolm cut a glance to his brother. His face remained impassive, his jaw hard and clenched. The muscles ticked along the edge.
“And why should I open my gates to the likes of ye?” Callum called back.
“Because ye dinnae wish to die this night, MacLeod,” he fired back.
In the distance, there was a commotion. Malcolm heard it and tipped his head, straining his ears to listen. He narrowed his eyes, as if that would give him a better view in the darkness. He saw nothing. He thought for sure he had heard panicked voices on the wind.
Movement distracted Rory. He turned his head and peered into the distance. A fierce grin split his face.
“Yer in luck this night, then, MacLeod. We willna attack.”
Alarm pounded through Malcolm. Why would Rory MacDonald come all this way with his army if he didn’t intend to attack? It didn’t make sense.
Then a man rode through the ranks, moving toward the front. As he neared, Malcolm recognized the man’s face as the light from the torch flickered over it. He would know those piercing blue eyes anywhere. It was the same man who had followed Chloe through time. The same man who had tried to take the keystone from her.
Bruce MacDonald. The man from the future. The man who had vowed things were not over between him and Chloe.
“Is it done then?” Rory asked.
“It is,” Bruce said with a nod.
Wild, hot terror pumped through Malcolm then as he realized the army before them was nothing more than a decoy.
Rory’s glittering gaze flickered back up to Callum and Malcolm standing high on the ramparts. A smile—a dreadful, sickly smile—parted his lips.
“Ye left me no other choice, MacLeod,” he said.
“What do ye mean?” Alarm tinged Callum’s voice. His fist clenched at his side while he continued to grip the claymore in his other.
“We have what we came for,” Rory replied. “All this…” He waved his hand to encompass the army behind. “’Twas nothing more than a show of force and a distraction.”
Next to him, Callum stiffened. Malcolm’s stomach plummeted to the soles of his boots.
“By God’s blood, ye filthy jackal, what have ye done?” The words burst out of Malcolm before he was able to stop them.
But neither Rory nor Bruce answered.
The distant thunder of hooves neared. Moments later, two men galloped around the edge of the castle walls, heading right for Rory, Bruce, and his son, Rufus. Riding with the men, their hands bound and their mouths gagged, were Evie and Chloe.
