"I'll be as careful as the battle allows."
"That's nae a promise."
"It's the only one I can make." He tilted her chin up, so she had to meet his eyes. "But I promise ye this, I will fight with everything I have tae protect this village, these people, and ye. And I will dae everything in me power tae come back tae ye when it's over."
"Ye better." Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "Because I didnae agree tae marry ye just tae become a widow before the weddin’."
"That's nae goin’ tae happen."
"Ye dinnae ken that."
"I ken that I'm nae letting some English bastard take away the future we're buildin’." He kissed her forehead. "Now come. Let's get some rest. Tomorrow's goin’ tae be a long day."
They lay together in the darkness, neither really sleeping, both trying to memorize the feel of being in each other's arms in case the next day took that away.
Dawn came, grey and cold.
Alpin stood in the village square, checking his sword one final time as warriors assembled around him. Faces he knew well—Callum, Duncan, Fergus—mixed with militia farmers who'd rarely held a weapon in their lives before that day.
"Listen up!" His voice carried across the square. "Ashcombe's forces will come from the south. They'll expect us tae break easily, tae scatter when they charge. We're nae going tae give them that satisfaction."
He pointed to the barricades. "Archers on the roofs, infantry behind the barriers. When they charge, let them come close, waste their energy on the fortifications. Then hit them hard when they're tired and frustrated."
"What about their numbers?" someone called. "We're outnumbered two tae one!"
"Aye, maybe we are. Which means every one of us needs tae fight like we're worth two of them." Alpin's voice was hard. "This is our land. Our village. These are our people. We ken every buildin’, every alley, every hidin’ spot. Use that. Make them pay fer every inch they take."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembled warriors.
"What about the women and children?" another voice asked.
"Already secured in the reinforced cellars. Armed guards posted at each entrance." Alpin looked around at his people. "Our job is tae make sure they never need tae use those guards. Our job is tae hold this village until Ashcombe realizes attackin’ us was a mistake."
"And if we cannae hold?" The question came from one of the younger militia, his voice shaking.
"Then we fall back tae secondary positions and keep fightin’. We dinnae surrender. We dinnae break. We make them earn every victory so completely that it feels like defeat." Alpin raised his sword. "Are ye with me?"
"Aye!" The response came from dozens of throats, fierce and determined.
Alpin caught Mhairi's eye across the square. She stood with Kenina near one of the medical stations, in preparation for the wounded. When their eyes met, she pressed her hand over her heart, a silent gesture of love and faith.
He returned it, then turned back to his warriors.
"Tae yer positions," he ordered. "And may God have mercy on Ashcombe's soul, because we willnae."
The warriors dispersed, moving with practiced efficiency to their assigned posts. Alpin made one final circuit of the defenses, checking that everyone knew their role, that weapons were ready, that the barricades would hold.
Then he took his position at the main barrier, sword in hand, and waited.
The sun climbed higher. Birds sang in the trees, oblivious to the coming violence. Somewhere a child cried in one of the cellars, quickly hushed by a parent's soothing voice.
And then, cutting through the quiet like a knife?—
Horns.
From the treeline to the south, the distinctive blast of war horns echoed across the fields. Alpin's hand tightened on his sword hilt as dust rose in the distance, marking the approach of mounted riders.
"Here they come!" someone shouted.
