“What is it?” Magnus asked.
“Munro,” Sutherland said. “We have to go back.”
“He’s not with you?” Magnus said.
Sutherland shook his head. “He rode out with us, but turned around a few minutes later with some excuse. I warned my brother he could do something like this. He was furious when Will agreed to submit to Bruce. But Will has a blind spot for his old foster brother.”
“How would he know how to use the powder?”
“I don’t know,” Sutherland said. “I sure as hell never showed him what I knew—and I never knew half as much as Gordon did. Look, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. But if it is Munro and he’s alive, you can sure as hell bet he hasn’t given up.”
Magnus didn’t wait to hear any more. In what was becoming an alarming frequency, he and Sutherland were in agreement. Hell-bent for leather, they rode back to the castle.
Twenty-nine
It hadn’t worked.
When Donald saw the king and MacGregor race out of the burning tower just before he’d jumped down the garderobe into the sea to escape the fiery inferno, he’d had to bite back the cry of pure rage. He was in agony, not only from another failure, but also from the burning beam that had nearly taken his life.
He’d miscalculated how long it would take to light the bags. The first had exploded as he was trying to light the fourth, causing a burning beam from the ceiling to land on his head. The helm hadn’t completely protected him from the melting heat.
The pain had been excruciating. It still was excruciating. But he harnessed it, using it to motivate him for the task before him.
Donald knew this was his last chance.
He’d been so certain the explosion would work. That the four sacks he’d stolen all those months ago would end this.
The night of the wedding at Dunstaffnage, he’d thought it the luckiest piss he’d ever taken. He’d spied Gordon moving across the courtyard and followed him—not to the bridal chamber where he should have been, but to the armory. When he’d seen Gordon remove a number of linen bags from a large storage box and slip them into his sporran, it had piqued his curiosity. He’d waited until Gordon left, and then had gone in to investigate. Though at the time he wasn’t sure it was actual black powder, he’d been smart enough to take a few bags for later.
When he’d heard about the explosion, his suspicions about what he had were confirmed.
He’d thought the bags would be his salvation. His means of restoring glory and honor to his clan. All he did, he did for the Sutherlands.
Will would come around, he reasoned. When the false king was dead and the rebel cause put down for good.
He still couldn’t believe the attack in the forest hadn’t worked. Damn, MacKay and Helen both! How they’d managed to fend off some of the best warriors in Christendom…
Fury shot through his veins in a hot rush. But not him. They wouldn’t defeat him.
But ten men lost. After all that training. All that money. MacDougall had been furious. And worse, he was losing faith. Two men had been all he’d sent to aid Donald in this final attempt.
MacKay was already suspicious enough to have him watched. Time was running out.
He looked at the two men as they stood near the edge of the loch. “Are you ready?”
He couldn’t see their expressions beneath the dark helms, but they nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Munro gazed toward the old tower. Was Bruce in there? He hoped he’d guessed right.
Helen knelt before the king, taking his hand in hers. “Thank you, Sire. You won’t regret this.”
“I already do.” The king laughed. “I have the feeling a certain Highlander isn’t going to be very happy with our plans.”
Helen didn’t argue. Magnus was going to be furious. But she was going to do it anyway. She shrugged. “He’ll come around eventually.”
The king was too much a knight to argue with her. “You’re sure you want to leave so soon?”
“My brother and Muriel are sailing to Dunstaffnage tomorrow. I am anxious to get started.”
