And he wasn’t sure Mattie could live with the results, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bailie Castle
They knew theEnglish were coming.
There was no doubt.
Truthfully, they’d been very lucky in their efforts against them. They’d managed to rush the gatehouse and plant Gordie as a spy, and Gordie had been able to open the postern gate, allowing the Maxwell to, yet again, rush inside of Gleann na Fola. Hiding after the rush on the gatehouse had been tricky for Ean and his men because the English had heavy patrols scouring the countryside, but they’d managed to keep out of sight until they needed to cross that horrible moat and pass through that tiny, odd postern gate.
Aye, they’d been damn lucky.
But that luck wasn’t going to hold.
After the battle at Gleann na Fola, they’d retreated just after sunrise with less than half of the men they’d come with, and that included Gordie. The uncle that Ean had had a contentious relationship with, the same uncle who had made it possible for Westerkirk to breach Gleann na Fola, had fallen shortly afterthe battle began. He’d taken a sword to the neck, which nearly decapitated him, and Ean had seen his body somewhere later in the fight.
He’d had to leave him behind when they fled.
Unable to take Gleann na Fola because of all of the English protecting it, the Scots had retreated north through the Valley of Blood and into Westerkirk, where what remained of Bailie Castle waited for them. But that was all that waited for them. Given the battle that had seen their women and children taken, there was literally nothing else, and considering the English would undoubtedly follow them, they fully expected the castle to be razed.
No survivors.
But Ean wasn’t going to wait for an English death.
He was going to go outhisway.
“What now, lad?”
The clan chief from Maxwell of Merrylaw asked the question. He was the only chief that had joined the raid against the English. Brend Maxwell was young, and nearly as hot-headed as Ean, and he didn’t much like the English or respect any treaties that his forefathers had agreed to. The stealing of women and children, and the holding of Ean’s young daughter hostage, didn’t sit well with him, but he’d lost thirty men in the assault and considering his clan was quite small, it was a heavy loss for him.
Now, he wanted to know what the future held.
“Well?” he said again. “What now, Ean?”
Ean was nursing a nasty gash on his right thigh, one that ran from his knee to his hip. Poison was developing in it, but he was ignoring it. He was young and strong and based on that belief, he would survive it. He wasn’t going to let the English take his life the way they’d taken so many others’.
But Brend’s question had him on the defensive.
“They’ll come here,” he said, smacking the old, broken table they were sitting at. “They’ll come straight tae Bailie, but we willna be here.”
Brend cocked an eyebrow. “True,” he said. “I will be home. But where will ye be?”
Ean waved his hand. “Gone,” he said. “I’ll go with ye tae yer home. We’ll stay there and wait out the Sassenach before we go against them once more.”
But Brend shook his head. “I think not,” he said. “I’ll not let ye bring the Sassenach tae our door. I’ve a family tae think of.”
That wasn’t what Ean wanted to hear. “As do I,” he said. “Those bastards at Gleann na Fola still have my daughter!”
Brend inhaled slowly, indicative of a man with something to say. “About that,” he said. “Gordie, God rest him, told us that never happened. Ye lied about it.”
Ean’s eyes widened. “That’s not true!”
“Then where is yer daughter?”
“In their vaults!”
Brend knew Ean. He knew the man wasn’t going to confess his fabrication, stubborn fool that he was. It was like dealing with a child.
