Page 177 of Claimed Highland Brides

It was chained shut, and for a moment, her heart dropped into her stomach, but then she noticed that the small gate through which she’d entered was unlatched. With a sigh of relief, she opened it and peeked out, looking around frantically for Barclay.

He poked his head out of a bush that seemed to have appeared on the side of the wall, startling her quite badly. She bit back a squeal and narrowed her eyes at him. “Hurry!” she said before stepping out of the way. Suddenly all the men were rushing through the doorway, with a lot of yelling and screeching.

Once the last man was through the gate, she followed, running for the kitchens. The least she could do was sow some more confusion and give them more time to find Gilroy without too much bloodshed.

She spared a thought for the boy, Hamish, and changed direction, thinking to make sure he was safe.

Lord, help us all.

* * *

Barclay felt the bloodlust come upon him as Gilroy’s men first realized that they were being invaded and raised the MacFarland war cry, rushing upon them. From one moment to the next, the courtyard went from empty to teeming with running men. Barclay had one goal and let Daividh and his men deal with the advancing warriors. He veered towards the castle, bursting through the doors without slowing down, and then paused, trying to decide where to look first.

The layout was still hauntingly familiar to him; echoes of his childhood seemed to scream at him from every corner. He decided to check the dining hall as it was early in the day and likely that the master had just sat down to break his fast.

He slowed to a walking pace, weapon concealed, trying to blend in. Sooner rather than later, he came upon groups of people, rushing about in confusion.

“Is it an invasion?” a young girl clutched the arm of a burly man, eyes wide with fear.

“I dinnae ken,” he replied gruffly, shaking her off. “Ye’d best hide until we do.”

She ran off towards the kitchens, and the man turned, going down a corridor that Barclay knew led to the armory. He concealed himself behind a large vase until both people had left before stepping into the dining hall.

Several people were milling about, but Gilroy wasn’t among them. He grabbed hold of a portly woman dressed in humble homespun and wheeled her around. “Where’s yer master then?” he growled.

She squealed, and he shook her roughly to stop her. “Tell me, and ye shalnae be hurt.”

With a shaking hand, she pointed towards the armory. He nodded his thanks and took off.

Bursting into the armory was an anticlimax as it was quite empty of people. He growled in frustration and followed the sound of voices, which led him right back to the courtyard. Gilroy stood near the well, surrounded by his men as he spoke frantically, likely issuing instructions. Barclay gritted his teeth determinedly and went forward, sword raised.

He came to a stop a few feet away from the usurper. “Gilroy MacFarland, let us settle this like men. I challenge ye to a duel.” With that, he unsheathed his sghian dhu and threw it at the man’s feet.

The noise and clash of swords in the courtyard cut off abruptly as everyone paused to see what Gilroy might do. He looked down at the dagger and then up at Barclay while huffing and puffing.

With a grunt of anger, he reached down and picked up the sghian dhu, handing it back by the blade.

“I accept yer challenge,” he growled.

Barclay stepped back, still glaring. “Tell yer men to put their weapons down.”

Gilroy continued to glare before he turned and nodded. His men immediately moved back, leaving a half circle in the courtyard. Daividh and his men congregated on the other side. For a moment, Barclay was distracted, looking for Aileen among them.

She must have stayed beyond the gates.

Turning his mind to the duel at hand, he lifted his sword and got into position.

“Wait,” Daividh said, “do ye no’ need a judge?”

“Nay,” Gilroy said. “Fight to the death.”

Daividh’s eyes widened as he looked to Barclay.

Barclay met his eye. “To the death,” he repeated.

Daividh heaved a long sigh. “Vera weel then.”

* * *