Page 82 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

It was hard. Had he not had Sorcha’s promise of spells, he might not have managed such restraint. But he had her promise, and she had never broken an oath. She could not, when her magic depended on her honor as much as her power. One did not risk angering spirits or otherworldly entities by failing to keep one’s word.

It helped that he could see the touch of her spell, to give them good passage, all around them. Heavy clouds seemed thinner around them, and the moon illuminated their path, giving way to a perfectly unobscured sunrise, such as was almost never seen in the Highlands at this time of year.

The ground seemed as smooth as a well tended road, even as they traveled across the wild moors. In every step, he could feel the touch of the magic guiding him and clearing his way as promised. It was a small comfort, but it reassured him that Sorcha would keep her other promise as well.

The cost would be his life, but she would preserve Niamh’s, and their unborn child’s.

He hadn’t told anyone of the child, not even Ewan. He couldn’t bear to. If they failed, better that his clan never knew how close they’d come to having a proper heir.

Finally, the fortress came into sight. Alistair almost questioned whether it was the correct one - it was smaller and cruder than he would have expected MacTavish’ to be - but even as he thought the words, a raven flew by, rising on the wind to circle the walls of the building. Alistair shook aside his doubts, recognizing it for the sign it was.

“What is the plan?” Ewan nudged his horse forward to stand beside Alistair’s. “It doesnae look heavily fortified. And we cannae be sure Niamh is here…”

“She is. We’ve followed the information I have so ‘far, ‘tis nae good tae start doubting it now.” Alistair shook his head. “Normally, I’d want tae wait, tae scout, but every moment we wait puts Niamh’s life at risk. And if Fergus MacTavish realizes we’re here, he’s likely tae kill her afore we can think o’ a strategy.”

“Then what dae ye intend tae dae?”

As if in answer, the raven flew by again, this time toward the eastern wall. Alistair watched it. “Charge the eastern gate. We tak’ it, we hold it with three or four warriors, then the rest o’ us enter the keep and search fer Niamh, with men stationed at critical points tae prevent soldiers from tak’ng us from the back.”

“’Tis risky.” Ewan spoke softly.

“’Tis the best option I can think o’. If ye’ve another idea, speak it now.”

“I’ll nae, so long as ye promise me one thing.” Ewan caught his shoulder. “Ye’ll follow me, nae the other way around.”

Alistair started. “I…”

“The clan needs laird and lady far more than it needs a second-in-command. Ye’ll trust yerself tae me sword, me laird, or I’ll ask the men tae keep ye back entirely.” Ewan’s voice was firm.

After a moment, Alistair nodded. He knew, as Ewan did, that he could easily override such an order. But he also understood why his brother had threatened it. “As ye will.”

They all took a moment to adjust and tighten their armor, then loosen their blades in their sheathes. Final words were exchanged.

“Ready?”

There was a mutter of agreement. Ewan shared a last look with Alistair, then kicked his horse into a gallop with a sharp cry.

The rest of them followed, with Alistair in the center of the vanguard. The guards at the eastern gate saw them coming, there was no question of that, but they had no time to get their defenses raised before Alistair and his company thundered into them.

The guards were on foot, and ill-prepared. Against armed and armored men on horseback, it was no contest. The warriors of the MacDuff clan were through the gate with a crash of steel and splintering wood before any of the men on guard had time to do more than raise a futile sword and shield.

Ewan snapped out four names, and four warriors immediately took up mounted guard positions at the gate, while the rest of them dismounted and hurried toward the front door.

By then, guards were pouring toward them from every side. Alistair launched a dirk at one man, bashed another with his sword hilt, then cleaved another. There was a whistle of arrows and he spun, looking for the threat.

Two of the mounted warriors were archers. They’d seized the guards bows and were shooting at any man they could find to target, from the sentries on the walls to the approaching MacTavish warriors.

Ewan had known. Alistair had not even realized that their party included two archers. He wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have thought to use the men like that…

Then any thoughts of gratitude were lost in the chaos as the melee closed around them again.

There was no telling how many men he killed, maimed or injured before they gained the door. It didn’t matter. Ewan set most of the men to guarding the door, and they hurried through the halls.

No one in the Main Hall, save for frightened servants. Two men were left to guard them.

No one in the first receiving room. Or the second. Then he found the door to the dungeons. Ewan sent two men down to explore, but there was no one, though there were signs of a prisoner.

Another room, then another…