Page 92 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

Duncan’s eyes met his with understanding, and he nodded sharply. “The entire guard is already being assembled, me laird. We’re preparing.”

Ruaridh’s voice took on a sharper edge. “Good. But we need more. Faither, I need Duncan tae send a message through the fastest scout we have. Someone nimble enough tae get through Murray’s forces and reach our allies. We’ll need them here as soon as possible. All of them.”

“Aye. Ye are in charge, Ruaridh. Dae what ye think is best fer the clan.”

Ruaridh nodded grimly. He understood that the success of this war rested entirely on the decisions he made.

“Also, send a letter tae the king that MacNab has attacked Macduff. We need his support tae stop MacNab siege.”

“Understood, me laird”. Duncan, turned to execute the orders with a grim face.

Ruaridh and Alistair watched as the guards scrambled, and the air in the castle shifted from the calm of the morning to the frantic energy of preparation. Ruaridh took a deep breath, his mind steeling itself for what was to come.

When Duncan returned, he turned to him again. “Duncan, assemble the men at the north gates. Make sure the siege equipment is ready. We’ll take our stance there.”

Duncan gave a sharp nod and moved to relay the orders.

Ruaridh paced back and forth, his thoughts a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. He couldn’t afford to lose that battle—not when they were so close to peace. He glanced toward the window, his mind focused on the castle’s defenses and he cursed under his breath.

There was no turning back.

With the castle now on full alert, Ruaridh grabbed his sword and donned his armor, the familiar weight of it settling against his body like a second skin. He watched his father do the same, with a mix of worry and admiration. He knew his father would fight with everything he had, just as the men would fight with everything they had, but he knew it wasn’t enough. They would need more than just brute strength. They had to outsmart Murray’s army—move quickly, decisively.

By the time he reached the main hall again, the men were in motion. The sound of armor clanging, horses neighing, and the general chaos of battle preparations filled the air.

“Duncan,” Ruaridh called as he approached the courtyard, “tell the men tae be ready for anything but stay away from the castle walls. Keep an eye on the skies. Let Murray continue tae think we’re distracted. By the time he strikes, we’ll be sharp.”

Duncan nodded and hurried off, leaving Ruaridh standing in the quiet hall, his muscles taut, his mind already racing with the next steps. The sudden surge of activity in the castle had done nothing to calm his thoughts. His instincts, honed by years of leadership and battle, screamed that the time to act had come. The sound of men preparing for war was loud in his ears, but it wasn’t enough.

“I need tae see it fer meself,” Ruaridh muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Without waiting for any further input, he turned sharply, his heavy boots muffled by the stone floors as he made his way toward the stairs leading up to the castle wall. Ruaridh’s focus was narrow. Every step was urgent as he climbed the narrow staircase, his hand gripping the cold stone as he ascended. The air felt thick, the tension almost suffocating, but Ruaridh wasn’t about to wait for the inevitable to hit.

Reaching the top, he crept carefully toward the edge of the wall. His movements were measured, deliberate. He needed eyes on the enemy, and he couldn’t risk a full assault without knowing where Murray’s men were positioned.

Ruaridh flattened himself against the stone wall, his fingers brushing lightly over the rough surface as he peered over the battlements. The forest below was still, but he could see shadows moving in the trees below. His breath caught as he swept his gaze over the surroundings, trying to make sense of the chaos he knew would soon come.

“There’s nay mistake,” he muttered aloud, just above a whisper. “They’re here. But it’s nae just Murray’s men. They’ve brought allies... Too many fer us.”

His eyes darted from position to position, quickly counting the number of men he could see and marking the weapons they carried—swords, axes, a few longbows. “They’re well-armed... too well-armed. If we wait much longer, we’ll be fighting uphill.”

He let out a low curse, his mind racing through every possibility. The odds were against them, and though he had the element of surprise, it wouldn’t last long. They’d need reinforcements.

Suddenly, a voice broke through his concentration, a young guard hurrying toward him, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. “Me laird, Duncan told me tae look fer ye. He has a message!”

Ruaridh’s hand shot out instinctively, motioning for the lad to drop down. He leaned close, his voice low but urgent. “Get down! Now!”

But the boy was already too late. An arrow whizzed through the air with a terrifying whistle, striking the young guard square in the chest. The force of the blow slammed him back, and he crumpled to the ground with a shocked gasp, his life slipping away even as he crumpled against the wall.

“Damn it!” Ruaridh swore under his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. Without thinking, he rushed forward, grabbing the boy’s body and dragging him away from the exposed edge of the wall.

A barrage of arrows followed, narrowly missing them as Ruaridh dragged the boy out of sight. The air was thick with tension, and for a moment, it felt as though the whole world was holding its breath.

But then the sound of shouting reached Ruaridh’s ears. He knew that yell.

“Murray’s men,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re charging.”

His pulse raced. The attack had begun.

Ruaridh hoisted the young guard’s body over his shoulder and sprinted toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The sound of pounding hooves grew louder as he reached the bottom, and he dashed through the castle halls toward Duncan, whose eyes were already scanning the courtyard with a battle-hardened gaze.

“Get tae the gates!” Ruaridh ordered as soon as he saw Duncan, his voice sharp and commanding.

Ruaridh laid the body of the young guard down as quickly as he could. “Murray’s forces are bigger than we thought,” he said, his voice urgent. “We need tae prepare fer an all-out assault.”

Duncan nodded grimly. “The men are already on their way tae the north gates. We’ll make our stand there.”

Ruaridh looked around the courtyard. His heart pounded in his chest. The sound of shouting and the clang of metal against stone rang in his ears. He could hear the calls of warriors, the war cries of both sides, and the echoing hooves of the approaching cavalry.

“Get the siege equipment ready, Duncan. We’ll nae let them breach the gates. I’ll take the front. Put as many men as ye can on the walls and around the courtyard. We cannae afford tae give an inch.”

The urgency in Ruaridh’s voice left no room for argument. He turned away from Duncan, his eyes flicking to the men assembling around the courtyard. There was no time left. The battle had already begun.

Ruaridh grabbed his sword, its weight familiar and grounding. He took one last look over the walls, seeing the chaos unfolding as Murray’s men began charging toward them.

And then, with a roar, Ruaridh shouted, “Get ready, men! Prepare fer battle! We willnae let them take our home!”

The war drums sounded, and with them, the world erupted into chaos.