Page 93 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER 32

“Stay close!” Ruaridh barked as he struck down another soldier who attempted to strike Duncan’s flank. The tension in the air was palpable, the air thick with smoke and the scent of blood. The castle walls were slick with it. Everywhere Ruaridh looked, men were locked in desperate combat.

The deafening clash of swords and cries of battle echoed through the castle grounds as the fight escalated. The gates were under constant assault, and the walls had been scaled in several places, leaving the defenders to scramble. The weight of the fight was pressing down on Ruaridh. His sword moved with brutal efficiency, each stroke cutting through an enemy soldier, but no matter how many he struck down, more surged forward.

Duncan fought beside him, his broad blade moving in a deadly arc, carving through men with terrifying skill. But even the two of them, fighting back to back, couldn’t keep up with the numbers pressing in. The weight of the battle was beginning to take its toll.

Suddenly, a shout echoed above the chaos. “Help!”

Ruaridh’s head snapped toward the sound. He saw a young soldier pinned beneath a heavy MacNab warrior, struggling helplessly. The MacNab soldier’s sword was raised, about to strike the helpless boy down.

Without hesitation, Ruaridh surged forward, his sword slashing in a wide arc. He cleaved through the MacNab warrior’s side, sending him stumbling back, clutching his wound. The boy scrambled to his feet, wide-eyed and shaken, but alive.

“Move!” Ruaridh shouted, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him toward the nearest hidden stone shelter. He shoved the boy behind a stone pillar and knelt beside him. “Stay low and stay quiet. We cannae afford to lose more men.”

The young soldier nodded mutely, his face pale with shock but grateful for Ruaridh’s intervention. Ruaridh turned his attention back to the chaos but there was no time to rest. The battle was far from over, and more MacNab men were coming.

Ruaridh’s gaze flicked to the northern corner of the courtyard, where the MacDuff men were struggling to hold the gates. The enemy had pushed them back, and they were on the verge of breaking through.

He clenched his teeth, shaking his head. “We cannae let them breach,” he muttered under his breath. He sprinted toward the gates, fighting off two more attackers along the way. His sword rang out with each blow, his body moving instinctively through the chaos.

The gates of Castle MacDuff were under assault, the first wave of MacNab's forces crashing against the defenses, while others scaled the walls. The ground beneath him shook as men fell, both friend and foe. Blood pooled on the stone and the stench of iron filled Ruaridh’s nostrils.

Despite the weight of it all, Ruaridh’s sword was steady. His men were holding, but they wouldn’t last forever. He had to act. The fight was far from over.

Duncan fought beside him, his broad sword flashing through the air, felling MacNab soldiers with ease, but even the two of them couldn’t keep up with the numbers.

“Hold fast!” Duncan barked, his voice cutting through the noise. “We will nae let them breach the gates. Push ’em back!”

“Nae yet,” Ruaridh grunted, slashing through another enemy. “Keep ’em steady, lad. It’s a matter of time.”

Duncan nodded grimly but didn’t stop. He had to move quickly. His gaze swept over the battlefield, but then his eyes fell on two guards, one MacNab and one Macduff.

“Tell me, ye fool. Where’s Laird Murray’s cousin being kept?”

Ruaridh’s heart skipped in his chest, and his pulse quickened. Dougal, Murray’s cousin. So, part of their plan was also to free Murray’s cousin. Hopefully, they had not yet realized where he was being kept but he didn’t know how much time he had before they did. They would eventually search the dungeons, and the chances of finding him were high.

Ruaridh’s instincts flared. He couldn’t risk Dougal being found. Not now.

The two soldiers ahead of him were still talking.

“He’s in the dungeon below,” the MacDuff soldier said.

His grip on his sword tightened. He couldn’t let them have that leverage.

Ruaridh moved quickly, his feet silent on the stone floor, and in one swift motion, he lunged forward, cutting down the MacNab soldier with brutal efficiency.

He didn’t waste time on the MacDuff guard who had betrayed Dougal’s location. He had no more time for words.

He made his way toward the dungeon, his heart hammering in his chest. The walls of the castle were narrow, and the sounds of the battle above grew faint as he descended into the dungeon’s depths. The air was damp and heavy with the smell of stone and rot. His boots echoed through the empty halls as he reached the iron door to the lower dungeon.

Inside, Dougal was shackled to the wall, his face bruised and bloody. His eyes flickered open at the sound of Ruaridh’s footsteps.

“Ye MacDuff bastard,” Dougal rasped, his voice hoarse.

Ruaridh’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a thin line. It was hard to ignore the loathing that boiled in his chest. But this wasn’t about them. This was about leverage.

“Aye,” Ruaridh muttered, his voice grating with coldness. “And it is by me mercy ye are alive at all.”