Page 104 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

The battering ram hit again. Cracks appeared in ancient timber.

“Here they come,” Niall said quietly.

And the gates exploded inward in a shower of splintered wood and twisted iron.

MacKenzie warriors flooded through the breach like water through a broken dam. Euan met them head-on, his sword already moving, already killing. Beside him, Archibald roared a battle cry that echoed off stone walls. Behind them, MacLeod defenders formed a wall of steel and determination.

The courtyard became hell.

Euan lost himself in the rhythm of combat—strike, parry, kill, move to the next threat. His scarred shoulder screamed protest with each swing, but he ignored it. Ignored everything except the need to hold ground, to keep those bastards away from the keep where Moyra waited.

A MacKenzie warrior came at him from the left. Euan’s blade took him through the gut, withdrawing in time to block an overhead strike from another attacker. He spun, using momentum to drive his shoulder into a third man’s chest, sending him sprawling backward into his fellows.

“Fer MacLeod!” The cry went up from his warriors, renewed vigor in their voices.

“Fer MacLeod!” Archibald echoed, his massive blade clearing a semicircle of space.

They held. Barely. The MacKenzie advance slowed as bodies piled up at the breach, as the narrow opening forced them to funnel through in numbers small enough to manage. But Euan could see more warriors massing beyond the broken gates. Could see the dark sails of ships still disgorging fresh forces on the beach.

This was just the beginning.

And somewhere in the chaos of battle, a guard came sprinting through the melee, blood streaming from a gash on his head.

“Me laird!” The man’s voice cracked with urgency. “The keep—they’ve breached the eastern wall! Lady Moyra is under attack!”