Page 41 of Laird Of Her Heart

His brother, who was normally as staunch as they came, vomited into the grass. “The leg…” A gasp. “Was still in it.”

Holy hell.

Dominic gestured to his men and they fanned out, looking for any more clues as to what had happened here. His gut tightened.

Had Maggie been right about the ambush? Had she been right all along?

“Here!” Liam cried from the large tent in the center of the assemblage. The others rushed to his side. “Here. They’re in here.”

Slowly Dominic pulled back the tent flap. And he gagged himself. Not only because the first soulless eyes he saw were those of his friend Brody Ritchie. Not only because the tent was littered with bodies—and body parts—and bathed in blood. But because with the heat of the summer sun baking the corpses, the stench was horrific. It was surprising he hadn’t smelled this coming in.

They covered their mouths and made their way around the perimeter of the tent and the extent of this atrocity became clear. The men had been gathered here. Drinking, perhaps. Laughing. Tossing dice. Their swords were all sheathed. They’d had no clue this was coming. No clue at all.

They had, indeed, been massacred.

“Who do you see?” he called out, but he knew, in his heart, he knew.

“Laird of MacThomas here,” Declan called.

“McCombies. And aye, Shaw by his side.”

They found Cattanach, with his eyes gouged out and MacPhail and Farquharson as well.

“Any MacPhersons?”

Declan stood. Huffed a sigh. “Nae. No’ a one.”

Bluidy hell. Bluidy fooking hell!

Fury raged within him, but it battled with an undeniable sense of relief. Whatever or whoever she was, Maggie had been telling the truth. She had known the truth. Or seen it. She wasn’t mad. Or a traitor.

But there was no time to reflect on that now. “We need to go,” he clipped. He needed to get home to Dar. No doubt who ever had done this—MacPherson, with Cameron at his back—had noticed he wasn’t here. If their intent was a complete annihilation of the Clan Chattan leadership, they would be assembling an army to attack him where he lived.

He turned to Angus. “I need you to ride to Cattanach. Let them know we were late to the meeting, and what we found. What we suspect our enemies are up to. Have them notify all the clans of this treachery. We will all need to rally together to defeat these bastards.”

“Aye, laird.”

Liam stepped forward. “Let me go with him.”

Dominic clapped him on the shoulder. “Nae, cousin. I canna spare you. When we get home, we will need your expertise.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because,” he said. “They will be coming for us. They will hit hard and fast.”

And Maggie was there. Right in the middle of the danger.

And there was no way to warn her.

Worst of all? He’d sent her there.

CHAPTER NINE

The sight of Castle Dar rising on the ridge overlooking Loch Dundragon stole Maggie’s breath. It was large and magnificent, hewn of stones that glittered silver in the sunlight. The ramparts were high and crenelated; two turrets rose on either side. Banners, bearing the iconic family crest, a fierce dragon, flapped in the wind.

As they’d followed the track in, past the crofts heavy with summer wheat, signs of prosperity were everywhere. Fat villeins, numerous chickens and healthy shaggy cows. The crofters all raised a hand to them and called greetings.

They’d turned the corner on the top of the hill and the plains of Dar spread out before her. The little village, nestled at the base of the hill and there above it, the castle, framed by blue skies and puffy clouds.