Page 43 of Laird Of Her Heart

She turned to Ewan. “Do you have a ballista?” Like an overgrown crossbow, a ballista had tremendous force and could catapult lethal bolts much farther than a bow and arrow. It was usually used in offense, sapping walls and taking out castle defenses. But a weapon was a weapon. She would use everything they had to fight off this incursion.

“Aye.”

“Excellent. And a marksman with very good aim?” At Ewan’s nod, she pointed at the siege tower. “Have him target the wheels.” They were large, to carry the weight of the wooden tower.

“The wheels, my lady?”

She ignored the fact that he’d accidently granted her a title of respect. There was hardly time to gloat about winning him over. “Yes. If we can send several bolts straight on into those wheels, they won’t be able to move it. The tower will be useless to them.” As useless as a booted car in impound. “And get some more oil up here. We’ll need it when they drop their ladders.” They would likely be dampened, or covered with wet hides, but oil burned through hides. Men burned too. If they tried to breach the walls, she had no compunction about giving them a hot oil treatment.

She scanned the woods in the falling evening, mentally calculating distances between targets and cover. “Ewan, do you have escape tunnels?” Most castles did. Escape tunnels, sapping tunnels and secret sally ports.

He gaped at her. “Do you want to escape?”

She snorted a laugh. “No. But we can send our best archers out once it gets dark. They can hide in the woods around the enemy encampment and then, upon our signal, send flaming arrows into their camp.”

“Flaming arrows?”

“Tell them not to aim for the men,” she said. They were far too easy to miss. “Aim for their tents and supply stores.” Demoralizing the enemy was rule number one in warfare, according to Richardson. She was so glad she’d read his book. “And target their trebuchet and their battering ram as well.” All those weapons were made of wood. It was probably folly to imagine a few arrows could destroy them, but it didn’t hurt to try. A pity it was too dangerous to send a man into their midst to douse the weapons with oil first.

But then an idea blossomed. She snapped her fingers and grinned at Ewan.

“What?” He stared at her, thoroughly bemused.

“A Molotov cocktail.”

“A what?”

“We send the archers in with jars filled with oil, which they launch into the weapons store, and onto those machines. Then follow with flaming arrows.”

Ewan’s nostrils flared. “You are a fierce lass.”

“Oh, and I want oil poured on the moat as well.”

“On the moat?”

“If we need to, we can light it. No doubt they’ll try to breach the walls with ladders.”

Ewan shook his head. “Where did you learn all this?”

She merely smiled sweetly in response. “Oh, and one more thing. Was that an apiary I noticed by the garden?”

He blinked. “Aye.”

“I would like to speak to your beekeeper.”

His brows knit, but he nodded.

She clapped her hands. “Well? Come on. Let’s get moving.”

She had a castle to save.

* * *

Bluidy hell.

They were too late.

The Camerons were already here.