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“Oh aye, and I can well see why ye would want tae keep her, but the problem is that’s nae what the laird wanted from us. He wanted us tae kill all the English and send a message that none of them would be spared. What kind of message is this sending? Dae ye think he will be pleased? Ye are daeing what ye want and only what ye want, and that doesnae seem fair tae me.”

“Watch yerself, Fergus. I was placed in charge by my uncle, and I’m the one who gives the orders,” Douglas warned in a low growl, but he could already sense the mood shifting.

“But I dinnae think ye hae proven yerself tae be a good leader, hae ye? Ye hae spared this woman and shown mercy tae the English. What hae ye promised her, Douglas? What secrets hae ye told her?”

“I’ve told her nothing!” Douglas exclaimed, trying to stop the torrent of words pouring from Fergus’s mouth, but it was as though his words had a life of their own, and nothing could stop them from coming out.

“While we were all working hard tae fulfill the orders of our laird, ye were up there in yer room enjoying her, and I’m sure we could hae all used a wee bit of fun tae keep our spirits up. Cannae we, lads?” A chorus of ayes rose up from the men. “I think it’s time for ye tae make up for yer error in judgment, Douglas. Let’s make up for lost time.”

Fergus turned around and came back to the horse, grabbing Lyndsay’s arm. Lyndsay yelled and tried to wrest herself away. It took all of Douglas’s strength to remain on the horse, but with his free hand, he drew his sword and pointed it at Fergus, who held up his hands and stepped back.

“What are ye daeing, Douglas? Are ye really drawing yer sword on yer own kin over this English lass?” Fergus asked.

Douglas’s lips were tight as he spoke, barely revealing his teeth. “We hae already wasted tae much time. We need tae return tae the Highlands. We need tae get tae safety.”

“It will nae take us long. I’m sure we can be quick. Cannae we, lads?” Fergus said, and again, his words were met with approval. “I think that yer heart haes been swayed by her, Douglas. I think ye hae gone soft. This haes proven tae me that ye are nae the man we thought ye were. After all, ye were nae even the one tae swing the sword tae kill the baron. I dinnae think ye deserve tae be leader, and I think the men here agree with me.”

Douglas knew that Fergus had his own cadre of men who would support him no matter what, but even the mood of those who had been loyal to Douglas was being swayed.

“Give the lass tae us, Douglas, or we’ll take her,” Fergus said, making no effort to hide the threat that was implied by his words.

Douglas glared at him, knowing that he had been cornered. He sheathed his sword.

“Hold on tight,” he whispered to Lyndsay so that only she could hear, and then he suddenly pulled his horse away and broke into a gallop. Fergus called out after him, and there was no doubt in the eyes of the Highlanders that Douglas had betrayed them. Curses and insults were flung his way, and then came the arrows. The air whispered death around them as the arrows plunged into the darkness. Douglas dodged this way and that, trying to use the trees as shields, avoiding the shafts of moonlight where possible. The arrows slammed into the tree trunks with heavy thumps, and Douglas was relieved that nature was taking the brunt of the assault rather than his or Lyndsay’s flesh.

But the deed had been done. He had chosen an English girl over his Highland brethren, and there was just one question left on his mind: had he gone mad?