Chapter 60

Morgan didn’t notice the soldiers at first. Clutching Miles protectively to his chest, he was too busy glaring up at the meddlesome lass atop the wall.

Damn the wench! That arrow had come far too close. What if it had gone astray? Her gesture had been reckless and unnecessary. Hadn’t he told Jenefer he wouldn’t let his wife have Miles?

“Run!” Jenefer suddenly screamed at him.

He scowled. What was she carrying on about now?

“Run, damn you!”

He scowled and stood his ground. Was she giving him orders?

Only when he turned back toward Alicia did he finally see the hostile army charging toward them through the fog. Jenefer must have been ordering them to attack.

His first thought was for his wife. He couldn’t let harm come to her. Lunging forward, he seized her around the waist. Ignoring her protests, he hefted her up in his free arm. He lumbered through the inner doors, shouting at the guards to bolt them behind him.

The guards managed to seal the entrance with only moments to spare, before the horde could force its way in. Even so, there was a loud rumbling as they crashed against the wooden doors.

He set Alicia down and turned to her in concern.

“Are ye all right?”

She gave him a cautious nod.

It appeared the army of Rivenloch had come at last.

With no time to waste, he began calling out orders.

“Davey!”

The eldest Campbell was already emerging from the armory. He was only half-dressed, but his claymore was firmly in his grip.

“Gather the men,” he commanded, “and arm heavily.”

“Aye, m’laird.”

“John! We’ll need a cart to reinforce the doors,” Morgan ordered. “William, post archers at the four towers.”

“Aye, m’laird.”

“And William…”

“Aye?”

“No arrows are to be released except on my orders.”

William’s face fell in disappointment, but he nodded, “Aye, m’laird.”

If there was to be any hope of peace, Morgan needed to make sure there were as few casualties as possible, something Jenefer apparently hadn’t considered when she’d given the order to Rivenloch to charge.

It was tempting at that moment to hand Miles off to his mother. The lad was beginning to fuss. Things were about to get chaotic. Morgan needed his full concentration to defend the keep. And a bairn had no place in the midst of a siege.

But at that moment, Jenefer came tearing across the grass toward him. Her bow was in her grip, and her quiver of arrows bounced against her back.

“Nay!” she yelled, as if she’d read his thoughts. “Give Miles to me!”

He looked daggers at her. Give his heir to Jenefer? Was she jesting?

The lass may have been loyal and devoted to Miles. She may have soothed the bairn’s fears and stopped his tears.

But this was war. That was her clan out there. There was no telling what she might do to salvage the castle and save her people. He’d be a fool to hand over his heir.

Instead, he turned toward young Danald, who had just arrived in the courtyard and was still tying up his trews. “Danald, lad, take my son. Gather the women and children in the great hall. Keep them safe.”

The lad straightened with pride. “Aye, m’laird.”

“Nay!” Mid-stride, Jenefer drew her bow, aiming at Danald.

The lad’s eyes widened as she rapidly closed the distance.

Morgan felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

God’s eyes! Was the lass going to shoot Danald? Was she so intent on taking custody of his son that she’d kill anyone who got in her way?

Desperate to save Miles, Morgan quickly stepped between the archer and her target. With trembling hands, he placed the bairn in Danald’s arms. “Go!”

Then he wheeled back around to deal with Jenefer.

Jenefer watched in dismay as Morgan put his precious son into the hands of a lad who couldn’t even tie his trews properly.

What was he thinking?

It was bad enough that Morgan had dragged his murderous wife into the courtyard. But now he was leaving his sole heir under the protection of a beardless boy?

Her arrow was still trained on the lad. But it was an idle threat. She dared not shoot him now, not while he had Miles in his arms.

Focused on the retreating lad, she was stunned when Morgan suddenly knocked her bow aside with a powerful sweep of his arm.

But it was nothing to the shock she felt when the Highlander seized her by the throat in his steely grip.

Stunned by the fierce rage in his eyes, she dropped her bow.

Then he lifted her up by the throat, leaving her feet to dangle. The quiver fell from her shoulder, scattering her arrows.

He wasn’t quite choking her. But she couldn’t exactly speak. One hard squeeze of his fingers, and he’d throttle the life out of her. And by the fury in his gaze, she wondered if he might do just that.

She scrabbled at his hand, trying to pry his fingers loose. They wouldn’t budge.

“Ye’re comin’ with me,” he bit out. “And unless ye want to see your clan slaughtered before your eyes, ye’ll do as I say.”

She blinked. What the devil was he talking about?

“Do ye understand?” he said.

Nay. She didn’t understand. Not at all. But when his fingers tightened on her neck, she gave him as much of a nod as she could manage.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alicia mince by, heading casually toward the great hall where the women and children were gathering. The evil witch gave Jenefer a knowing smirk as she passed.

Jenefer twisted in Morgan’s grip, trying to choke out an alarm and stabbing a frantic finger toward the departing Alicia. But Morgan only gave her a silencing shake.

Rage quickly erased her fear of strangling. She began kicking at the Highlander. Maybe he’d drop her long enough for her to warn him he’d just set a fox loose among the hens.

But she could get no purchase to get in a good kick. Instead, he dodged her flailing limbs and circled her waist with his free arm, setting her on his hip. He finally released his grip on her throat, but before she could cry out, he clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. His clansmen cleared a path for him as they crossed the yard.

“Make no trouble,” he said as he climbed the steps to the wall walk, “and there will be no bloodshed.”

Trouble? What kind of trouble could she make? Her weapons were strewn on the courtyard grass. She was helpless to free herself. Hell, at the moment, she couldn’t even scream obscenities at him.

“Ye said ye were a woman of honor,” he said. “I expect ye to tell the truth.”

What the devil was he going on about? With his hand locked over her mouth, she couldn’t even spit out a few choice oaths, let alone concoct a good lie.

“I won’t have ye tellin’ your uncle I harmed ye in any way.”

Jenefer froze.

Her uncle?

What did her uncle have to do with…

Her eyes widened as she realized his mistake.

Morgan thought the invaders were from Rivenloch. He thought they were her uncle’s men.

She strained against his grasp, making urgent sounds behind his palm.

“Aye,” he muttered, “I know what ye’re goin’ to say. We trysted. ’Tis true. But I hardly think ye can claim ye were harmed.”

He stifled her scream of frustration.

“Fine. I did take your virginity. But ye know very well ’twas partly your idea. Mostly your idea.”

She emitted an irritated squeal.

“Really?” he asked. “Ye’re goin’ to argue the point?” He shook his head and sighed as he climbed the last two steps. “Maybe ’tis best we say nothin’ about it at all.”

She attempted to speak in a rational tone, intending to tell him the army below was not Rivenloch. But, muffled by his hand, none of her words could be understood.

“Anyway, the important thing,” he said, “is for him to see with his own eyes that his nieces are safe and unharmed.”

She closed her eyes to smoldering, sarcastic slits.

“Oh come now, lass,” he chided. “’Tisn’t so much to ask.”

He was just approaching the middle section of the wall when there was a call from below.

“Who is the lord of this castle? Show your face!”

He peered over the edge and boomed back, “I am Morgan Mor mac Giric o’ Creagor, rightful laird o’ this keep.”

“Then before this day is through, Morgan Mor, I’ll have your head on a pike!”

She felt Morgan start in surprise.

He recovered quickly.

“There’s no need for that, m’laird,” he said. “I think we can come to a fair agreement.”

“A fair agreement?” the man sneered. “For murdering our lord?”

“What?”

“You slew Lord Edward, my brother, while he slept. Now you will pay.”

Dumbfounded, Morgan loosened his grip on her. “What the hell?” he murmured.

“’Tis what I’ve been trying to tell you, you overbearing lummox,” she said, extricating herself. “That’s not Rivenloch.”