At the call to arms, Brice glanced across the room to where Meredith stood.
"You will go below now with the women. I have a.s.signed two of my warriors to guard the door. They will protect all of you with their lives."
She felt the rush of antic.i.p.ation that had always flowed when her father"s castle had come under siege. As the eldest daughter she had been a.s.signed the task of seeing to the safety of her sisters. She had been trained to fight. And although there was a knot of fear in the pit of her stomach, she would never back away from the fight.
"For the last time I beg of you, Brice. Set me free. Send me forth to meet my people. They will turn away from this battle, if only they see that I am free."
"We will speak no more of this thing. My decision is made."
She decided to try a new course of persuasion.
"If you will not set me free, then let me at least stay here." Her glance strayed to the weapons atop the mantel, then back to where Brice stood facing her.
"I could a.s.sist those who are wounded."
A hint of a smile touched his lips.
"Indeed? Help them die faster, perhaps?"
"I cannot stay in the dungeons, Brice. As leader of the MacAlpins I claim the right to be present at the battle."
"Do you think I could concentrate on the battle at hand, knowing you are vulnerable to attack?"
"The men who ride with Gareth would never harm me. They are my own people."
"Are you so certain of that?" Brice studied the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, turning the ends of her hair to flame.
He longed to touch it, to feel the silken strands sift through his fingers. Abruptly he pushed away such thoughts.
"What if the men of the MacKenzie clan do not recognize you, and in their l.u.s.t for blood slay the very one they have come to free?"
Such a thing had never entered Meredith"s mind. Though she felt a moment of uncertainty, she persisted.
"I am the reason for this attack. If you show my people that I am unharmed, and allow me to return to the Lowlands with them, your life can go on as before."
"Aye." His tone hardened.
"And as before, more innocents will be murdered, and their death blamed on the Highland Barbarian. Who is to say that even you will be safe on the journey back to your people?"
She stiffened.
"Are you suggesting that there are those who wish my death?" "" He saw the pain in her eyes and regretted his sharp words. If only they had time. Time to discuss the suspicions he had begun to harbor about those around her. Time to share his thoughts about Gareth MacKenzie and his dead brother. But there was not even time to prepare her for what was to come.
He crossed the room and caught her roughly by the shoulder.
"We will speak no more of this."
"But..."
His gaze focused on her lips. With no warning he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with a savageness that left her stunned and reeling.
He took the kiss deeper, filling himself with the taste of her. G.o.d in heaven. What was wrong with him? Never before had he allowed anyone or anything to distract him from the task at hand. Never before had he been forced to wage such a difficult battle with himself. This female, who should mean nothing to him, was intruding too often upon his thoughts. He was worried about her safety. And that worry could mean the difference between living and dying. In a battle to the death, even the simplest distraction could cost him his life.
He lifted his head and stared down into eyes that glittered with a strange light. The woman was bewitching him.
He experienced a wave of self-loathing. In a voice low with fury he whispered,
"Go now and join the women and children below the castle."
He shouted for one of his men. Angus Gordon opened the door and stood awaiting his orders.
"Take the lady below. And see that she does not leave."
Meredith backed away from Brice"s touch and gave him a look of pure venom.
"Aye. I shall go below while you and the others settle this thing."
She moved past him and hurried to the door. With her hand on the door pull she called,
"But though you fancy yourself a mighty warrior, be warned. Do not turn your back on your attackers, my lord. Or you may find a MacAlpin dirk buried between your shoulders."
He watched as she flounced away beside Angus. As he bent to his weapons, the taste of her was still on his lips.
Chapter Ten
Dust plumed in great clouds as the hors.e.m.e.n crowded through the entrance way and milled about in confusion. Above the din of horses" hooves in the courtyard there was a great roar of men"s voices shouting encouragement to one another as they prepared the attack on Kinloch House. The door to the castle was rammed. And although the ma.s.sive door had been braced by thick timbers, it eventually sagged and gave way beneath the a.s.sault. Swarms of men poured through the doorway of the castle, their voices a chorus of cursing and screeching.
At the sudden mournful wail of bagpipes they seemed to fall back for a moment before regaining their momentum.
Brice saw the looks in the eyes of his men. They had expected no more than a dozen or more Lowlanders. But there were ten times that number.
And many of them, though dressed like Lowlanders, had the look of the Highlands about them.
A warning bell rang in his mind but there was no time to fathom it.
Something did not ring true about the men attacking them. There was something very wrong here.
In that one brief moment of confusion the Highlanders returned the attack with a vengeance. The air was filled with the sound of sword clanging against shield, of fierce battle cries, of the moaning and shrieking of the first to fall in battle.
In the light of candles set in sconces along the walls, the bearded faces appeared wild and frightening. And because Brice Campbell, the most feared of all men in the Highlands, had a price of one hundred pounds sterling upon his head, he found himself at the point of dozens of swords.
He had been raised with the sword. From his earliest days he had known that there would be men eager to challenge him. But though he willingly accepted the challenge, he took no joy in killing. It was something that had been thrust upon him as leader and warrior. It was his death or theirs. And in his hands rested the fate of his people.
There was no time for fear. He parried each thrust with equal skill, matching move for move. But though he was a skilled warrior, the endless fighting was wearing him down.
As the hour stretched into two, and then into a third, he. glanced around at his comrades and felt a heaviness around his heart. This day many good men had fallen. And many more would never again rise up.
Below the castle, in the flickering light of the dungeons, the women rocked their babies and sought to comfort the crying, frightened children. Their eyes mirrored every emotion, from absolute terror to quiet resignation. The battles were as much a part of their lives as eating and sleeping. They had been the daughters of warriors. Now they were the patient wives of warriors. And every woman there knew, like a knife thrust to the heart, that they were also the mothers of future warriors.