“Do ye?” Broch asked, eyeing Callum expectantly.
Callum understood that Broch was making certain his loyalties lay with the king now. Callum sheathed his sword and then took the dagger Maria silently handed him, sheathed it, and then blinked in surprise when Maria handed him another. He raised an eyebrow in question.
“For Marsaili,” Maria said. “It was knocked from her hand by her father’s men. She’ll be wanting it.”
“Thank ye,” he said, accepted the weapon, and sheathed it, as well. He looked to Broch once more. “I dunnae support the Steward as my father did,” he said. “I vow it. I will pledge my fealty to the king if he will but have it.”
Broch nodded. “Ye will have an ally in the MacLeods. On that ye can be certain. I ken ye have a promise to wed that ye need to break, but once ye do that, I feel confident in speaking for Iain and vowing that by wedding Marsaili, ye will have an alliance.”
The news was most welcome. He could not tarry much longer, but it was important to settle these things so he knew exactly what he would be facing and whom he may consider an ally. “I thank ye for that. It is welcome information. I will break my promise to wed the earl’s daughter, but I will keep the alliance with the Earl of Ainsworth if the earl is willing. I dunnae believe it will be good for the Lord of the Isles to gain more power by taking the earl’s home and growing his territory into English soil. In my opinion, the MacDonald is greedy. What would Iain say to that?”
“Iain shares yer opinion, as does the king.”
The news was surprising and good to hear. He glanced at his son for a long moment, memorizing his face and smile. “Ye will watch him as yer own, aye?”
Broch squeezed Callum’s shoulder. “I would give my life for him. Dunnae fash yerself. I will send ye any allies I encounter on our journey to Dunvegan, so dunnae kill a stranger without inquiring who they are, aye?” Broch smiled.
“Agreed,” Callum replied, allowing a chuckle and a moment of brevity in the darkness that seemed to surround him.
They walked together in silence to the tethered horses, and once they were all mounted, Callum took hold of his son’s small hand. He wanted to leave the child with something to look forward to. “Do ye ken how to swim?”
Brody cocked his head, a contemplative look coming over his son’s face that made him want to laugh. After a moment of quirking his mouth this way and that, he announced, “Nay.”
“I will teach ye when we are together again. Would ye like that?” Brody nodded. Callum thought then of Marsaili. “We will teach yer mother, as well. She dunnae ken how, and a braw lass such as she is should be able to swim.”
“Ma dead,” the boy said.
“Nay,” Callum said fiercely. “She is verra much alive, and we will be together, the three of us, verra soon. I vow it.”
Marsaili’s father set a casual pace to the Earl of Ulster’s castle, which suited Marsaili just fine. Her father’s certainty that neither Callum nor Broch would dare to pursue him would hopefully be his undoing, though when she thought about what would occur if they did pursue her, black fright nearly choked her. As they made camp that night, and she lay in her tent unable to sleep and guarded by three of her father’s men, she prayed that Callum had sent Brody to safety. Then she prayed just as ardently that Callum did not simply charge in and attack her father. She did not think he would. He was cunning, and he had to realize that there was no way one man, or even two, could defeat her father’s warriors.
Worry haunted her for the two long days of the journey as she tried to work out how and if she could be rescued before she was forced to wed the earl. The only hope was if Callum could breach the castle or if she could escape it. As they traveled another two days, her thoughts were divided between what the castle might look like and how Callum and their son were faring. She had a perfectly clear image of Brody in her head now, and for that, she was eternally grateful. The boy had been hearty and obviously had been well cared for by the Summer Walkers, though it pained her greatly that he did not know her and possibly never would. Yet, she found a measure of comfort in the fact that he would be with Callum if she ended up wed to the Earl of Ulster. It was that last thought that plagued her and knotted her stomach. She would almost rather be dead than wed to a man who was not Callum, but if she lived, there was always a chance she would get to see her son someday. But then she’d think of the pain that seeing him and Callum but not being able to be with them would cause, and she felt bottomless grief all over again. She was pinning her hopes, all her happiness, on the earl’s castle not being greatly fortified.
As the first signs of night were beginning to fall in shades of purple and black across the gray sky, their party broke through the thick woods. In the distance, rising to the sky, was one of the most formidable-looking castles she had ever seen, and worst of all, it was surrounded by a moat. A wail of despair swelled in her throat, but she pressed her lips together and did not let it burst forth.
The castle was triangular, made of red stone, and had a tower at each of its points. The drawbridge was raised, and she was further dismayed that before they were even completely out of the woods, horns filled the night, surely announcing to the guards that someone was approaching. On the top of the wall, along the walkway known as the allure, men filed out one by one until it seemed thousands of guards stood there to kill any who are unwelcome. Fear and certainty that the castle was near impossible to breach made her shiver. She had to escape somehow. That was the only hope.
Her father’s guardsman raised the Campbell flag, another horn was sounded, and after what seemed like an eternity, the bridge was lowered and two long lines of knights riding large destriers flooded out of the castle. They were dressed in full battle armor, swords drawn, and some had pikes. Her despair deepened. The Earl of Ulster was a careful man, as well he should be. Her father’s favored warrior drew forward to meet with one of the earl’s, and soon, they were being led across the bridge between two guard towers and into the inner courtyard.
She had not had a chance to even dismount before Ulster himself appeared, ruby robes billowing out to the sides as he strode down the stairs and straight up to her horse. He held his hand out to her. He was, she realized, much younger than she had remembered. He appeared to be perhaps thirty summers. It occurred to her then that he had likely been compelled to marry a woman not of his choosing. Perhaps he was the tender sort and she could appeal to that side of him?
He had kind green eyes and dark-brown hair with a thick beard. He smiled up at her. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day I first met you,” he said, his heavy English accent making it difficult to understand him.
She cast her mind back to the day her father had ordered her to try to sway the earl to her.
The earl frowned. “You do recall when you met me, do you not, Marsaili? You tended to my wound after your foolish brother shot me with an arrow.”
“I recall it,” she said, locking gazes with her father. “My father ordered me to gain yer attention,” she said, boldly speaking the truth.
Her father raised his hand as if to strike her, but the earl bellowed, “Stand down, Campbell,” before focusing on her once more. “What wicked lies do ye speak, Marsaili? Why do ye try to injure me?”
Unease edged along her spine, the realization that she had likely made a grave error sinking in. The earl was a prideful man and was never going to welcome the truth.
“I—”
“Leave us,” he barked at her father.
Her father’s gaze narrowed dangerously, but he complied. The earl waved a hand to one of his men, and they came to her and helped her dismount. He took her hand and led her away from his men, up some sidesteps, and to the ramparts she had seen when they had first approached.
