Thomas scanned the roll of land blackened by shadows. “Nor I.”
“The bastard’s havena given up,” their father growled. “They are out there. The question is where and what will be their next move.”
A gust of wind raced through the castle, casting flakes of snow from the merlon into the air. Spirals of white shimmered against the backdrop of fading stars, and then the flakes drifted toward the blood-stained earth below.
“I know one thing,” Thomas grunted, “wherever they are hidden, they are freezing their arses off.”
His brother laughed. “They are at that.”
Unease filled Thomas as he spotted Alesone down the wall walk with her bow lowered, staring into the darkened void of night. He damned the second assault that had interrupted them, nor would he make the mistake of discussing something so important when they could be interrupted. Once the battle was over and the castle secure, then he would tell her that he loved her.
He grimaced. What of John MacLairish? He prayed his friend had reached the Bruce. Still, they must take every precaution that the king was warned. “Father.”
“Aye,” the duke replied.
“I think ’twould be wise to send another runner to King Robert,” Thomas said, damning his words.
“Had I of known the enemy was so close…” His father gave a weary sigh. “Another man will be sent.”
Donnchadh glanced over. “Whoever goes, we must choose wisely,” he said. “Given the situation, I believe we have but one chance for a runner to make it past the enemy.”
Thomas nodded. “As I am familiar with where Bruce was camped and given my experience, I am the best choice to make the journey.”
“With your injury, I only allowed you to fight as each man is necessary,” his father said, temper sliding into his voice.
“My injuries are all but healed,” Thomas pressed. “I could steal a horse and slip away before anyone notices.”
“Your wound will slow you,” his brother snapped. “I should be the one who—”
“Enough,” their father interrupted. “In a day, mayhap two, if the battle continues, then I will decide who rides to our king.”
Thomas muttered a silent curse. Many things could change in a day. A force could lay siege, or they could wake up to find Comyn and his men gone. As much as he wished, with the stakes so high, he didna expect the latter.
He glanced toward Alesone. She now sat with her back against the stone. “I will check on the lass.”
The soft tap of steps grew closer. Alesone shifted, but she didna open her eyes.
“Are you well?” Thomas asked.
At the concern in his voice, she peered out. “As anyone else.” He settled beside her, and any chance of her drifting off faded. As if she could sleep without thinking of him? As of late, Thomas filled her every thought. She opened her eyes. “Are their campfires still out?”
“Aye.”
Hope slid through her. “Do you think they have left?”
“They are staying. It is what they are planning that causes concern.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“With their failed attempt to scale the walls, mayhap they willna lay siege and have decided upon another method.”
Frustration rolled through her. “Do you have any thoughts of what they could be plotting?”
He shrugged. “There are several possibilities. Until sunrise, ’tis too dangerous to send anyone outside the walls to check.”
Alesone worried her fingers on the curve of her bow. “I dinna like it.”
“Nor I, but ’tis the way of war.”
