Given the odds, the truth. Helplessness merged with outrage. Bedamned her father, his greed, and the devastation he’d caused so many. Nor could this standoff continue. “Your Grace. The castle canna take much more. A shot, mayhap three if we are fortunate, then they will have smashed a hole in the curtain wall to the east.”
The noble scowled at where gaps fissured down the interior wall. “By God, Comyn willna take you.”
Nor did she want to go with the scoundrel, except without reinforcements little hope remained. Sickened at the thought, aching that she’d never see Thomas again, the time had come to make the hardest decision in her life.
“Enough people have died because me,” she whispered. “Let me go to him; save yourself, your son, and your home.”
Outrage glittered in the duke’s eyes. “What we fight for today is more than the loss of the lives of my men, my family, or my home. If your father seals the pact with King Philip, Scotland’s freedom will be lost.”
Humbled, she nodded. “Aye, let us fight!”
The stench of blood, soot, and fear filled the air as the hours dragged by, the loss of life on both sides leaving Alesone overwhelmed. Charred edges scarred buildings they’d been able to extinguish wove in a horrific mix with smoldering ashes where they hadna.
A boom resonated on the western side of the castle.
Screams of men melded with the slam of rock. Fractures in the castle walls by earlier attacks deepened, and several chunks toppled to the body-littered earth.
“Donnchadh,” the duke yelled, “send more knights to ensure the enemy doesna breach the western wall.”
“Aye!” The earl shouted orders, and several warriors ran toward the gaping hole.
Another volley from a siege engine slammed against the wall walk paces from Alesone. She clung to the trembling rock, kept her balance, barely.
“Lass, are you—”
“I am fine, Your Grace.” Her fingers raw, she reloaded her bow, fought to smother the building fear. Ever since her father’s men had completed the fourth siege engine, they’d assaulted Dair Castle with merciless intent.
Though the duke refused to admit defeat, with many of his warriors lying dead or dying, ’twas clear that the time to cede was drawing near.
Her hand shaking, she knocked another arrow, aimed, and released. Numb, Alesone scanned the line of trees. She willed Thomas and the reinforcements to appear. And as the hours before, naught but falling snow smeared with blood, bodies, and the roar of the enemy greeted her.
Where was he? Had he reached the king? Were he and Bruce’s forces en route? Or was he lying somewhere injured, dying, or dead?
A sob built in her throat, and she shoved it aside. Thomas had promised that he would return. They only needed to buy time. She didna care how panicked she sounded, or if her rational was skewed.
A blast shook the wall to her left.
Alesone crashed against the wall walk, and rolled toward the edge.
Donnchadh caught her hand. “Hang on!”
Another blast tore into a large gap; shards toppled to the baily with a violent clatter. Three more volleys simultaneously slammed the castle.
“Comyn’s men are breeching the curtain wall to the east!” the duke yelled.
“Bedamned!” Donnchadh helped her to her feet.
“Tell everyone to withdraw to the keep,” his father ordered. “I will take Mistress Alesone to the secret tunnel.”
“Aye.” Donnchadh bolted toward their warriors.
The duke waved her forward. “Hurry!”
Heart pounding, she followed him down the turret, prayed they’d make it in time. Then what? With their forces devastated, they couldna hold the enemy off for long. Or with the men pouring into the castle, would they even reach the escape route?
Sickened, she entered the keep, the roar of battle in her wake. Comyn had proven that he would do whatever he must to achieve his goal.
“Seal the door!” the duke roared after his son and the remaining knights ran inside.
