The alarm horn sounded again. It seemed closer now. Margaret’s heart began to pound for an entirely different reason.
“What is it?” she asked.
Domhnall was already fastening his belt.
“Trouble.”
He grabbed his boots and shoved his feet into them. Margaret finished tying the back of her gown just as he turned toward her again.
“Come.”
They began running up the narrow path toward the castle. The quiet peace of the morning had vanished completely. Above them the courtyard walls echoed with shouting voices and the clash of movement.
Whatever had begun within Inveraray, it had shattered the calm of the loch as suddenly and violently as their kiss had shattered restraint.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Domhnall ran like he had never run before.
The path from the loch to the castle rose steeply along the hillside, but he barely felt the climb. Margaret kept pace beside him. By the time they reached the outer gate, smoke was already rising from the inner courtyard.
Domhnall stopped dead. “Stay behind me.”
Margaret did not argue, but he felt her close at his back as they stepped through the gate. Chaos had swallowed Inveraray.
One of the wooden storehouses near the barracks was burning, and thick smoke was pouring into the courtyard and rolling through the open corridors beyond. Guards rushed across the stone yard, some dragging water barrels, others drawing steel as shouting erupted from the lower passage.
The unmistakable clash of blades rang through the air.
Intruders.
Domhnall’s jaw hardened instantly.
“Me laird!” Cameron’s voice roared from somewhere across the yard.
Domhnall spotted him near the broken gate of the servant passage, with his sword already in hand, fighting alongside three guards against a group of men forcing their way through the breach.
Their plaids were dark and their movements quick and brutal.
MacGregor.
Domhnall knew them the moment he saw them. The rage came swift and cold. MacGregor’s men had crossed into his home, his castle.
Behind him Margaret drew in a sharp breath.
“Domhnall—”
He turned immediately. “I need ye tae go tae the upper hall.”
“I will nae hide while yer men?—”
“Ye will,” he answered sharply.
The argument in her eyes flared instantly. But another shout cut through the courtyard. A guard staggered backward from the breach, and there was blood across his sleeve. More MacGregor men poured through the passage. There were too many. The breach had been planned.
Domhnall grabbed Margaret’s wrist. “Listen tae me.”
“I can help here.”
