“Looks to be three of them. But there may be more beyond the fog.”
Lachlan’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze remaining fixed on the outline of the ships. “Sassenachs dinna know these waters well enough to move like that,” he observed more to himself than Malcolm. “No’ without risking their ships.”
That meant that someone who did know the rocky shores of Dunvegan, every inlet, every easily climbable wall, was on that ship.
Lachlan straightened slowly, the decision forming with the same clarity as the threat before him. “Call the men,” he said. “We need to prepare for battle.”
The great hall filled quickly, though the mood within it bore little resemblance to the warmth it held the day before. The long table was cleared and covered with maps—coastlines marked in careful detail, narrow channels traced between islands, coves and inlets noted in ink that had been added over years of experience. The rafters rattled against the wind, and though the hearth burned steadily, the air still felt colder than it should have.
The only bright side was the heartiness of his men. Used to fighting in foul weather, the storm would not hinder their own progress where it might in the bloody English.
Lachlan stood at the head of the table, his hands resting against the wood as he studied the terrain map laid out before him. He could draw many of these maps from memory, but he needed the time to prepare for what he would say. Every battle, no matter how successful, brought risk to his people, his clan, his family. Angus, Malcolm and the rest of his men gathered round, their expressions already grim, their attention fixed. They trusted him with their lives, just as he trusted them. How many of them had gone willingly into battle with him? How many of them had risked their lives over and over again? The answer was every man there, and then some, and he would protect them with his life. If that’s what it took.
“I’ve a feeling they will sail north, drop anchor, and then plan their attack. They will meet our walls with their trebuchets, and we will meet their trebuchets with our own, rocking them from the ground up,” he said, his voice steady, carrying easily through the room. “There will be no English victory as long as I have breath in my body.”
“Aye,” one of the men agreed immediately. “We should move the fishing boats inland as well. If they burn them?—”
“They will no’ get close enough to burn anything,” another cut in.
“Aye,” Lachlan said firmly, lifting his gaze from the map. “They were foolish to come here. We will hold what is ours and send them bloody packing.”
A murmur of agreement moved through the warriors, their fists thumping against their chests.
Angus’s uncle, Ulrich, leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. “Do ye believe they are coming to Dunvegan specifically? ’Haps there is another target.”
Lachlan did not answer immediately. Instead, he studied the map again, tracing the path the ships would take if guided correctly, the most likely place they’d drop anchor. How long it would take for them to arrive at the threshold of his land.
“There is a traitor in the Bruce’s ranks. And the Bruce himself warned us that Longshanks was driving his men northward. Aye, there is a chance that the ships were merely passing through. But, Ulrich, neither of us believe in coincidences. Better to be prepared for a battle that does no’ come than to be caught unawares in sleep.”
The men all nodded, voicing their affirmation, thinking about the time that William Wallace attacked the English sheriff William Heselrig in his bedchamber. Bloody bastard never saw it coming.
Orders moved quickly after that, the men dispersing to carry out preparations. They’d need to warn those that lived in the village, and the crofters on the perimeter, to secure provisions and land and life before the English drew closer. If Longshanks meant to starve them out, they’d be left waiting for many moons. The rhythm of command took over, practiced and efficient, but beneath it all, the disquiet remained. Whether it was today, tomorrow, or a year from now, as long as Longshanks prowled Scottish lands with his brutes, no Scotsman or woman or child was safe.
And Lachlan swore that until his dying breath, he would make sure that Scotland was protected. For wasn’t that the reason Robert the Bruce had named him a Guardian?
“Your men look as though they are preparing for war.”
Lachlan glanced up to find Isabel approaching him in the great hall. Her voice broke through his thoughts, softer than the wind, but no less direct. Intelligent blue eyes took in the maps laid out before him and then flicked back up at him. Both Freckles and Zeus followed just behind her, his own pet having developed a fondness for the two newcomers.
“Perhaps they are simply cautious.” He shrugged, knowing that his ruse would not pull the wool over her eyes.
Isabel arched a delicate brow, and there was something almost amused in the look she gave him. “Ye are a poor liar, Lachlan.”
He exhaled, the weight of all that sat on his shoulders behind it. “English ships have been sighted along the coast.”
The ease in her posture stiffened. “How many?”
“Three. At least.”
“And they are coming here?”
“I dinna yet know,” he said. “My guess is they will drop anchor somewhere north and make their way on horseback.”
She stepped closer to the table, her fingers touching the small carved ships he’d placed near a cove several miles north of his most northern village. “Someone is guiding them.”
“Aye.”
“And Kerr would know where to go.”
