“Hide the boats along the western shore. Leave nothing in the open that can be taken or turned against us. We’ll send a contingent of warriors on the road to intercept the enemy.”
The clan responded as one, each man, woman and child falling into their role without question.
Lachlan turned back toward Isabel, the urgency of the courtyard still moving around them, though his focus narrowed to her alone. “Ye should return to the castle,” he said, his tone controlled but firm, the command clear beneath it.
Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes flashed, not with panic, but with authority. “Nay.”
“That was no’ a request, lass,” he replied, stepping closer, lowering his voice so it did not carry beyond them. “Ye heard the man, the bastards are coming for ye.”
Her gaze flickered to the courtyard, guilt in the turn of her mouth. “And that is precisely why I will no’ hide.” She returned her gaze to his. “I will stand with the people who risk their lives to protect mine. And I will gather provisions for tending the wounded. I’ve never been a woman that hid from conflict, Lachlan, ye should know that by now.”
’Twas true, the lass was strong, intelligent, and not once had he seen her cower in the face of danger. If anything, she was ready to take up a sword and fight. That was part of the reason he’d fallen in love… Zounds, but he loved her.
“Aye, lass.” He exhaled slowly, though it did little to ease the tension building in his chest. “I should no’ love ye the way I do,” he said, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Isabel’s breath caught at that, her composure faltering for the first time. “Lachlan?—”
He closed the distance between them, his hands resting on her hips. “I tried to keep my distance,” he continued, his throat tight with emotion. “I told myself it was foolish. That it would only make things harder. But, I canna, willna…”
“Love,” she breathed, her eyes wide as if the word itself surprised her. “I love ye, too.”
“If we survive what is coming…” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I wish for ye to be my wife.”
Isabel stared at him for a long beat before she spoke. “Do ye mean that?”
“Aye. With every fiber of my being.”
“Even if my uncle threatens to punish us?”
“Nothing and no one can stand between us. I would take the harshest punishment if it meant I could keep loving ye.” He brushed his fingers lovingly against her cheek. “I will no’ lose ye.”
Before she could answer, the horn sounded again, its bleat long and urgent, cutting through the moment, breaking the spell that had settled between them. A shout followed, carrying across the bailey with sudden force.
“Ships!”
Lachlan turned at once, instinct overriding everything else. He rushed up the battlement stairs, reaching the wall, his gaze on the sea loch.
Dark sails cut cleanly across the gray water, their line steady, purposeful, their direction unmistakable.
The prisoner had lied.
23
The dark shape of ships appeared through the mist when there shouldn’t have been any there. They’d waited all night for a battle to happen from the road, but all had been quiet. And perhaps this was the reason why.
For one suspended heartbeat, neither Isabel nor Lachlan moved. The staccato boom, boom, boom of her heart hammering against her ribs was the only sound.
The wind tore across the moors, while below them the sea loch churned against the rocks. Three galleons cut through the hazy water in ruthless formation, Longshank’s royal banners, depicting three golden lions on a red background, snapping above them as they drove toward Dunvegan’s shore. Each ship could hold up to five hundred soldiers, less if they were cavalry.
The prisoner had sworn the English would attack after nightfall. He had claimed they would come by land under cover of darkness rather than descend upon the island before the noon meal with ships already breaching the loch.
A lie. A calculated deception.
Understanding crashed across Lachlan’s face with brutal, murderous clarity. Within an hour, the enemy would be on land. They would lay anchor and row to land, risking the arrows Lachlan’s men would surely rain down upon them.
“They wanted us watching the roads,” he growled. At the anger in his voice, Zeus leapt to his laird’s shoulders, as if he might protect him.
Isabel looked toward the road over the moors into the forest where additional guards had already been sent that morning. Men who should have been reinforcing the shoreline.
