"I've heard of them. Friends of yours?" Blackburn asked dryly.
"Nay, I hate the whoresons. One of the MacKenzie's brothers married Neacal's sister. So they're allies."
Blackburn cursed.
"He has almost two hundred soldiers with him. We'll be outnumbered." Sleat looked around frantically as if counting men.
Blackburn glanced at Red Holme, charged with holding Kristina. "We'll keep the upper hand as long as I have the lady."
***
"Stay in here and keep the door barred," Neacal told Anna as he rushed her into his chamber. "Do not open it until I return."
"Make certain you do return," she said urgently, tugging him down for a fast kiss.
"I will," he murmured against her mouth. A surge of adoration for her smashed into his chest. "I love you."
"And I love you. Please be careful," she begged, tears in her eyes. "And remember Blackburn is completely ruthless."
"Aye. I'm going to leave a guard posted just outside the door."
"Chief!" Leith yelled from the corridor. "The MacKenzies approach in their galleys!"
"Thank the saints!" Neacal said. How had they gotten here so quickly? No matter. He would owe them a grand debt. The rest of the MacRurys that the chief had sent for had not yet arrived, so Neacal was doubly grateful for the MacKenzies. "I must go." After giving Anna another kiss, he stepped from the room and closed the door. Once he heard the bar fall into place, he turned to Leith. "Do not leave this post for any reason. You're to guard her with your life. And don't allow her to leave the room."
"Aye, chief."
Neacal rushed down the stairs, across the great hall and out into the bailey. Dunn ran to greet him. Damnation, he couldn't risk Dunn being killed in the coming battle. He'd meant to leave the dog safe inside the keep with Anna. He had no time to spare now to take him back in. He had to update the MacKenzies before the battle began.
Grasping Dunn's collar, Neacal ran with him to the kennels where the other hunting dogs were kept, near the stables. Multiple dog barks echoed and Dunn tried to resist being confined. Finally, Neacal locked him inside.
Fully armed with a sword, targe, and four dirks, Neacal emerged from the walls through the postern gate, several of his men following. They hastened down to the shore as the MacKenzies pulled their galleys in.
Saints, he couldn't believe the number of twenty-oar galleys. And there had to be almost two hundred men aboard them.
Strong westerly winds blasted against Neacal's face as he raced across the sand. Leaden black clouds rolled overhead signaling an approaching gale storm.
He hoped that, since the MacKenzies hadn't needed to row, they would be well-rested and ready to fight. Either way, they were highly trained and had incredible endurance. Three of his own men, whom he'd sent north only a day ago, dragged his small galley into shore also. How on earth had they had time to travel such a great distance in a short time?
Chief Cyrus MacKenzie and his brothers Fraser and Shamus, all of them tall, dark-haired and well-armed, leapt onto the wet sand, then their many clansmen followed. Neacal was heartened to see such a large garrison of allies. He could thank Maili for this; she'd secured this alliance by marrying Shamus MacKenzie. And Neacal had had no idea at the time how much he would need the clan.
"You came quicker than expected!" Neacal called once he was within earshot.
"Maili sent us," Shamus said, his long hair in a queue.
Neacal stopped and waited for them. "What do you mean?"
Shamus and his two brothers joined him. "She had a vision of three clans attacking you."
"She's right. 'Tis happening now." Neacal motioned toward the mainland. Maili had second sight and never had it come in so handy for him. "I thank you for coming."
"We're glad to help. Who are we fighting?" Cyrus was known far and wide for his thunderous, warlord reputation.
"Sleat, MacRankin and MacCromar."
"I know Sleat, but not the other two." Cyrus frowned darkly, his brownish-black eyes scanning the forces gathered further up on the mainland shore.
"MacRankin is the whoreson who tortured me two years ago," Neacal said. "And MacCromar… he's even worse than the other two. Sleat's son was killed in a skirmish here a few nights ago, so he'll not give up until he's dead."
