“The portcullis is down,” Aiden pointed out. Unless the castle was expecting trouble, there was no reason to bar the villagers from the castle during daylight hours. “But I prefer to be certain. Send someone into the village. With any luck, the townspeople noted his arrival.”
Niall nodded. “Shall we set up camp?”
“Aye,” Aiden said, still studying the keep. “But no fire tonight.”
Gaining access to the keep would be a challenge. A full frontal attack wasn’t possible—he didn’t have the men or the equipment required to mount a siege. If they approached the gate, the archers on the walls would cut them down like hay.
Which really only left one option.
The cliffs.
“Cormac,” he called. “I have a task for you.”
* * *
Halfway across a wide plain, Magnus slowed the horses to a walk to allow them to cool. One glance at the women and he knew the game was up. Isabail looked weary, but she remained steady and upright. Ana, on the other hand, despite an extended period in the saddle, looked ready to collapse. Pale faced and trembling, she was latched onto the reins with a desperate clutch of fingers.
“I was a fool to agree to this,” he said, reining in his mount. He handed Ana his oilskin and watched her drink deeply of the ale within.
Isabail nodded unhappily. “‘Twas unkind of me to demand this of you, Ana.”
“I’ll be fine,” Ana said as she lowered the oilskin. But her voice quavered as she spoke, belying her words.
Magnus glanced around. “We’ll head for that copse,” he said, pointing to a small stand of trees to the south. “After we rest a while, we’ll make our way—slowly—back to the glen from whence we came.”
Isabail also glanced around. “What of the wolf?”
They’d caught sight of a large white wolf several times over the course of the day, always at a distance, always alone. Isabail’s deerhound had growled upon spying the beast but seemed content to remain at their side rather than give chase. Likely a wise decision.
“There’s no sign of it,” he said. To reassure the women, he tapped the hilt of his sword. “But if it makes an appearance, I’ll dispatch it swiftly.”
They walked the horses to the trees and found a small clearing in the center in which to make camp. The remnant of a day-old fire told Magnus that it was a popular place to stop, and he did a careful search of the woods before making camp. They were alone.
Ana’s legs gave out on her when he helped her from the saddle. “My legs are like jelly,” she said with a laugh, as she fell against him. “I thought myself able, but I was clearly mistaken.”
He scooped her up and carried her to the blankets that Isabail had laid before the fire pit.
“The pace we set would pose a challenge even for an experienced rider,” he told her as he tucked the wool about her. “You’ve done remarkably well to make it this far. The return journey will not be nearly as difficult.”
Isabail paced back and forth as he lit the fire. “How close are we to Tayteath?”
“Another half day.” He caught a glimmer of renewed hope in Isabail’s eyes and shook his head. “Ana is in no condition to continue. We must allow her to rest.”
“I’ve no desire to push Ana beyond her limits,” Isabail said. She turned to her companion. “I’ve already asked far more of you than I had a right to, but I cannot turn back. Not when I am so close. Not while Jamie remains Daniel’s prisoner.”
Crossing to his horse, Magnus removed food from his pack. He broke a round of bread in half and offered a piece to each of the ladies. He tossed a small piece of dried hare to the dog, as well. “Your concern for the lad is laudable, but your menfolk are already in pursuit. You must have faith in their ability to bring him home.”
“I do not lack faith,” Isabail said. “If it were a simple matter of who possesses the better sword arm, I would hang my favor on Aiden MacCurran’s lance. He is a formidable foe. But it’s not that simple. The castle is mine. I can retrieve the lad without bloodshed. Surely, the sparing of lives is a noble cause?”
“A noble cause, perhaps,” he said gently. “But not a practical one.”
Isabail flopped onto the blanket next to Ana, clearly unhappy with his response. She picked at her bread with halfhearted interest, her attention elsewhere.
“Hallo,” called a deep voice from the trees.
Magnus whipped around, drawing his sword as he spun.
Out of the shadows stepped an old man garbed in a dark cloak, his white beard and hair shining brightly in the early-afternoon sunlight. He leaned on a long burl-wood staff as he walked.
