Page 82 of Devil Black

He hollered wordlessly and pushed his way inside, his head feeling as if it would burst. And there, coming to meet him, Meg…

They met in the center of the entry hall, and Dougal wondered at his sister’s appearance—hair loose and flying, face pale—she looked as if all the fire had been taken from her and only sorrow and resignation remained.

“What has happened here?” The words tumbled from him. “When—?”

“We fell under attack yesterday. He came with a small army and a ram, fire—I placed a spell of protection round the place and your men fought like badgers, but we could not hold.”

“He?”

“Need you ask?” Meg’s eyes looked dull, flat like black stones. “Bertram MacNab. They call you the Devil, Brother, but he has earned the name.”

Dougal’s party entered behind him. He felt them gather, stricken, at his back. He swallowed and asked what he must. “My wife?”

“Taken, along with her sister.”

Thomas groaned. “But my wife is with child—”

Meg shot him a hard look. “Then pray for her, if you believe in anything.”

Dougal’s tongue tripped on. “Rab? Lachlan?”

For the first time emotion showed in Meg’s eyes. “Rab is dead, as are most your guard. He fought valiantly and, for a time, held his ground as an army might. They burned him and still he fought. The MacRae blood ran strong in him!”

Dougal felt the color drain from his face. “And Lachlan?”

“He lies dying.” Meg’s expression betrayed none of her agony, but it filled her voice. “Everyone left alive here, save two maids and myself, is injured unto death. They would not take me, for they feared my magic. Yet it was no’ strong enough to save anyone.”

Isobel. Lachlan. Dougal’s mind stuttered over their names, painful as a raw nerve. He knew, then, the complaint to the King has been a ruse, yet another distraction to remove him from the place so the attack could be carried out. MacNab had taken everything he cared for—once again—and left him nothing with which to fight.

“My wife,” said Thomas, and touched Dougal’s arm. “Somehow, we must get them back—”

“How?” Dougal asked, looking into the man’s eyes which burned with cold fury. “He has slaughtered my warriors, all but these who ride with me.”

Thomas said, “We will return to the King, ask him for justice. It will surely be forthcoming—”

Dougal laughed harshly. “Aye? When? Our women are in that bastard’s hands and, I assure you, one day is too many. You know not what he is.” And I understand him, Dougal thought. I never should have left Isobel here, should have taken her with me as she begged.

“We must do something!” Thomas protested, heated now. “My wife—”

“And mine.” Dougal turned to Meg. “Lachlan. Take me to him. The rest of you, check our defenses, what is left of them.”

Lachlan lay in the solar on a makeshift bed constructed of bloodied cloaks. Meg began to speak as she led Dougal in, as if the words were compelled from her.

“He was very brave. You know, for years I thought him naught but a pretty boy, but he has proved me wrong—aye, proved me wrong! They injured him in an attack the day before yesterday when he was out with the guard. Our warriors managed to bring him home. He was so sore hurt—yet when MacNab brought the attack here yesterday at dawn, he got up somehow and fought. He fought!”

The solar, usually the most charming room in the keep, lay in disarray and smelled of blood and sickness. Casting one cursory look about, Dougal saw at least some of the battle had taken place here.

He went forward and knelt at Lachlan’s side, the sword he wore clanking. “Lachy?” To his dismay, his voice broke. A shocking thing, since he supposed he had conquered all emotion years ago.

Lachlan’s eyelids fluttered, but he did not otherwise respond.

Meg sank to her knees beside Lachlan and touched his brow. “I worked over him all night after they brought him in—he and a troop of warriors had been riding the borders when they encountered MacNab attempting to steal back his own cattle. There was a sharp, short battle, the men said. I thought I should lose Lachy. I poured all my magic into him. I have little left, now.”

Dougal asked, his voice hoarse, “Tell me what transpired when MacNab attacked yesterday.”

Meg shuddered. “We three women were together here in this room, I keeping watch over Lachlan. Rab, who had gone out on patrol, returned soon after dawn. I think he had an instinct and wanted to be here defending the gates.”

“The best warriors are all about instinct,” Dougal said, grief gripping his heart.