Page 73 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

She's bait. She's always been bait.

The realization cut deeper than any blade. Fraser had never intended to simply hold Morag for ransom or use her as a bargaining chip. She was the lure in a trap designed to destroy everything that represented Armstrong. When word reached the castle that Lady Armstrong had been taken, honor would demand a rescue attempt. And Fraser would be waiting with overwhelming force to crush any response.

Colin's hands shook with rage as he watched his wife disappear into the enemy camp. Every instinct screamed at him to charge down that hill, to fight his way through Fraser's army with nothing but steel and fury. But that was exactly what Fraser wanted—the Iron Laird arriving alone and desperate, easy prey for superior numbers.

I'm sorry, Morag, but I can't save ye by getting meself killed.

The bitter truth settled over him like a burial shroud. Morag needed him to be smart, not heroic. She needed the tactician who'd kept Clan Armstrong alive through years of hardship, not the lovesick fool who'd charge into an army for a woman's sake.

Even if that woman was worth more to him than his own life.

Colin raised his hand, bringing his small party to a halt on the ridge overlooking the valley. The scope of what lay below hit them all like a physical blow.

"Christ preserve us," one of his men breathed. "That's an army."

"Aye," Colin said grimly, his tactical mind already working. He turned to two of his fastest riders. "Ye, take one man and ride back tae Niven and the others. Tell him what we've seen here - two hundred men, maybe more. I want ye tae head back tae the castle and bring every fighter we can muster within a day."

"What about the rest of ye, me laird?" he asked.

"We'll watch the camp, see what we can learn. But we need proper numbers before we can act." Colin's jaw tightened as he watched his wife disappear into the enemy stronghold. "Fraser's turned this intae a war. We'll fight it for what it is, instead of a rescue."

The two riders thundered away into the darkness, carrying word that would either bring salvation or confirm their doom. Colin and his remaining men settled in to watch and wait, every hour feeling like an eternity while Morag remained in enemy hands.

It was nearly sunset the following day when Niven finally arrived with the main force - thirty of Armstrong's best, every man who could be spared from the castle's defenses.

"Me laird," Niven said quietly as he reined in beside Colin. "We came as fast as we could."

"Look," Colin said simply, gesturing toward the valley below." That's an army." Colin's voice was deadly calm, though inside he was screaming. "And me wife is somewhere in the middle of it."

The men behind Niven shifted restlessly, their horses sensing their riders' tension. These were seasoned fighters, men who'd followed Colin through blood and hardship. But even they could see the impossible odds spread out below them.

"What are yer orders, me laird?" Niven asked quietly.

Colin stared down at the Fraser camp, his mind working furiously. Thirty men against two hundred. Impossible odds by any measure. But somewhere in that nest of enemies, Morag was waiting for rescue that might never come.

Unless...

"How long would it take tae get word tae our allies?" he asked suddenly. "The MacDougalls, the Campbells, anyone who might answer a call fer aid?"

"Days," Niven replied. "Maybe a week for full mobilization."

"We dinnae have days." Colin's jaw clenched.

"Then what dae we dae?"

Colin looked around at his men—loyal souls who'd followed him into the jaws of hell without question. Good men. Strong men. Men who deserved better than to die in a hopeless assault.

But his wife was down there in that camp, probably terrified, definitely in danger. And every moment he waited was another moment Fraser had to consolidate his advantage.

"Me laird?" Niven's voice cut through his bitter reflections.

Colin straightened in his saddle, the Iron Laird reasserting control over the desperate husband. "We wait fer full dark. Then we see if me few men can accomplish what two hundred expect us tae fail at."

"And if we can't?"

Colin's eyes never left the Fraser camp as he answered. "Then I’ll die tryin’. Because I'll nae leave her in that bastard's hands."

The sun disappeared behind the western peaks, plunging the Highland valley into shadow. And in that darkness, Colin Armstrong began planning either the greatest rescue in clan history—or the most glorious defeat.