Page 90 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"War," Murray said simply. "If they want tae play at trials and royal justice, let them. But while they're celebrating their victory, we'll be taking what's ours by right of conquest."

"Against the MacDuffs? Murray, that's madness. They're too well defended, after today⁠—"

"After today, they'll be celebrating," Murray interrupted. "Drunk on their triumph, convinced they're safe behind their stone walls. They willnae expect us tae strike so soon after their supposed vindication."

"But the cost⁠—

"The cost of victory is always high, Bruce. But the cost of surrender is higher." Murray sheathed his dirk with a sharp snap. "Gather the councilmen fer a meeting, then send word tae every man who still owes me loyalty. Tell them we ride within the day."

"Where?"

Murray's smile was cold as winter stone. "Tae Castle MacDuff. Tae take back what was stolen from me, and tae teach that MacNeill whore the price of defying Murray MacNab."

***

The sun had barely risen when Murray MacNab stood atop the stone platform, his dark eyes scanning the assembled men below in the courtyard. The sounds of armor clanging, weapons being sharpened, and the murmur of anxious warriors filled the air.

The courtyard was alive with the urgency of preparation as the men of MacNab Castle readied themselves for the march ahead. The air was thick with the heavy scent of sweat and anticipation, a reflection of the dire situation they found themselves in.

“Ye ready, lads?” Murray’s voice boomed, rough and commanding, cutting through the noise. His eyes glinted with fury and desperation. “Taeday, we ride out. We ride out fer war, fer family, fer MacNab!”

The men shouted their approval, though some faces remained wary, the weight of their dwindling numbers and resources hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

“We’ve lost too much!” Murray’s voice cracked with intensity, fists clenched at his sides. “But we willnae lose again. I’ll nae let a traitor like MacDuff laugh at me, and I’ll damn sure take back what’s ours!”

He paced before them, then stopped in front of the warriors, looking each man in the eye. “And if ye truly call yerselves men of Clan MacNab, ye’ll fight tae bring back MacNab honor. Fight like ye never have before. And when ye see the Lady Iona—” his voice hardened, “—ye take her. Bring her back tae me. The man who daes this will receive enough gold tae change his family’s station.”

The men muttered, some nodding eagerly, others casting hesitant glances at one another. But the fervor in Murray’s voice was undeniable, pushing them forward like cattle driven to slaughter.

“Arm yerselves, ready yer weapons! This is our moment! We will nae lose again, nae tae MacDuff, nae tae anyone. Today we make history! Today, we fight fer what’s ours!”

The men roared in unison, their voices rising in a unified battle cry. Weapons were drawn, swords were sharpened, and the preparations for the siege began. The air buzzed with desperate energy, the kind that only comes when warriors know they’re committed to a final, all-or-nothing gamble.

As the men filed out of MacNab Castle heading south toward MacDuff territory, the rhythm of their boots drummed in unison. The landscape stretched before them—a rugged, unforgiving stretch of the Highlands.

Murray rode at the head of the column, his face set in a grim line. His mind was consumed with fury—fury over Dougal’s capture and Iona’s betrayal. The thought of her, the woman he had once been betrothed to, now standing by Ruaridh MacDuff, stoked the fire within him.

“Bruce,” he muttered through clenched teeth, not looking at him as they rode side by side. “I’ll make her regret ever thinking she could defy me.”

Bruce, met his gaze briefly, his face unreadable. “Ye’re consumed by yer hate, Murray. It’ll cloud yer judgment. If we’re tae succeed, ye need tae focus. We cannae afford to lose sight of what matters.”

Murray’s hand tightened around the reins, and his voice grew low and dangerous. “Iona’s betrayal matters, Bruce. She’s the reason we’re here. If she hadnae gone tae MacDuff, if she hadnae turned on me, we wouldnae be fighting this war. She’s the one who started this. And I’ll finish it.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, glancing at the horizon. “Aye, but the war is nae just about her. It’s about our clan, our future.”

Murray didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he urged his horse forward. The journey was long, but every step brought them closer to their destination. The landscape began to change, the familiar places giving way to the more heavily guarded MacDuff territory.

As they neared the borders, the tension thickened. Signs of MacDuff patrols appeared—flags flying, soldiers stationed along the ridges, eyes scanning the distance. Murray’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anticipation and rage.

“Keep yer wits about ye,” Bruce muttered, keeping his voice low. “We’re close.”

Murray didn’t answer, his mind already racing with plans, his focus entirely on the prize ahead. The time for talk was over. They were nearly there.

Night had fallen on the following day by the time they reached the outskirts of Castle MacDuff, their army now hidden in the shadows of the rolling hills. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the battlefield, the silence of the night broken only by the sound of distant waves crashing against the cliffs below.

Bruce gathered the men, his calm voice issuing orders as they took their positions. “We’ll strike at first light. The men in the rear will set up siege equipment. The archers take the high ground, while we move in on the front gates.”

Murray stood to the side, his expression tense as he watched the preparations unfold. His mind was a whirlwind, obsessed with the twin goals of revenge and Dougal’s rescue. The plan was solid, but Murray couldn’t help but feel the gnawing uncertainty in the pit of his stomach.

Bruce approached him, noticing the restlessness in his laird’s posture. “We’ve done all we can. The men are ready. We strike in the morning.”

“Nae yet,” Murray growled, his eyes burning with intensity. “We’ll wait. I want tae see them squirm, watch them think they’ve won. When they least expect it... we strike.”

Bruce nodded, though the skepticism in his eyes was hard to hide.

The definitive positioning was set. Bruce gave his final instructions to the men, ensuring each group knew their role. Murray remained standing, watching over everything with an intensity that was almost palpable.

“At me command,” Murray said softly, his voice growing darker with anticipation. “Attack. Guards, ready?!”

A collective murmur of readiness ran through the ranks, the air thick with the tension of the coming battle. The men shifted nervously, but their loyalty to Murray was unquestioned, and they would follow him into the storm.

Murray’s eyes flicked toward Bruce, his expression hard. The time had come. All they had to do was wait for the signal.

And in the silence that followed, the anticipation mounted, every heartbeat stretching the moment longer.