Page 127 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER THIRTY

"They're here."

The words cut through the pre-dawn silence like a blade. David jerked awake, his hand already reaching for the sword he'd kept beside the bed. Beside him, Elinor sat up, her face pale in the dim light filtering through the window.

"How many?" David was already moving, pulling on clothes with practiced efficiency.

The guard at the door—he'd posted two outside their bedchamber—spoke quickly. "Scouts count at least a hundred. Maybe more. They're a mile out and movin' fast."

"Sound the alarm. Get everyone to their positions." David buckled his sword belt, checking that his dirk was secure. "And find Tristan. Tell him I want him at the main gate in five minutes."

"Aye, me laird."

The guard disappeared, and moments later the alarm bell began to ring—three short bursts, then silence, then three more. The signal they'd prepared. The one that meant war had arrived.

"David." Elinor was out of bed now, wrapping a robe around herself. "What do you need me to do?"

"Get dressed. Go tae the great hall. That's where the wounded will be brought." He crossed to her, cupping her face in his hands. "Remember what we discussed. Stay away from the walls. Stay away from anywhere arrows can reach."

"I remember." She gripped his wrists. "You be careful. Please."

"Always am." He kissed her hard and fast, then released her. "I love ye."

"I love you too. Now go. Your men need you."

David left her and took the stairs three at a time, his mind already shifting into battle mode. The castle was coming alive around him—men rushing to their positions, servants hurrying to secure supplies, the organized chaos of a well-drilled defense.

He reached the battlements just as the first light of dawn broke over the eastern hills. And there, spreading across the valley like a dark stain, was Langley's army.

"Christ," Tristan breathed beside him. "That's more than a hundred."

"Aye." David's jaw tightened.

More than a hundred men. Against his garrison of maybe eighty trained fighters, plus whatever clansmen could wield a weapon. They were outnumbered.

But they had the walls. The high ground. And the desperation of men defending their home.

"Archers tae the battlements," David called out, his voice carrying across the wall. "I want every approach covered. Anyone who tries tae scale these walls, ye put an arrow in them. Understood?"

"Aye, me laird!" came the response from dozens of throats.

"Spearmen at intervals along the wall. If they get ladders up, ye push them back. Dinnae let anyone gain a foothold." He moved along the walkway, checking positions, making sure everyone knew their role. "And someone get oil heatin'. If they try tae ram the gates, we'll need it."

Below, in the courtyard, more men were assembling. David could see his captain organizing them into defensive units—some to reinforce the gate, others to serve as reserves, ready to respond wherever the attack was strongest.

"There." Tristan pointed. "Movement in their ranks."

David followed his gesture and saw a figure on horseback moving to the front of the enemy force. Even at this distance, David could make out the crimson cloak.

Langley.

"He's goin' tae parley," Tristan said.

"Or try tae." David watched as Langley rode forward, accompanied by two men carrying what looked like a white banner. "Let's hear what he has tae say."

They met at the gate, David on the walls looking down, Langley on his horse looking up. The English knight's face was flushed with excitement or anger, David couldn't tell which.

"MacDonald!" Langley's voice carried clearly in the morning air. "I've come for what's mine. Send out Lady Elinor, and we can end this without bloodshed."