Page 131 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Stay here," he said, already reaching for his trousers.

"What?"

"The bells." He pulled on his shirt, his mind already moving through the possibilities. Attack, fire, breach. "Stay here until I come back."

He was out the door before she could argue.

The corridor was already filling with men. Servants and soldiers both, moving toward the source of the noise with the organized confusion of people who knew something was wrong but not yet what.

Lachlann took the stairs two at a time and emerged into the courtyard in time to see a guard riding hard through the gate, his horse lathered, his face grim.

"Me laird," the guard shouted, pulling the horse up hard. "The village. They've set fires."

Lachlann felt something in his chest go very still.

"How many?"

"Three buildings that I saw. Maybe more by now." The guard swung down from the saddle. "And there are more ships, six at least, maybe seven, disembarkin' men at the southern beach. They're comin' up the coast road."

"How many men?"

"I couldnae get close enough tae count. Fifty, maybe more."

Lachlann turned to James, who had appeared at his shoulder. "Riders tae the village. Every man who can carry water. I want those fires out before they spread." He turned back to the guard. "The ships, how far out?"

"Close. They were offloadin' when I left."

"Then they'll be on the road within the hour." He scanned the courtyard, his mind running through the arithmetic. Men, horses, time, distance. "Ruadhri. Get the archers tae the wall. Cailean, horses fer twenty men, armed and ready tae ride in ten minutes. James…"

"Aye, me laird."

"Find the lady. Bring her to the inner keep and post a guard. Nobody in or out that ye dinnae personally clear."

"Aye."

He was moving before James had finished acknowledging, crossing the courtyard toward the armory, his mind already three steps ahead.

Fifty men. Maybe more. Torquil had waited until he thought Lachlann was divided. Worried about the village, unprepared for a direct assault, and now he was moving while he thought the advantage was his.

He was wrong about the advantage. But he wasn't wrong about the timing.

Lachlann reached the armory and began pulling weapons from the racks. Sword, dirk, the bow he kept strung for emergencies.

Around him, men were doing the same, moving with the efficient urgency of people who had trained for this and were relieved, in some perverse way, to finally be doing it.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned.

Alba stood in the doorway.

Her face was pale, her hair still loose from sleep, and she was wearing still wearing her shift with a cloak thrown hastily over it. Bràthair stood at her side, his ears up, his body tense in the way dogs got when they sensed their people preparing for something dangerous.

"I told James ye should remain in the keep," Lachlann said.

"He tried tae stop me." She came into the room. "I wanted tae see ye before ye left."

He looked at her. He saw the fear in her face that she was working very hard not to show, at the determination underneath it and he crossed to her in three strides and pulled her against him.

"I'll be back," he said into her hair.