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“Why, Malcolm?” she demanded softly. “Why are ye doing this?”

He glared at her, but it was a façade. “Just be grateful I am not leaving ye to the soldiers.”

She nodded her head. “I am. But I want to know why ye’re doing this for me. For us.”

His mouth went into a flat line. How could he explain it to her? He’d spent all of his time and energy hating his family up until this moment. His urgency to save Caladora and Jordan was greater than he had ever known. There was virtually nothing he could do for Matthew, Cord, or Ian in the dungeons. But he could help his two helpless female cousins.

“I dunna know,” he said truthfully, his hard veneer peeling away. “Mayhap I…I have realized what I have done to my mother’s family. Ye’ve never done me any harm, either one of ye.” He shrugged in frustration. “I just dunna know. Dunna ask me anymore than that.”

He was gone, leaving them with the torch and a good deal of confusion.

*

The drawbridge was charcoal. Anything else that had been wood and had the misfortune to be close enough to the flaming bridge was now aflame as well, and that included shelters atop the wall that were now going up in smoke.

Pleased that the wall was beginning to burn, William was also concerned that the fire would spread to the castle before he could get Jordan out. Urged on by a new sense of gravity, he managed to fight his way through the Scot lines and reach the moat. Paris and Jason were close behind him.

“What now?” Paris demanded over the noise of battle.

William looked at the smoking, gaping hole where the drawbridge had once been and then looked at the moat. With a cock of his eyebrow, he spurred his horse forward.

“ ’Tis only one way to find out how deep this pit is.” he shouted.

His destrier made it up to his belly before he could not or would not go any further. William, covered up to his knees with slimy muck, finally edged the animal out of the water.

“Damn!” he spat. “Where are those ladders? ’Tis the only way we will make it across.”

The ladders were not far off. Ranulf had fifty men working on chopping down saplings and lashing them together with rope. The first one was nearly finished when Jason came racing back into the brush bearing William’s demands. With a wave of his arm, Ranulf beckoned twenty men to carry the ladder to the moat.

’Twas not an easy task, for they had to carry the first ladder through several hundred feet of fighting, dying men before they had a clear enough field to carry it the rest of the way unassaulted. Paris directed the laying of the ladder, making sure it was secure on both ends before allowing the first soldier to mount it.

“I will go in first,” William announced.

Paris cocked his brow. “Not without me.”

Both men bailed from their destriers, moving toward the ladders while William yelled out orders for Kieran to take the field command. Under the cover of the archers firing into the open bailey to keep the enemy at bay, William and Paris led their men across the makeshift bridge.

Even with the archer cover, Scot soldiers awaited them. William had to balance himself and cut down two of them before he was able to jump from the ladder onto the ground. He felt as if he were fighting off the entire country of Scotland as Paris and eventually the other soldiers were able to cross the ladder and support his efforts.

“I am going for the castle!” William shouted to Paris, who nodded briefly before slicing a Scot soldier in two.

“I shall follow!” he yelled back.

“Nay!” William ordered. “You hold the bailey. And I do not want prisoners. Kill them all.”

Paris gave him a mildly surprised glance before nodding to the unusual command. If William wanted everyone dead, then so be it. But he was damn hesitant to let William go at the castle alone.

“William!” he began over the shouting.

“Nay, Paris!” William shot back. “You must stay here.”

Angered but obedient, Paris nodded again and returned to his battle.

William was fighting his way toward the structure when a familiar figure caught his eye. Even in the moonlight, he recognized Malcolm Scott rushing from the castle toward the fight, unaware that William was stalking his movements. He thought it strange the man had no weapon, nor any battle armor, but no matter. William was so intent on killing that he didn’t give a second thought to the fact he was to strike down an unarmed man.

William’s chest tightened with hatred and glee, the man was walking right into his own death. He would do now what he should have done a year ago, and do it with great relish. This kind of treason deserved nothing less.

Malcolm never saw it coming. William’s sword cut through the night air at him, slicing into his soft belly slickly. Malcolm cried out, clutching at his mortal wound even as William twisted his sword before withdrawing it, a move to ensure that Malcolm’s death would be as painful as possible.