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“Owen Cambel.”
De Bourgh’s eyebrows rose. “Cambel? Wonderful. The longest and closest allies of the Bruce. Look at me, lost a castle, but perhaps won the whole war. Owen Cambel and his wife… What’s your name, dear?”
“Amber,” she said begrudgingly.
“What an exotic name. Owen and his wife, Amber, you are in my hands. Once I get started with you, you’ll tell me everything. I might win the whole war for King Edward II.”
He walked away, whistling a merry tune that sent a chill snaking down her spine.
“I’ll be talking to you both soon,” he threw across his shoulder.
Owen hit the bars, his face distorted in helpless rage.
“Why do I have a feeling that being your wife might not be a great thing?” Amber said.
Owen glared at her from under furrowed eyebrows. “Because ’tisnt. Now he thinks he has power over me, can blackmail me with ye.”
Amber curled her hands into fists. “Then why the hell did you lie?”
“To protect ye, why else?”
“Once again, I do not need your protection! All you’ve done is put me in more danger.”
The look Owen gave her was anguished. Strangely, warmth crept through her stomach in response to that look. Silly her. He shouldn’t mean anything to her. She shouldn’t trust him, and shouldn’t rely on him.
But with no one else around on her side, what choice did she have?
Chapter 6
Three days later…
Dark, cold horror crept into Owen’s muscles as he saw Stirling Castle’s walls. They’d been steadily climbing the hill, and finally, Owen could see the cliffs where the castle stood.
He’d never seen a fortress like this one. He’d heard it was impossible to take by siege, and now he knew why. Inverlochy was a child’s toy of daub and sticks compared to this castle. The gatehouse consisted of two thick towers. Walls with wooden galleries for archers and defenders loomed taller and thicker than any he’d ever seen. Square towers at the edges of the front wall provided a strategic defense for the castle’s most vulnerable spots.
Stirling connected the Highlands and Lowlands. Whoever controlled the castle, controlled Scotland. And so far, the English did.
“Not for long,” Owen muttered to himself through his teeth.
The Bruce was winning. Even the Lowlanders who had previously sworn to Edward were rumored to be taking the Bruce’s side. Owen believed that Scotland would be free again, and he was ready to contribute everything he could to make it happen.
The army was slowly passing through the gates. Amber looked up at the sharp spikes along the portcullis.
“Owen,” Amber said, her voice small. “Seriously. How do we get out of here?”
Owen’s gut twisted. After three days of travel, he was out of ideas.
“I dinna ken yet, lass.” He scratched his bristle somberly. “But we will get out. I promise ye.”
Or die trying. But he didn’t say that.
When inside, they continued their way up and up, past simple houses with thatched roofs, gardens with vegetables, and a small orchard, as well as cows and pigs and chickens. There were several workshops. Eventually, they came to a simple, wooden palisade wall with a gate. Behind them loomed a square tower, probably the lord’s tower, or donjon.
Owen and Amber exchanged a worried look. With two walls standing between them and freedom, how in the world were they going to escape?
They stopped in the middle of a courtyard at least twice as big as Inverlochy’s. Besides the donjon, there was a large building attached to the wall—probably the great hall. A simple village house with a thatched roof had smoke coming out of the chimney, and judging by the aromatic scent of cooked meat and bread that was coming out of there, it must be the kitchen. Another stone building was connected to the wooden palisade, perhaps a workshop or the smithy, Owen guessed.
The guard opened their cage, and Owen and Amber descended. It felt good to at least stand on the ground. Owen stretched his legs. The guard tied his hands behind his back, and helplessness weighed on his shoulders. Amber’s hands were tied as well, and she jerked them. She looked like a wild cat—cornered and dangerous.
