Chapter 24

E meric could barely restrain the impulse to throw himself at the gates. As he and his forces gathered out of arrow-range of the MacDonald stronghold, he had to take deep, calming breaths to hold himself in check. Anna was in there.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Declan, the commander of his uncle's forces, laid a hand on his arm. He was a bull of a man, short and squat with hardly any neck, and was a veteran of many skirmishes. He was also an expert tactician and it was in no small part because of his skill in handling the Mackintosh defenses that they had avoided being swallowed by their more powerful neighbors all these years. Now though, they were no longer defending. They were here to attack.

The Mackintosh forces had gathered in a semi-circle in front of the closed gates to Innisbrook Keep. He felt a surge of pride as he looked them over. His uncle's garrison, along with many retired warriors and even farmers and workers from the village had joined the band, eager to finally stand up to the MacDonald bullies. Aye, he felt a swell of pride, but also apprehension. Despite how many had unexpectedly volunteered, they weren't enough .

The MacDonalds were the most powerful clan in the area for a reason. The walls of the keep were high, the gate stout, and the defenders numerous and well-armed. The Mackintosh could not storm the keep. The MacDonalds knew this too, if the way the guards were leaning nonchalantly on the battlements was anything to go by.

"What do ye want, Mackintosh?" one of them shouted. "Go home before we come down there and teach ye a lesson!"

Emeric's men bridled at that, but did not take the bait. They held their lines, as he had briefed them to. This would not be the first time he'd led men in battle against superior odds. In his time with the Order of the Osprey he had faced trickier situations than this and come out alive. When the odds were stacked against you, you had to find a way to swing them in your favor and when you had inferior numbers, guile and trickery were the obvious recourse.

He stepped forward. "We've come for Anna Webster!" he bellowed. "Release her and nobody needs to die here today!"

There was snickering from above the gate. "Nah, dinna think we'll do that! Ye didnae ask nicely enough!"

An arrow thudded into the dirt by Emeric's feet. Good. This was what he'd hoped for. The arrow's flight told him that his calculations had been correct and that this was the furthest range of the MacDonald archers. Unlike the Mackintosh, the MacDonalds were not using English longbows that had greater power and range than traditional ones. It was a small advantage but he'd take what he could get .

The sun was lowering towards the horizon, falling into a bank of clouds that had gathered in the west and as it did so, a cool breeze sprang up, ruffling Emeric's hair and plaid. Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound. The Mackintosh forces waited, a long row of statues staring up at their enemy.

Emeric felt a bead of sweat slip down his temple despite the cool wind, and his stomach churned. Every moment of delay meant another moment Anna was in danger but he knew he had to be patient, had to keep to the plan. On his left, Declan and Angus stood with grim expressions on their faces, on his right, Brodie Murray looked equally focused. Despite this not being his fight, he had insisted on coming along, even though Aislinn had finally been persuaded to remain behind at Dun Achmore. Emeric was glad Brodie was here. If Declan was a master tactician, Brodie, it turned out, was a master trickster. The two of them together might just be able to pull this off.

From his right, he heard the sudden piercing call of a golden eagle. That was the signal. Emeric put his fingers to his lips and whistled. On cue, two smaller forces broke away from the main body of Mackintosh men, moving swiftly towards the east and west points of the castle. These groups held no more than ten men each, their movements quick and silent. Their goal was simple: draw away defenders from the gate. A number of the MacDonalds did just that, peeling away from their perch on the battlements to keep these new threats in view. So far, so good.

With a swift hand gesture, he gave a signal to his archers positioned just behind the main force. Men trained to use the superior English longbows now tightened their grip on the strings, arrows nocked. Emeric waited. It wasn't until he heard the commotion to east and west, indicating the smaller companies had engaged the defenders, that he chopped his arm down in a quick gesture.

Arrows flew from the Mackintosh lines. They cut through the air in a deadly arc, curving upward to meet their targets on the battlements. The MacDonald warriors were taken by surprise by the greater range of the Mackintosh longbows, some of them gored by the lethal rain, others ducking behind the crenels.

Emeric turned to Angus and Declan. "Ready?"

They nodded in response. The three of them tied cloths over their faces, covering their eyes, nose and mouth. The cloth was thin enough that he could see through it but thick enough that it would protect them from what came next.

Hoisting the leather packs slung across their backs, the three men lowered their heads and charged across the open ground. Ahead lay the gate of Innisbrook Keep—an intimidating trap of thick timber reinforced with riveted steel bands. They could not take it by force. So guile would have to do.

With the Mackintosh archers continuing to harry the defenders, Emeric and his band managed to reach the gate unchallenged. Angus and Declan immediately yanked open their packs, pulling out the round clay bottles that lay within. Each had a wax stopper with a wick attached and with swift, practiced movements, they lit the fuses with a spark from a small flint, then hurled them at the base of the large wooden gate .

The clay vessels exploded and plumes of smoke burst forth in clouds of gray and white, curling upwards in a thick, choking haze that enveloped the defenders above the gates. They staggered back, coughing and wiping at suddenly streaming eyes. Emeric felt a stab of satisfaction and sent a silent thank-you to Brodie Murray and the tricks he'd learned from his studies.

Checking the cloth was still securely tied over his face, he opened his own pack and took out three grappling hooks. With a quick glance at Declan and Angus, he set about his task. The ropes attached to the hooks were thick but light, woven by the Mackintosh villagers for use out on the loch. But they served another purpose tonight.

Emeric swung one in a tight arc before letting it fly upwards. It caught on the battlements on the first try. He pulled hard, testing its grip. It held fast.

Handing the other two ropes to Declan and Angus, they repeated his action. Within moments, they had three secure lines attached to the parapets of the keep.

The climb was treacherous due to the stone being slick from years of weathering, but they ascended steadily, their boots finding precarious purchase in the cracks and crevices of the ancient fortress walls. Above them, he could hear muffled shouts and cries of alarm but smoke was still pouring from Brodie's smoke bombs, blinding the defenders. Emeric prayed it stayed that way. If this went wrong, they would find a wall of bared steel waiting for them at the top.

Under the shroud of shifting smoke, Emeric was the first to hoist himself onto the battlements. He released the rope and drew his sword, ignoring the stab of pain from his injured hand. The stench of singed hair and wool filled his nose, even through the cloth mask. He could see confused forms shouting at one another as they stumbled about. One tripped over an arrow-pierced body, cursing loudly as he crashed unceremoniously onto the hard stones. A guardsman loomed suddenly out of the smoke, squinting against it as he tried to make out what was happening below. His sword hung loosely at his side—an easy mark.

Emeric didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his blade moving in a swift arc that caught the guardsman across his exposed neck. A strangled gasp was all the man managed as he flailed momentarily then slumped to the ground, meeting the cold stone with a resonating thump. Emeric moved quickly, wiping his sword on the fallen man's plaid.

A sudden gust of wind swept across the battlements, clearing the smoke a little. It was just enough for him to see Declan and Angus hoisting themselves onto the parapets on either side of him, their faces still covered by the cloth masks. Their eyes were hardened with determination as they drew their own weapons.

Behind them, a handful of guards were struggling to breathe, their faces ghostly white from inhaling the smoke. They coughed violently, waving their hands in a futile attempt to clear the air. One of them spotted Emeric and his comrades but could only point weakly. Emeric ignored them. They were not here for battle. They had another purpose.

Emeric gestured his comrades forward, working their way delicately but quickly along the wall, stepping over unconscious guards and avoiding the others who were still incapacitated. He approached the heavy wooden door that led into the gatehouse.

It was locked, as they'd expected, but Declan produced a set of lock picks and got to work. Despite his large hands, his touch was delicate and within moments they heard the satisfying click of the bolt being released.

Once inside, Angus quickly located the winch. It was a large wooden wheel, with a thick chain connected to the gates. Angus, being the largest among the trio, took hold of the wheel while Emeric and Declan stood guard. With a grunt of effort, Angus began to turn the wheel. It creaked loudly under his strength, but slowly began to budge.

The mechanisms creaked and groaned, echoing eerily in the confined space. Angus grunted as he strained against decades of rust and disrepair. But soon, the wheel started to turn more smoothly as the gate mechanisms released their iron-hard grip. A low rumble vibrated through the stone walls as the massive gates began to open. He heard a cheer and the thump of many feet as the Mackintosh forces came pouring into the bailey.

Declan grinned at him. "We'll show those MacDonald bastards now, eh?"

But Emeric felt no elation, only urgency. "I'll see ye on the other side of this."

Then he bolted to the door and ran to find Anna.