Chapter Seven

The Past ~ 1460

Dunstaffnage Castle, Scotland

"My lady, 'tis Bran. Yer husband sent me to fetch ye and take ye to safety."

Isabel raced to the door, slid open the latch, and flung it open. There, on the other side, stood Bran, Eppie, and Archibald Stewart, the stablemaster. "Where's Gilbert?" Isabel demanded as Margaret cried and Graeme joined her wailing.

"Take the lass," Bran said to Archibald instead of answering Isabel.

Fear struck at Isabel's core as she scrambled for her daughter, who was plucked unceremoniously from Ross's hands and scooped into Archibald's, who turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadowy corridor without a word.

"Nay!" Isabel screamed and started out the door toward him, but Bran grasped her arm and held firmly.

"I beg yer forgiveness, my lady, but I act upon the orders of yer husband."

"What orders? Where is he?" she screeched, hysteria rising in her like a wave upon the ocean. Ross charged Bran as if to barrel past him and out the door, but Bran easily stopped him with one hand while still holding Isabel firmly with the other.

"Orders given this morning, in the event he should be captured," Bran replied and silently motioned to Eppie and then Graeme.

Isabel lunged for Graeme, who cried out for her, but Eppie was lithe and agile. She sprang toward Graeme, scooped him up as he flailed his arms, and moved past Bran, who lifted Ross up and onto his hip like a sack of grain. But this sack was pummeling Bran's arm with his fists.

"What are ye doing with my children?" Isabel cried.

"Keeping them alive," Bran replied as Eppie disappeared from Isabel's sight. Isabel tried to jerk her arm out of Bran's hold to no avail. "My lady, I am simply carrying out yer husband's orders. Ye are to come with me and the lad, and when all is safe, I'll reunite ye with yer other children."

Her thoughts were tumbling as fast as her heart was beating, making her dizzy. She had to grasp Bran's arm to steady herself. "Where is my husband?" she asked, surprised she could get the words out with her throat as dry as parchment.

The shadow that fell over Bran's face made her shrink into herself. She let out a moan, and Ross, who never cried, began to do so. With great effort, she struggled to control her emotions for her son, and after a moment, a calm descended unlike anything she'd ever experienced. "Where do they have him?"

"He was in the inner courtyard last I saw him, surrounded by John's guards and men whose allegiance I dunnae ken," Bran said.

"Mama," Ross said in a tiny trembling voice that broke her heart.

When Bran gave her a wary look, she said in a firm, lady-of-the-stronghold tone, "Give him to me. I'll say my goodbyes quickly."

"But, my lady, ye are to come with me."

She gave Bran a look that she knew said everything without her having to utter a word.

"Ye'll nae leave my lord." It was a statement from Bran's lips, not a question.

She nodded. She could not leave her husband to die. She would always think she could have done something to save him, and currently her children were in safe hands. She had to believe it would turn out all right. With a sigh and a look of understanding mingled with resignation, Bran released his hold on her and handed Ross, who had quieted, to her. He was almost too big to be held, but he wrapped his legs around her waist and pressed his hands to her cheeks. "Mama, 'tis all right?"

"Aye," she answered immediately, though the thunderous noise of the log being rammed into the door below made her grit her teeth. She kissed the top of Ross's head and locked gazes with Bran. "What are Gilbert's orders?"

"Scatter the bairns to protect them. Eppie and Archibald have each made their way to secret passages that lead out of the castle in different directions, and I'll take the one in here. When my lord thinks it's safe, he will send word with yer brother for us to reunite. And if the worst should occur, I am to decide when it's safe to bring the bairns out of hiding."

She understood, and she squeezed Ross to her so hard that he grunted. "Gilbert will prevail, and I'll aid him." She swallowed the large lump in her throat and glanced down at Ross, who was staring at her with wide, speculative eyes. Would he even remember her or Gilbert if they died? Ross was so young. Her throat tightened at the thought of being forgotten by her own children, but it was a likely possibility. All three of them were too young to remember. But she would not die. Gilbert would not die. He had always said that together they were invincible.

She pressed another kiss to Ross's forehead and took his chin gently in her hand. When his eyes locked with hers and she knew she had his attention, she said, "I will see ye soon." God willing. She wanted to leave it at that. To give only hope, but she had to be practical. "Ye will someday be laird." He nodded, a serious look for one so young coming across his face. She fought the tightening in her throat, but yelling from below prodded her to hurry. The castle had been breached. "As such, 'tis yer responsibility to avenge any strike against our clan, and it is yer responsibility to see to yer sister and brother. Do ye ken me?"

"Aye, Mama," Ross said, but she could see that his attention had wandered, and when she followed the line of his gaze to Bran, she saw that Bran had his hand on a branding iron that was sitting on his hip in a leather strap.

"We need to go, my lady," Bran said, inclining his head to Ross.

She steeled herself against the desire not to hand Ross over to Bran, but she knew it was best. "I'll ward off whomever comes up the stairs," she said.

Bran nodded as he moved into the room toward the wardrobe. With a grunt, he pulled it away from the wall to reveal the secret tunnel that would lead Bran and Ross to the loch beyond the castle walls and to safety She set Ross down as Bran motioned to him.

"Come here, lad," Bran said gently.

Ross obeyed without question, which set a calm to Isabel's heart. If something should happen to her and Gilbert, Bran would champion her children. He had always had a special bond with Ross, which showed in Ross's lack of hesitation to leave her side for Bran's.

"What's this for?" Ross asked, touching the branding iron at Bran's hip.

Bran bent over, scooped Ross up, and said, "'Tis for ye, lad, and yer brother and sister will get a brand too in case someday someone needs proof of who ye are." Bran's gaze locked with Isabel's. She had to blink away the tears that flooded her eyes as the implication of Bran's words sunk in. Her children would be branded with a hot iron, and if this was her husband's order to Bran, then Gilbert did not think they were going to survive.

"Will it hurt?" Ross asked, and he slid his arms around Bran's neck.

"Aye, lad," Bran responded truthfully. "But ye're brave and ye'll nae make a sound."

"I'll nae make a sound," Ross reassured him, so very solemn suddenly for one so young.

"'Tis a good lad," Bran said and patted Ross on the back. The small gesture reassured Isabel and settled her heart for what was to come.

"Will ye brand me now?" Ross asked.

"Nay, lad," Bran said, his dark gaze locking with hers.

Isabel saw the urgency there, and suddenly, sounds came rushing to her. Dozens of footsteps on the spiral staircase that led to the bedchambers. The shouts of men that echoed from the corridors below and floated up the staircase to her. They were coming for her and for her son, who was the only one of her children left in the castle.

She shook off her desire to keep Ross near and stepped back from the tunnel in which Bran stood. "I'll push the wardrobe behind ye," she assured Bran, even as the very footsteps of the interlopers seemed to reverberate beneath her slippered feet.

He nodded, sadness etching lines around his face. "We will see ye soon, my lady."

"Aye," she said, her chest aching. "Until then, ye serve my son as ye do me and my husband."

"'Til my dying breath," he responded as she pushed the wardrobe up against the wall.

A pounding came at the door just as she got the wardrobe in place. "Open up, by orders of the Lord of the Isles."

There was no point in resisting. They would come through the door no matter what.

She walked toward it, feeling as if she were floating above herself, watching her every movement. She slid the wooden bar out of the latch on the door and opened it to a man she recognized as John MacDonald's right hand. He hitched a bushy black eyebrow that had a slash of silver through it. Stepping across the threshold, he took her by the arm in a viselike grip. "Where are yer children?"

"Gone," she said, feeling the heavy weight of the truth burrow into her bones. Had she made the right choice? Would she ever see Ross, Graeme, or Margaret again in this life? And if she didn't, would they find one another somehow and come back together to avenge her, their father, and their clan?

MacDonald's man raised a dagger in his right hand. It appeared as a blur of flesh and glinting silver metal. She thought then of her brother, forgotten in her fear for herself, her husband, and her children. Alan would surely find her children if she and Gilbert were to fall, aid them, and protect them. The thought gave her comfort when the hilt of the dagger smacked her on her forehead and black washed over everything.