Chapter Three

While he did spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the delectable water nymph—Fiona Rose, he reminded himself, confirming his belief that Fate really did have an ironic sense of humor—Austin was not unmindful of the fierce tribe that surrounded her so protectively. An odd crew they were, he decided, a cluster of short-statured lads whom he could only hope fought as well against the enemy as they snarled at Austin.

The big one, old enough to be the lass's father, was the exception of course, being powerfully built and with coloring not half as fair as the others. His maturity and impressive size, combined with his wizened but weary countenance, implied he was a man with long experience in battle, who might now wish to be done with war, whether through a peaceful ending or a swift death.

Curious crew indeed, Austin reasoned, passing a glance over another female in the midst of the Rose retainers, acquiring a fleeting impression of an anxious and angry bird, gripping her spear tightly, poised not for flight but for a fight, her eyes darting around from the Urry men to Austin's officers to MacLaren's face.

Eamon MacLaren's face was, as it ever had been, arrested in a state of sullen ennui. The lad, who likely had seen no more years nor more battles that the young Rose chieftain, was—?twas no secret throughout the armies—here under his domineering father's direction, but clearly wished to be elsewhere. Judging him ruthlessly, Austin presumed the lad might rather be coddled at his mother's breast right now.

Returning his regard to Fiona Rose, Austin took note of the sword at her hip. Reluctantly, since he believed women had no place in war, he had to admit that the weapon didn't appear entirely out of place; in fact, it seemed almost at home against the curve of her hip. She wore breeches and a tunic, which he had to assume were a practical choice for her role as a soldier, allowing her the freedom and ease necessary for the rigors of battle.

With a sigh exhibiting his own dissatisfaction over what would be his companions in a dangerous siege, Austin lent his attention to Urry as he laid out the plan he'd envisioned for the taking of de Rathe's keep, the owner of which was not to be spared. Per Robert Bruce's ordinance, the man was to be punished for his crimes against king, crown, and country.

"As ye all ken," Urry began, "Castle Wick is well-fortified and strategically vital. Its high stone walls and position overlooking the River Nairn make a direct assault costly and dangerous. As ye also ken, there are ways to outmaneuver even the most formidable defenses."

Standing erect with a thumb looped into his belt, which effectively hid it from view under his belly, Urry used the long forefinger of his other hand to point out details on the map, which appeared to have been rendered in charcoal, delivered from the end of a thin, charred twig. "First, we'll cut off their supplies. The castle relies heavily on the river for provisions and reinforcements. We'll position forces along the riverbanks here and here," he said, indicating strategic points along the river, "to block any attempts at resupply by boat. Our archers and skirmishers will ensure that nothing gets through."

He then traced a path through the forested areas surrounding the castle. "Next, we'll use the cover of these woods to move troops into position. Under the cloak of night, we'll establish camps closer to the castle, creating multiple fronts to divide their attention. We'll set up hidden outposts to observe and intercept any scouts they might send out."

Urry's finger moved to the northern side of the castle, along the river. "This area is their weakest point—less fortified and less guarded, due to the steep incline. It's difficult terrain, but if we can scale it—again, preferably under cover of darkness—we can launch a surprise attack from within. A small, elite group of the best climbers and fighters will handle this."

He paused, letting the details given thus far sink in. "Meanwhile, our main forces will create a diversion with a feigned frontal assault. They'll believe we're foolishly attempting a direct siege and will divert resources to defend against it. This should draw attention and manpower away from our true points of entry."

Urry's eyes met those of each man and woman around the table. "Timing and coordination are critical. They ken we're here, closed the gates nae sooner than we settled in. Nae one's been in or out since then. Still, we canna use signal fires and horn blasts to synchronize our movements and thus must rely upon our swiftest couriers. I suggest a dozen of these. Once inside, we must act swiftly to open the gates. Overwhelming them quickly is our best chance for victory."

"How many do ye imagine are inside?" The young MacLaren lad asked of Urry.

"By all accounts, and what we noticed ere they closed the gates," Urry answered, "I dinna reckon more than eighty within. That puts our number almost five times larger." He straightened, his expression resolute. "This plan requires precision and bravery from all of us. But if we succeed, Castle Wick will be ours, and with it, control of the River Nairn. This will cripple the English supply lines in the northeast and give us a significant advantage in the coming months—and years so long as we can hold onto Wick."

"I've got the climbers we need," Fiona Rose volunteered. "Sparrow, Kieran, and I will—"

"Lady Fiona," Urry cut in, "I appreciate yer eagerness, but I need men of size to overpower whatever—whoever—might be encountered within."

Austin watched as Fiona Rose bristled with indignation, counting that as the second time she'd done so today.

Urry glanced at the big, bearded man at her side. "Fraser, can ye manage the climb?"

"Fraser canna climb, sir, nae as fast or ably as I," Fiona Rose answered for him. "He'll lead in my stead at the main gate or in the forest, whichever ye prefer. I can handle any—"

"Let's nae attach any significance to this rabble, sir," Austin cut in, directing his suggestion to Urry. "?Tis nae so much an army but a collection of pike-armed, fiery-haired novices." He paused and lifted his hand toward the old man in the group, whom she'd called Fraser. "Nae offense to the Almighty," he said, feigning sincerity to the man who bore a striking resemblance to Austin's imagined concept of God.

He was subjected to a dark look from the man. At the same time, Fiona Rose gasped in furious outrage and glared at him, before returning her attention to Urry.

"I will nae argue with his flawed assessment, nae any such rubbish that flies out of his mouth," she began through clenched teeth.

"Ye are disadvantaged because of yer size," Austin contended firmly. "Ye simply canna—"

"Are the smaller men in yer army frustrated by their size?" She asked fiercely, facing him, thrusting her hands onto her hips. "Or are they better weapons for their speed and agility?"

Austin shrugged, allowing, "Aye, they may be, but it remains to be seen if ye are."

Pointedly, with an expression of triumphant satisfaction, Fiona Rose asked him, "Was I hampered by my size an hour ago when I managed to lay my blade against yer throat?"

For the space of a second, no one moved or spoke.

Austin glared at her for mentioning that minor success, which he still maintained he would have overcome if he'd wanted to actually assault her.

Someone burst out laughing, breaking the stunned silence, the content of her words possibly just now sinking in. Austin thought it sounded like Finnegan's robust chuckle.

The twin of God moved to stand between Fiona Rose and Austin, and leveled upon him a most ferocious scowl, which certainly was not so different from what the wrath of the actual God looked like, Austin imagined.

Undeterred, Austin shrugged, to some degree wishing to provoke her. "I merely point out that ye simply canna command the same respect as a seasoned warrior."

"Respect is nae given based on gender, Merrick," Fiona Rose spat indignantly. "It's earned through action and leadership."

"Aye, so it is," he allowed, quite pleased to goad her. "But it's a hard sell to the men, seeing a woman on the battlefield. Ye'll find trust hard to come by, especially when they see ye falter in the face of true combat."

Fiona Rose's lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes gleaming with defiance and amusement, fully aware of his attempts to provoke her. "I will nae falter. And when they see me fight, they'll ken I'm as capable as any man."

"Time will tell, lass," he suggested, his tone hinting that he genuinely doubted it. "Mark my words, though: the battlefield is a cruel mistress, and she cares nae for what ye're trying to prove."

"I'm about three seconds away from skewering ye with my blade, lad," said the man, Fraser, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword, while he shifted a bit to cut off Austin's view of Fiona Rose. "And I'll lose nae sleep while yer body becomes feed for scavengers."

"Cease!" Urry commanded gruffly. "Enough! Bleeding saints! But fighting amongst ourselves willna win Wick. And ye!" Urry snapped, directing his sudden annoyance at Austin. "I just said to ye, nae but hours ago, leave that bluidy feud outside my fight."

Austin held up his hands, palms forward, and stood down, though he did not quickly break eye contact with Fraser, who might well be trying to smote him with his glower. He also did not defend himself to Urry by confessing that he'd not known she was Fiona Rose when he'd caused her to—or rather, when she'd felt she'd needed to resort to using her dagger earlier.

"Aye," he said agreeably, smiling broadly, "we must work together to lay a proper siege against de Rathe's castle. But dinna despair, for we've God on our side now, here in our midst," Austin quipped, opening his hands toward Fraser before he lifted his arms wide and asked cheerily, "And who shall be against us?"

"Aye, and praise him," called out Fiona with angry confidence, "as he's nae doubt worth ten of all yer pretty lads."

Austin raised his brow at her, taunting her for her inability to keep her own word, for challenging the rubbish that flies out of his mouth.

In truth, however, he was frustrated with the whole affair. While he was sure of his own army's resolve and expertise, the Merricks were but one part of the combined army. His gaze flickered over the faces around the table. In his mind, despite claims to the contrary, he saw too many green faces, too many uncertain stances. These were likely faces of men—and two bluidy lasses—who had seen little more than skirmishes, if that. And Urry, puffed up with his own importance and the promise of accolades, and despite what Austin considered a feasible plan, was no more experienced in combat than the pig-tailed bird carrying the long pike. His mouth tightened into a thin line of frustration, not bothered by the idea that the Merricks would by necessity have to serve as the backbone of the plan, but that some of his men would likely die for the incompetence of others.

His man Straun, standing in the circle as one of Austin's officers, gasped a bit at the Rose chief's retort. His eyes widened, first with seeming confusion before a grin of wonderment creased his face. Thwacking Ronan next to him on the arm, he boasted, "She called me pretty."

Straun was—no one who knew him could honestly deny—a wee bit crazy. At his best, he was fearless and unpredictable; at his worst, he was chaotic and offensive. He stood head and shoulders above the tallest man, even the God-man, and wore long braids at the side of his head, a nod to what he claimed was Viking heritage. He was known to go days without speaking, though often he talked at length with himself. He had a peculiar habit, sometimes amusing, often not, of narrating his role within a fight as it was happening. He was, all things considered, a warrior beyond compare, his immense size and his utter lack of concern for his own well-being making him one of the most able-bodied fighters Austin had ever seen or known. On his good days, he exuded cleverness, great foresight, and a surprising knack for strategy that belied his wild nature.

Presently, Straun turned and looked down from his great height at the birdlike Rose female standing directly next to him. "Ye, too?" He asked, flicking one of the lass's braids. "Ye ken I'm pretty?"

Two Rose men at the table, evidently siblings of the lass by the looks of them, moved, but not as quick as the lass herself did. As quick as Fiona Rose, the bird's dagger appeared. As she was too tiny to reach his neck, she shoved the blade into Straun's side.

She hadn't pressed it deep but Straun's tunic, where it was pressed into his flesh, did darken as blood was drawn.

"Jesus Christus," Urry growled.

"Dinna ever touch me again," the bird warned Straun through gritted teeth, her voice raspy.

Straun's expression hadn't changed, hadn't even registered that she'd cut him. He sighed and moved his gaze off the lass, appearing to promptly forget the incident.

"Quick with their blades, those Rose lasses," Austin quipped moodily. Despite the girl's deft hand motion, his opinion of the skill of any Rose remained unchanged. "I'll give ?em that."

"And ye Merricks are reckless," Urry accused, his ire piqued. "Stand down, all of ye." He leaned one hand on the board, his palm in the charcoal forest, and pointed a finger of his other hand at Austin. "Ye'd best start managing yerself and yer men properly, Merrick. This is a campaign, nae a brawl. I need discipline, nae disorder." His eyes burned with intensity. "I'll be damned if I let ye and yer recklessness sabotage my campaign, Merrick. Get yer men under control, or I'll deal with ye and them myself."

"Aye, sir," Austin readily acquiesced, knowing he'd possibly gone too far to bring to attention the improbability of the Roses being useful inside a siege. And he hadn't even started yet on Eamon MacLaren and his expected worthlessness.

"Here's a call for volunteers, then," Sir John said, addressing the party around the table and many other Urry men beyond but within hearing.

"Again, I submit myself and Sparrow for the climb," Fiona Rose spoke up. "Put aside yer own narrow view of women in this war, Sir, and accept what is available to ye, right in front of ye."

Austin raised a brow at her challenge, which Urry would be hard pressed to ignore. She'd essentially just passed judgment on his judgment, and dared him to prove her wrong about him.

"Aye, and fine," Urry conceded crossly. "Ye—and ye alone— may attach yerself to that unit, climbing the wall, Lady Fiona. And dinna make me regret it. But only ye. I dinna need two lasses falling off the braeside." He sent his dark gaze to Eamon MacLaren. "Who have ye?"

Eamon appeared nonplussed, a wee bit disconcerted to be put on the spot. "I'm nae...that is, I would have to consult with..." he paused and glanced around for his captain, a soft and portly man who at that moment was inspecting the underside of his fingernails.

"Bluidy hell," Fraser seethed. He confronted Urry. "Name the division yourself, man. Ye ken yer own men. Choose the most likely candidates. Have ye nae sense of the capabilities of any of the parties under yer command?"

Again, Austin's brow raised with intrigue. He rather respected that Fraser didn't bow to courtesy, his frustration over this inept process preventing him from using Urry's title or even the expected ‘sir'.

"Aye, aye, and I have a few men to put forth," Urry said, his florid face flushing under the fury of Fraser. Belatedly, Urry added, "Naturally."

As the strategy in whole relied heavily on this covert part working seamlessly and successfully, Austin volunteered himself and some of his men. "I'll take the climb, me and half a dozen of my men." While Urry nodded, Austin advised firmly, "Have the MacLarens take on the frontal assault." He wasn't sure they were capable of much else. "Put yer own army in the forest and at the river and docks." He turned his gaze onto the Rose captain and inquired, "Have ye guid scouts? Runners?"

Fraser nodded, losing a bit of his steam for the way Austin had taken charge of the assignments. "Aye, we can give five."

"Verra guid," Austin responded. "I'll provide the others."

"My scouts are already in place," Urry argued. "All about the region, clever and competent, every one of them."

Austin turned on him. "And keep them there, as they are needed in that regard. But we need more for this venture, in close proximity to Wick."

He was sure that Fraser already despised him, but Austin wasn't worried about the man's opinion of him. He didn't plan on sharing a drink with him or exchanging battle tales; he wasn't interested in making friends with the Roses. He did appreciate, however, what he believed to be true about the man: that he knew his way around a fight, and that the giant sword at his hip was not just for show. And thus, Austin addressed his next words to Fraser.

"Aye and now everyone has their assignments, let us condense our camps and prepare to move in"—he paused and glanced up at the sky— "eight hours." He didn't need Fraser's approval but was satisfied with the nod noticed in his periphery. "Save for ye," Austin then said to Eamon MacLaren. "Dinna move until ye hear from the runners that all is in place." With that, he glanced at Urry, lifting a brow to wonder if the man had anything to add.

"Aye...aye," Urry said. "Convene the armies here," he ordered, "as it makes more sense to move the smaller ones rather than my larger force."

Fiona turned her green eyes on Austin, lifting her hand at him in question. "Where are ye situated?"

"Half mile from here, in the southwest corner of the forest," he answered.

Fiona faced Urry. "But is nae the Merrick camp better positioned? To launch our campaign from there?"

Urry opened his mouth, glancing between Austin and Fraser, as if the answer resided with either of them since both men had just displayed hints of natural leadership.

Fraser replied to Fiona. "Aye, ?tis a better choice, milady. We should assemble there."

Truth be told, Austin was a wee surprised that she did not gloat now, having her suggestion confirmed.

"Verra guid," she said simply. "Let us do that."

With that decided, Fiona Rose nodded succinctly at the group around the table and without a word, took her leave. She was flanked immediately by the red-haired brothers, while the bird hung back only a few seconds more to glare and curl her lip at Straun.

Fraser strode directly to Austin and got right in his face, so close their chests nearly collided.

"I dinna like ye," he seethed in a dangerously quiet voice. "One wrong move, Merrick, and I'll find a way to sink my blade into yer flesh during the siege."

Unperturbed, Austin scarcely nodded, replying tersely, "Noted," before pivoting on his heel and marching toward his steed, waiting with his squire.

Within several hundred yards outside of Urry's camp, Brodie, second-in-command of the Merrick army, caught up with Austin. Austin turned at his approach, noting the stern expression on Brodie's face.

"What in blazes was that back there?" Brodie shouted, his voice barely carrying over the pounding hooves.

Tall and at ease in the saddle, his shoulders draped with a thick fur cloak, Brodie's face was framed by a mane of tousled brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His deep brown eyes, normally carrying a steely determination that inspired confidence in many, were trained on Austin in stern reprimand.

Austin turned his head slightly, straining to hear. "What do ye mean?" he called back, raising his voice to compete with the clamor of their ride.

"Ye know exactly what I mean!" Brodie bellowed, his tone harsh and insistent. "Yer behavior was obnoxious!"

Austin tightened his grip on the reins, frustration evident in his voice as he replied, "Urry's an incompetent imbecile, MacLaren is some poorly planted jest of God, or mayhap the devil, and the Roses...Jesu, aside from the man, Fraser...c'mon, Brodie—those lasses have nae business pretending to be warriors."

Brodie moved his horse closer, his face flushed with anger. "We need unity, nae discord!" he yelled, his words almost lost in the wind.

Annoyed by the dispute with his captain, Austin reined in sharply and turned on Brodie when he stopped next to him. "Bluidy shite falling, that's what we'll have," Austin grumbled, his jaw tight. " I'm going to climb a bluidy wall and what? Ye truly expect that there'll be anyone at my side by the time I reach the top? Think ye Urry and his troops'll be able to storm from the forest with any effectiveness? Do ye imagine—seriously—that MacLaren will nae make a muddle of that frontal attack. Ye saw them? Will ye put yer life in those wee hands?"

"Nae, it's more'n that," Brodie argued tersely, "and what is it? What the hell happened that the lass was compelled to put her dagger to yer throat?"

"Jesu, what does it matter?"

Brodie's eyes widened, annoyed at Austin's lack of comprehension. "She bluidy rejected ye, I'm thinking. And now she'll be climbing next to ye on the cliff and the wall—ye dinna see a problem with that? Ye'll get careless, out to prove something to her," he imagined. "Christ, or worse, ye'll give the lass a guid shove, sending her falling and sprawling."

For a split second, Austin stared at him, stunned, his annoyance increasing tenfold.

Quietly, he said, "Ye're nae longer serving my brother, mate. Dinna forget that."

With that, he kneed his big black destrier and galloped away.

Austin had inherited Brodie as captain of the army following his brother's demise, a decision made by his father in which Austin had no say. As long as his father lived and remained sound of mind, the appointment of the army's captain rested solely with him. Austin was expected to serve as the formal head, while Brodie continued to lead as he had with Austin's older brothers.

For the past decade, Austin had served in lesser roles within his brothers' army, never aspiring to leadership, focusing instead solely on surviving each day. Even as he had resigned himself to a supporting role, his experience had been less marked by a lack of ambition than it was by a desire to live another day.

In his mind, he believed that his brothers had also only been going through the motions as commanders before they were killed. Their leadership had been characterized by a lack of camaraderie and a palpable disinterest in the welfare of their soldiers. The troops had been nothing more than pawns in a game, with no sense of unity or shared purpose. Neither Alexander nor Andrew had fostered a spirit of brotherhood among the men, nor had they shown any genuine care for the soldier fighting beside them. Orders were given and followed out of duty rather than loyalty or respect. There had been no unified cause to rally behind, no deeper meaning to their battles other than mere survival and the fulfillment of obligations.

This was the legacy Austin had inherited—a fractured, disillusioned force. When he first took over as the laird's son in charge of the Merrick army two years ago, Austin had been happy to have Brodie continue in his role. However, as time went on, Austin began to see there were better ways to do things and more effective training to undertake. It hadn't been immediate, but eventually, Austin had become determined to make changes. If this was to be his life—and likely would be the cause of his death—he wanted it to be worthwhile.

He initiated new strategies, improved the training regimens, and fostered a more cohesive unit among the troops, striving to build an army where every man was valued, where mutual respect and trust formed the foundation of their strength. It was this belief that drove him to overhaul their training, to lead by example, and to ensure that every soldier knew he had a leader who truly cared about their well-being and their cause.

What had started as a reluctant inheritance of command had transformed into a role where Austin truly led, his leadership growing stronger and more impactful with each passing day.

He firmly believed, with more pride than arrogance, that he had under his command now an entirely different force than what he'd assumed control of originally. They fought differently, better and harder; they trained with a renewed sense of purpose and discipline. Camaraderie had replaced the previous indifference, with soldiers looking out for one another, united by a shared cause, part of which was pride in the Merrick name.

Brodie wasn't openly disgruntled and had mostly accepted what was effectively a reversal of roles. However, there were times when he still acted as if he were in charge. Though Brodie never explicitly said, "Yer sire shall hear of this," Austin frequently sensed the underlying sentiment in his semi-regular scoldings and was given cause to wonder if Brodie's acceptance of Austin's authority was indeed complete.

Knowing he had more to consider presently than the extent of his captain's discontentment or even Brodie's disrespectful reproach, Austin focused on the matter at hand. He ran through names and faces in his mind, pulling together a team to climb the wall. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he rode, considering at length if it would serve the entire force better to install some of his units into each location of operation.

And he wondered how much more annoyed he was going to be when it came time to actually begin their climb, with Fiona Rose expected to be at his heels.

"Bluidy nursemaid, I'll be," he grumbled into the wind.