“We’ll see if the wine works a second time,” Ian told the others. “Father Brian, are ye willing to take the barrel into the hall to distract them?”
The priest nodded.
“Once all the men inside gather around Father Brian, we’ll go in as quietly as we can,” he said to his father and Niall. “If Sìleas is in the hall, we’ll take her and be gone before most of them notice we’re there.”
Or so he hoped.
“If she’s not in the hall…” Ian swallowed at the thought of what that would mean. “Then Niall and da will guard the stairs while I go up and fetch her.”
It was a poor plan, but he could think of none better.
Father Brian said a quick prayer for them, and they all made the sign of the cross. As Ian and the priest carried the cart up the steps of the keep, he turned to watch his father crossing the bailey yard. Seeing how slowly his father moved, he feared he was leading all the men of his family to their deaths.
“God is on our side.” The priest patted Ian’s arm as he spoke, then opened the door and wheeled his cart inside, calling, “Good evening to ye, MacKinnons!”
Ian waited a few moments, every muscle taut, before he eased the door open and slipped inside. No guard was posted at the door—or if there was one, he had left his post to join the throng of men gathered around Father Brian and his barrel. When Niall poked his head inside, Ian waved him forward and moved along the wall into the shadows.
He scanned the dimly lit hall, searching for Sìleas. There were fifty MacKinnon men in the hall, to his four, but there were almost no women—and Sìleas was not among them. His stomach tightened when he realized that Angus and Murdoc were also missing from the hall.
His eyes went back to one of the women. What was Dina doing here? Her gaze was fixed on him. His muscles tensed as he waited for her to give them away.
After glancing about her, Dina removed the torch from the wall bracket beside her and dropped the torch onto the rushes on the floor. Then she met Ian’s eyes again and nodded toward the stairs.
She was telling him they had Sìleas upstairs.
As he ran through the arched doorway to the stairs, the rushes were already beginning to flame. The spiral of the stone staircase was built clockwise to give the advantage to the defender, who could swing his sword arm freely, while a right-handed attacker going up had his sword arm cramped against the middle of the spiral. The advantage was lost, however, when the attacker had taught himself to swing equally either way. As Ian sprinted up the stairs, he shifted his sword to his left hand.
Other footsteps echoed above him. An instant later, a huge man barreled into him, sending them both tumbling down the stairs. When Ian saw that the man on top of him was Angus MacKinnon, rage nearly blinded him.
“What have ye done to her?” he shouted, as he plunged his dirk into Angus’s gut.
Angus was strong, but he fought with wild, panicked punches, as if he were mad. In no time, Ian was sitting on Angus’s chest with his dirk at the man’s throat.
“I asked what ye have done with my wife.” Ian pressed his blade against Angus’s throat until he drew blood.
“I saw her ghost!” Angus cried out. “It was hovering over me.”
Ian’s heart stopped in his chest. He had feared they would rape Sìleas, but he’d never thought they would murder her.
He heard an eerie, unnatural sound, and a coldness passed over him. God, no. Don’t let her be dead! Ian slashed his blade across Angus’s throat and ran up the stairs.
When he reached the next floor, the open door from the stairs led into a large bedchamber. Through it, he saw a man leaning over the bed, a woman’s bare knee, and a bit of bright blue fabric hanging over the side of the bed. The blue was the same shade as the gown Sìleas was wearing when last he saw her.
White hot rage pounded through him. With a roar, he burst into the bedchamber swinging his claymore.