Page 36 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“Then who attacked?” Tormod asked.

Orrick’s gaze clashed with Alastair’s as they both said, “The English.”

Tormod flexed his hands as though in preparation for a battle. “Which direction did they head?”

“I saw them headin’ tae the north,” the older man said.

“Should we pursue them?” the younger man asked, his body tensing.

“Nay,” Alastair replied. “You are needed here to help be sure the fires are doused, and make certain everyone truly is unharmed. My men and I will go after them.”

Orrick’s gaze moved about the village and the people who, seeing the MacLeods were no threat, emerged from their homes. Orrick’s thoughts were scattered as he tried to piece together this puzzle. Why attack a village and leave minimal damage? What purpose would something like that serve?

A moment later, a fist of fear closed around Orrick’s heart, making it difficult to breathe. “God’s bones!” he exclaimed, not liking the progression of his thoughts. “We took most of the warriors with us, leaving Dunvegan with only a few well-trained men to protect the castle and those inside.” He swallowed roughly. “What if this attack was only meant to lead us away so that Lieutenant Collins’s regiment could attack there?” Orrick’s gaze shifted to Alastair. Could his brother have made a huge tactical error by bringing all three brothers here to this village? Alastair never made such mistakes, at least not in the past.

“What would he be after?” Alastair asked with a furrowed brow.

“The women,” Orrick said, clenching his fists at his sides. “If Collins captures Gwendolyn or Fiona, he could force you or Tormod to declare your support of the English king with very little effort on his part.” Orrick was surprised he was the one to consider that possibility. His mind had been foggy since returning from the West Indies; he’d thought himself no longer capable of strategic or defensive thoughts.

“If that is the case, we can’t be in two places at once.” Tormod’s voice was hard, stressed.

“We can, if we divide the men,” Alastair said. “We can send half to follow those who attacked here, and the other half back to Dunvegan.”

“The fires are under control, and only a few men are needed tae see that they are fully extinguished. We have horses and men who can help you go after those who attacked us,” the older man beside them offered.

Alastair nodded. “We would be thankful for any assistance. How soon can you be ready?”

“Not long. We only have tae gather horses,” the youngest of the village men said.

Alastair nodded once more. “We will meet you at the edge of town in a few minutes.”

The men hurried away.

Tormod’s features steeled as his gaze passed between Orrick and Alastair. “If you two promise to ride like the wind, I will lead the men in pursuit of the English who attacked here.”

“We’ll not let any harm come to Fiona,” Alastair assured Tormod as he swung up onto his horse’s back. “God be with you, Brother.”

“And with you,” Tormod echoed as he mounted and headed towards the MacLeod warriors to divide them.

Orrick strode to his horse and swung up into the saddle. He and Alastair waited for the warriors to fall in behind them after Tormod divided them. Not only were Gwendolyn, Fiona, and Rowena at risk back at Dunvegan, Isolde was there as well, and still incapacitated by her wound. If the English attacked, would she be able to at least defend the women with her sword?

If Lieutenant Collins learned of her presence at the castle, what would he do to her? At the thought of losing her to the Englishman or anyone else, an empty ache came to his chest. Isolde was different. Special. She was unlike any other woman he had ever met. She, more than anyone else, understood the painful memories he’d brought back with him from the West Indies.

He and Isolde were kindred spirits whether she wanted to admit it or not. Orrick smiled wistfully at the memory of their first meeting when he came face to face with not only her arrow but also the beautiful creature holding a bow.

That smile slipped a moment later when the men were ready, and he and Alastair turned their horses back down the path they had travelled only a short while ago. Orrick encouraged his horse into a faster gait as he scanned the landscape for signs of the English. Alastair increased his speed as well, seeming as desperate to get home as Orrick was.

The sun was high in the sky when the four-storey fortress of golden-brown stones came into view. With a hungry gaze, Orrick searched the courtyard as they approached, looking for a glimpse of Isolde. He caught no sight of her golden hair, or any guards, for that matter. The towers of the castle appeared deserted and ribbons of smoke coiled high into the air above the castle.

Alastair’s alarmed gaze connected with his. “Something has happened here,” Alastair said, kicking his horse into a full gallop. “Open the gates!”

The thunder of hoofbeats matched the pounding of Orrick’s heart as the gate slowly started to rise, revealing several dead Englishmen lying in the courtyard.

“There appears to have been a battle.” The gate seemed to take forever to rise due to his impatience.

Alastair must have had the same thought that the gate was slow to open. As he jumped down from his horse, Orrick followed and they both bent to slide under the partially open portcullis, then raced into the courtyard.

Everywhere there was silence. Orrick’s heart seemed to freeze as he ran faster past men who were slain by a sword. Without thinking what he was doing, he drew his weapon.