Page 63 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

The portcullis groaned upward, and a lone rider thundered through, a navy-blue cloak snapping behind him, the crest of the Crown flying from a lance at his back. His horse stumbled to a halt, foam streaking its flanks, and the rider swung down, dropping to one knee before Cameron.

“My laird Munro,” he said, breath ragged. “I come from Captain Greaves of His Majesty’s Navy, anchored at Invergordon.”

A ripple moved through the yard, part relief, part fear. Destiny’s heart leapt.

“Speak plainly,” Cameron demanded. “Has the king heard us?”

The rider lifted his head, his face streaked with dust and sea salt. “He has. Your brother Kenzie and your uncle Alastair reached the king’s court six days ago. They delivered the prisoner into royal custody. His Majesty received them with honour, and word has been dispatched to all loyal commands to support Clan Munro in this conflict. Captain Greaves has orders to hold at Invergordon and await the arrival of reinforcements from the south. You are not forgotten.”

A cheer went up from the people crowding the courtyard, ragged but fierce. Destiny pressed a hand to her lips, tears burning her eyes. Kenzie. Uncle Alastair. They had made it. They had done what she had urged Cameron to trust them with.

But the messenger’s expression sobered. “I must warn you, my lord, aid from the south will take time. Weeks, perhaps. Until then, Captain Greaves cannot march inland with the men he has. The navy will patrol the coast, but the defence of Foulis lies with you.”

The cheer faltered, the sound dimming to a murmur of unease.

Cameron’s jaw tightened. “Then we hold,” he said, his voice ringing like steel across the courtyard. “Ride back and tell your captain the Mackenzies march with siege engines at their back. Foulis will not fall before help arrives. When the king’s soldiers reach these gates, they will find our walls, and our people, still standing.”

The rider bowed low. “I will carry your words, m’laird.”

Cameron stepped closer, laying a steady hand on the man’s shoulder. “Take a fresh horse from the stables and fill your belly before you depart. You have ridden hard to bring this news. Do not ride harder on an empty stomach.”

The rider’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Your kindness honours me, m’laird.” He straightened and led his weary horse towards the stables, renewed purpose in the man’s stride.

As he turned away, Cameron faced the courtyard, his gaze sweeping the gathered men and women. “You heard him. The king knows our plight. Help will come. Until then, we keep the walls strong and our hearts stronger. We will not yield.”

This time the cheers came louder, steadier. The cry of “Munro” shook the walls, and for a heartbeat Destiny felt hope bloom in her chest. The king had heard them. Reinforcements would come.

But she also knew the truth. The Mackenzies were already moving. Siege towers and a ram were not far behind. Hope was coming, but until it arrived, they and their brethren stood alone. The cheer for the king’s name still echoed in the courtyard when the watchtower bell clanged again. Hard, fast, urgent.

“Smoke to the near north,” a guard bellowed. “They’re coming.”

The roar of hope died into silence. Men scrambled for their weapons, while the women gathered the children and rushed for the keep, the portcullis slamming down in a deafening crash.

Cameron’s head snapped up, his jaw set like stone. “To the walls,” he barked. “Archers, ready your bows. Spears to the gates.”

Destiny’s heart slammed against her ribs as she followed the rush towards the battlements. She gripped her shawl tighter, climbing the steps until she could see over the wall.

And there they were.

The Mackenzies stretched across the northern plain, a dark sea of plaid and steel. Banners snapped in the wind, drums thundered in steady rhythm. Siege towers rolled forward on thick wheels, taller than the walls of Foulis, their frames bristling with ladders. Behind them came a heavy ram, chains clinking, oxen straining to drag them south. The ground itself seemed to shake beneath their advance.

Destiny’s stomach turned cold. Her father was with them. He had to be. Cameron stepped to the wall beside her, his presence a bulwark of calm. His eyes swept the enemy ranks, no doubt measuring distance, counting engines, assessing without a flicker of fear.

“They come in force,” Gavan said grimly, arriving at his brother’s side, his arm now out of this sling. “Twice the number we faced last time.”

Cameron’s mouth was a hard line. “We conquer them nevertheless.” He lifted his voice so that it carried across the battlements, firm and unyielding. “Do not fear their numbers. Do not fear their engines. These walls have stood a hundred years, and they will stand another hundred. Foulis will not fall!”

A ragged cheer rose from the men, steadied by the strength of his voice. Destiny’s own throat tightened at the sound.

But as the Mackenzie drums pounded louder, the siege towers inching ever closer, she pressed a hand against the stone of the wall and whispered a silent prayer. Not for herself, but for the people within these walls who had become her people, and for the man beside her, who held their fate in his hands.

Chapter Twenty-One

At the break of dawn, the Mackenzie drums began, low and relentless, rolling across the moor and shaking the very stones beneath Cameron’s boots. Pale morning light crept over the hills, revealing the dark sweep of Mackenzie ranks advancing like a rising tide. The green and blue of their tartan caught the new sun in harsh flashes.

The first flight of their arrows cut through the dawn sky in a jagged arc.

The siege of Foulis had begun.