Page 60 of Highlander’s Hope

As the men with cauldrons ran down for more sand, the iron hooks of the first ladder landed, clawing at the stone merlons. The attackers had a hard time climbing over the blade-sharp spikes that decorated the crumbled part of the wall. They hurt themselves and tried to avoid them, which slowed them down. If the spikes hadn’t been there, they would have easily climbed up and flooded the wall, but now there would only be one at a time.

The first enemy came, and Konnor stabbed his chest and pushed him back. The man fell with a yell. The next ladder swayed in the air on the other side of the wall, and Cambel warriors pushed it back before it could hook at the merlons.

The battle continued. More and more warriors came, but Marjorie’s men fought well and held the wall. She looked at the main wall and gasped. The siege tower stood directly by the wall, and MacDougall warriors poured from its wooden top. More men climbed the stairs of the tower to the platform at the top. Marjorie rushed to that wall to help fight the onslaught.

The castle shuddered with a loud, wooden knock. The battering ram!

“Cruachan!” she called to raise her warriors’ spirits. As she sprinted to the other wall, Konnor ran by her side. They slashed into the battle on the wall.

Thud. Thud. She wielded her sword against the shield of a warrior. She kicked him and pivoted in an unexpected move. She slashed at his unprotected side and kicked him off the wall.

She fought and fought. The clang of metal against metal, screams, and groans of pain rang out all around her. They’d defended the wall well, and there weren’t many MacDougalls left climbing, but the ram continued battering the gate.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

A loud crack thundered through the air, and the MacDougalls yelled in a triumph.

No, no, no! They poured into the courtyard. Colin! He was locked in his bedroom, and Tamhas stood protecting him. She needed to send more men there.

They could win this. The MacDougalls had lost a significant amount of their forces, and now the Cambels had a real chance of victory. She just couldn’t let anyone get to Colin.

Marjorie rushed down into the courtyard with Konnor right after her. They dove into a battle there. She had no idea how long they fought, but it felt like an eternity.

And then she saw John MacDougall.

He was ten feet away and walked towards Konnor, who’d been separated from her and was finishing off the man he was fighting. MacDougall’s sword dripped blood, and his chainmail glistened in the dull dawn light. His white hair was in disarray.

Marjorie ran, her blood seething in her veins. He swung his sword at Konnor, but before he could strike, Marjorie roared.

“MacDougall!”

He stopped and looked at her. His face fell in astonishment, and he stepped back. Marjorie stopped before John with her sword in her hands, assuming a fighting position.

She snorted. “Oh, aye. Did ye think I was going to shrink and die like a crumpled wee flower? Nae. Never. How do ye like this?” She indicated at the battlefield with her claymore. “I’m a sword forged by the fire ye’ve set under me.”

John’s expression changed from surprise to anger.

“Ye are nae a sword. Just a wee lass playing the games of grown men. Ye couldna do anything then. Ye canna do anything now.”

Marjorie shrank back internally. The helplessness she’d known all too well from twelve years ago weighed her down. Her ribs tightened around her lungs, and her insides felt as though they’d been scraped away, leaving her hollow.

“Ye think ye will stop me?” John MacDougall roared. “Come and try, wee bitch.”

Wee bitch—that was what Alasdair had called her. Her arms hung helplessly. Konnor, probably seeing her expression, raised his sword, his face distorted in a furious mask.

But she couldn’t let him. She couldn’t let anyone finish her battle for her. She’d hidden behind the castle walls long enough. Whether she died today or the MacDougall did, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she’d fight her own battles.

“Dinna ye dare, Konnor,” Marjorie called. “He’s mine.”

Konnor grunted and stilled. The MacDougall looked at him like he were a helpless pup.

“Aye, lad. Go and play with the others. This doesna concern ye.”

Marjorie’s heart thumped in her throat. Alasdair was dead. But his father stood before her. As the chief of his clan, he could have returned her home, could have set his son straight, could have ended the madness of everything Alasdair had done right under his nose.

She held her claymore in both hands. They tingled with the need to fight the last man alive responsible for her broken life and for her broken self.

She would be the flame-forged blade. For her son, for herself, and for Konnor, the man who had come from another time to fight at her side.