The Ranger Read online

  “I’ll lead them,” Arthur said. “I know the terrain well.” Neil was still one of the most formidable warriors in the kingdom, but he was fifty and not as fleet-footed as he once was.

  Bruce’s gaze swept over him and Arthur could read his uncertainty. Though he’d washed most of the blood and filth from him before donning his borrowed battle garb, wrapped his hand and wrist, and ate and drank enough uisge-beatha to put color back in his face, he knew he still looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out by a rabid beast from hell.

  Before the king could deny him, he added, “I can do it, sire. I look worse than I feel.”

  It was a lie, but not much of one. The knowledge that he was close to the reckoning with Lorn had invigorated him.

  “You’ve earned the right, Sir Arthur,” the king said. “Without your information, this could have been a disaster.” Arthur knew the memory of Dal Righ, two years before, where Lorn had sent him fleeing for his life, was still too fresh on Bruce’s mind. Bruce called forward one of his youngest but most trusted knights, Sir James Douglas. Douglas’s chief rival, the king’s nephew and former turncoat Sir Thomas Randolph, was with MacSorley in the west, readying the sea attack should it be necessary. “Douglas, I want you to go with him.” He motioned to one of the other warriors. Gregor MacGregor, Arthur’s original partner in the Highland Guard, stepped forward. To him he said, “Arrow you’re in charge of the archers.” To Arthur he ordered, “Take as many men as you need.”

  “Better toss some MacGregors in there, Ranger,” MacGregor said to him, as the king turned to confer with Neil and MacLeod. “We can’t let the Campbells claim all the glory.”

  Arthur managed a smile. God, it was good to be back. Good to jest about the ancient blood feud between the MacGregors and Campbells that had once made them bitter enemies. “That’s just like a MacGregor, wanting credit for a Campbell’s hard work.”

  “I need something to impress the lasses with,” MacGregor said.

  Campbell laughed. MacGregor didn’t need anything to impress the lasses; his face did it for him—it was also a subject that provided plenty of fodder to prod him with. “If you want help with that pretty face of yours, I can send you to the guy who did this.” He pointed to his own.

  MacGregor winced. “The bastard was thorough, I’ll give him that.”

  “I’ll make sure to compliment him for you when I catch up with him,” he said dryly. They both knew that would not be a long conversation.

  Neil had finished with the king and pulled Arthur aside as he was going to ready the men. “Are you sure you’re all right, Arthur? Everyone would understand if you don’t feel up to it. You’ve done enough already.”

  I would understand, he meant. Arthur could see it in his brother’s face. But they both knew this wasn’t the end. “I’ll be fine,” he assured him, “when this is done.”

  Twenty-five

  Arthur’s plan worked. With Douglas, MacGregor, and a small force of his brother’s men, he led the war band to a place high on the slopes of Ben Cruachan above Lorn’s lying-in-ambush clansmen. As Bruce’s army came marching through the narrow pass below, the MacDougalls unfurled a hail of arrows and rolling boulders down on the “unsuspecting” soldiers.

  But the MacDougall “surprise” attack was met by another. The MacDougall warriors gazed up in horror as Arthur and his men let unfurl a hail of arrows of their own and descended on them like wraiths.

  Having lost the element of surprise, and the strategically important higher ground, the MacDougall ambush became a rout. Trapped from above and below, the men were crushed. When Lorn launched his frontal attack at the mouth of the pass, instead of confronting an army in disarray, he was met with the full force of Bruce’s powerful army.

  Arthur raced down the steep mountain, joining in the fray, cutting through the swarm of battling soldiers with one purpose in mind: finding Lorn. He caught sight of Alan MacDougall across the hillside, rallying his men and valiantly attempting to wage another charge. But valiance wouldn’t be enough. He hoped for Anna’s sake that Alan recognized this before it was too late.

  The narrow funnel of the pass took away some of Bruce’s advantage in numbers, but it wasn’t long before Lorn’s attack collapsed. Arthur reached the front line just as the MacDougall vanguard started to break.

  At the head of his army, fighting alongside his closest knights and the members of the Highland Guard, King Robert ordered pursuit of the fleeing clansmen. In the frantic attempt to retreat to Dunstaffnage, many MacDougalls were cut down or drowned while trying to cross the bridge over the River Awe.

  They’d won! The MacDougalls’ attempt to best Bruce had failed, and the king had his revenge for Dal Righ. The hold of the most powerful clan in the Highlands had been broken.

  Victory was sweet, but it wouldn’t be complete until Arthur found Lorn.

  In the chaos of the retreat, he scanned the fleeing clansmen for his enemy. He was glad to see Alan MacDougall leading a contingent of his men to safety.

  Catching sight of MacRuairi near the bridge, he made his way down to him.

  “Where is he?” Arthur didn’t need to say who.

  MacRuairi spat and pointed south to the mouth of Loch Awe. “He never left his birlinn—the bloody coward directed the battle from the water. As soon as the men started to retreat, he fled down the loch.”

  Arthur swore, refusing to believe that he could have come so far to be denied the chance for justice at the last moment. “How long ago?”

  “Five minutes, not more.”

  Then he still had a chance. But he would need MacRuairi’s seafaring skills if he was going to try to catch him. Lorn had three castles on Loch Awe, but the newest—and most heavily fortified—was Innis Chonnel, the former Campbell stronghold. That’s where he would go.

  Arthur’s gaze fell levelly on MacRuairi. “Feel like a race?”

  The man known as one of the most feared and menacing pirates on the sea smiled—at least it was supposed to be a smile. “I’ll gather the men; you find the boat.”

  Arthur was already running down the edge of the river toward the harbor. This was one race he didn’t intend to lose. John of Lorn would not escape his fate this time.

  All Anna could do was wait. But not knowing what was happening beyond the thick stone walls of Innis Chonnel Castle was pure torture.

  Her heart tugged. Nay, not torture. It was nothing like what Arthur was going through. She couldn’t bear to think about it, yet it seemed she could do nothing else. Imagining what was happening to him … Not sure whether he lived or died …

  It was madness! How was her uncle going to get into the castle, let alone rescue him?

  I should have gone with them. Then at least she would know. But her uncle was right: she would only have led her brother back to the castle.

  The hours passed slowly. When not on her knees praying in the small chapel, she tried to keep herself busy.

  With most of her father’s soldiers called to battle, only a small force of guardsmen—perhaps a score—had been retained to hold the castle. When her party had arrived the evening before (with no more false trips to the stream), Anna had organized the men into preparing the chambers, freshening the Great Hall, and inventorying the stores.

  Innis Chonnel Castle had been built about the same time as Dunstaffnage. Though not as grand, it shared a similar construction. The square-shaped fortress was built upon a rocky base on the southwestern end of the island. The high, thick stone walls surrounded a small courtyard. Two square towers had been built into the corners, the large one serving as the donjon and the second as the guard house. Between them was the Great Hall. Other smaller wooden buildings, housing the barracks, armory, stables, and kitchens, had been built against the walls.

  It was strange to think that this had once been Arthur’s home. She’d always enjoyed visiting this castle with her father, but now it felt strange. It felt as if she shouldn’t be there. As if she were an intruder.

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