Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(32)

She moved to the door, intent on helping him, when she heard Brian cry out, “No!”

A shot fired, and mayhem erupted outside with a giant uproar. Brian lurched forward through the doorway, and Caitrina lunged after him, grabbing his arm to prevent him from running down the stairs.

“Brian—” Her words died when she saw what had provoked his reaction. A strangled cry rose in her throat. “Father!” Stunned, she watched in horror as her father clutched his chest, blood turning his hands crimson. He staggered and then fell back into Malcolm’s arms—his eyes open but unseeing.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Pain gripped her chest, and hot tears sprang to her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. But the faces of the clansmen told her it was. Shock had turned to rage. Led by Malcolm and Niall, they went berserker, attacking with a ferocity that proved what she’d seen was true: Her father was dead.

It was only the instinct to protect Brian that wrenched her from her trance. He was struggling to break free, but she wouldn’t let go. Mor must have seen what had happened because she suddenly appeared at Caitrina’s side and helped her pull Brian back safely inside.

“Let go of me,” he cried. “I must go to him.”

The anguish in his voice mirrored her own. She grabbed him by the face and forced him to look at her. “There is nothing we can do for him now, Brian.” Her chest twisted. The truth was almost too much to bear, but she needed to be strong for Brian. Don’t think. “We need you. We have to set fire to the stairs.”

His eyes were bright and wild; she didn’t know whether she’d gotten through to him until he nodded.

Mor had already started to instruct the girls on where to place the lit torches; they didn’t have any more time to waste. It seemed to take forever, though it was only a few moments before everything was in place and the torches were lit. They stood by the door, watching and praying for the wood to flame. The torches burned, but the stairs only smoldered and smoked.

Mor cursed behind her. “ ’Tis the wet weather the past few days,” she said. “The wood has not dried out enough.”

Caitrina could hear the shouts from below and knew that their effort had not gone unnoticed. Nor had she. She felt the eyes of their leader on her but ignored the chill of foreboding. A few of the attackers started to work their way up the stairs, her father’s men doing everything they could to prevent them. Knowing there was nothing more they could do but pray the stairs burned quickly, she closed the door and lowered the bar.

Caitrina didn’t need to look at the frightened faces around her to know what they all were feeling—it was what she felt: absolute terror and disbelief.

Mor grabbed her by the shoulders. “Take your brother upstairs and hide in the ambry. No matter what you hear, do not come out.”

“But what about you and the others?”

“We must separate.” She paused. “It’s not servants they want.”

“Who do they want?” Caitrina asked, recalling the Campbell’s words to her father.

Mor gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I don’t know, child. Now go.” To Brian she said, “Take care of your sister.”

He nodded grimly, his expression hard and determined beyond his years. Her sweet young brother would never be the same. Neither of them would ever be the same.

Caitrina hesitated and then threw her arms around the old woman, resting her cheek one more time against the familiar shoulder. Mor gave her one last squeeze before gently urging her away. Caitrina took Brian’s hand, and together they ran across the great hall toward the stairs. She had to force herself not to look out the windows. All they could do at this point was pray that her father’s men would prevail—that strength of heart would defeat strength in numbers.

When they reached her solar, Caitrina hurried to the ambry and threw open the doors. She groaned.

“We’ll never both fit in there,” Brian said, echoing her thoughts.

The ambry was stuffed full with gowns. If they tried to remove them, it would only make their hiding place more obvious—though at this point, Caitrina realized there wasn’t much they could do to prevent discovery. She fought against the rising panic, but the desperate nature of their situation was making it difficult to think. What could they do? Ascog Castle was not a particularly large or complex castle; there were few places to hide.

The sound of an ax striking the door below made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. They were out of time . . . and options.

Brian pushed her toward the ambry. “You hide in there, I’ll go under the bed.”

There was no time to argue—nor was there a better choice. She nodded and climbed in. If the soldiers were already trying to come through the door, that meant . . .

No. She forced her thoughts away from the battle below. She wouldn’t let herself think about Malcolm and Niall. She had to close her eyes to fight back the tears. They had to be all right.

Time crawled forward. It was warm and dark in the ambry buried between all the heavy wool and velvet gowns. All of her senses seemed heightened, homing in on the sounds below. Every small noise made her heart skip. Her heart drummed unnaturally loud in her ears.

The waiting was interminable, though it was probably only a few minutes before she heard the unmistakable sounds of men clambering up the stairs.

“Find the lass!” a man shouted.