The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(112)

“A little after midnight,” MacKay said.

“I have information for the king—”

“Later,” MacRuairi said. “We don’t have time. That was our distraction. If we want to get out of here, we’ll have to hurry.”

With MacKay on one side and MacRuairi on the other, they carried Arthur from the antechamber and into the guard room. A quick glance down told him what had become of the guardsmen. Unfortunately, none of the three bodies was that of his torturer. The henchman had marched with Lorn.

Yet one more reason he hoped to hell they got there in time—and another debt to pay.

They exited the tower housing the guard room into the cover of darkness. The courtyard was deserted, though he could hear a commotion coming from near the gate. Instead of heading in that direction, however, they started up the rampart.

Arthur realized what MacRuairi had planned. On the far side of the rampart opposite the gate and overlooking the loch, they secured three long ropes to the parapet. Normally a guard would be walking the perimeter, but the blast had diverted him to the gate.

Arthur glanced down into the darkness and grimaced.

“We’ll have to fix your shoulder first,” MacRuairi said. He turned him around, grabbing hold of the top of his arm. He handed Arthur his dagger. “Ready?”

Arthur put the wooden hilt between his teeth and nodded. The pain was extreme but quick. After a moment, he was able to roll his shoulder freely in the socket. “You’ve done that before?” Arthur said.

“Nay,” MacRuairi said, a rare smile on his face. “But I’ve seen it done. I guess you’re lucky I’m a quick study.”

With his arm back in position, Arthur was able to shimmy down the rope with their help. When they were all safely on the ground, MacRuairi led them to a dark section of the outer wall. Arthur looked down, noticing a few stones had been removed, leaving a hole beneath. They’d burrowed their way in.

“This is the oldest section of the wall,” MacRuairi explained. “The rocks almost crumble out.”

He must have done this before, Arthur realized. Gordon was waiting for them on the other side.

“What took you so—” He took one look at Arthur and stopped. “Ah, hell, Ranger, you look like shite.”

“So I’ve heard,” Arthur said dryly.

They took time to repair the wall in case they ever needed to use it again, and a short while later they were running along the shore. About a half-mile away from the castle, they found the small skiff that MacRuairi had hidden in a cove.

“You need to get me to the king. As fast as you can,” Arthur said. Already he could see the first light of dawn softening the night sky on the eastern horizon. With the seaway to Brander blocked by Lorn’s fleet, they would have to ride. “I hope we make it in time.”

“What is it?” MacKay said, sensing the urgency. “What have you found out?”

As they sailed west, slipping through the barricade of ships where Loch Etive met the open sea at the Firth of Lorn, Arthur quickly explained Lorn’s treacherous plan—both the details of the ambush and of planning to attack before the end of the truce.

Gordon swore. “The treacherous whoreson.”

MacKay echoed his sentiments in far more colorful terms, then added, “The king won’t be expecting it.”

“Aye,” Arthur added. “Lorn has chosen his place well.” He explained the narrow pass and steep-sided gully of Ben Cruachan.

“I know the place,” MacRuairi added. “The scouts will be hard pressed to find them.”

“Which is why we have to warn them.”

MacRuairi shook his head grimly. “They are marching at first light. Even if we get there before they reach the narrowest part of the pass, it won’t be easy to turn three thousand troops around. This entire area is dangerous.”

“They won’t need to turn around,” Arthur said. “I have a plan.”

His three fellow guardsmen exchanged looks.

“What?” he asked.

It was Gordon who said what they were all thinking. “You aren’t in any condition to fight. We can get the message to the king.”

Arthur grit his teeth together. “I’m going.” Nothing would stop him from fighting. If he had a chance in hell of facing Lorn on the battlefield, he was going to take it.

“You’ll only slow us down,” MacRuairi said bluntly. “You don’t look strong enough to sit a mule, let alone travel at the pace we’re riding. And how the hell are you going to hold the reins with that hand?”

Arthur shot him a venomous look. “Let me worry about it.”

MacRuairi met his gaze. After a moment, he nodded. “We’d better find something for you to fight in.”

They made it in time, and Arthur didn’t fall off his horse—although he’d come embarrassingly close.

With MacDougall’s men already in position, they’d been forced to flank around them from the south. They caught up with the king less than a mile from the pass.

The king didn’t give way to temper very often, but he did so when Arthur informed him of Lorn’s plan.

He swore and called Lorn every vile name under the sun. “By the rood, how did we miss this?” he demanded of no one in particular, but each of the warriors felt blame for what could have been a disaster—including the king. He knew better than to trust in the code of chivalry.