Bride of Mist (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #3) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,100

Rivenloch.

On his cue, Laird Deirdre let out a cry of rage. “Forward!” she commanded. “Storm the gates!”

“They can’t be serious,” Gaufrid chortled as the Rivenlochs spurred their horses forward.

“Idiots,” Morris sneered.

“Where do they think they’re goin’?” Gaufrid said.

A moment later, as Rivenloch approached the gates, Fergus assured Gaufrid, “No worries, m’laird. They won’t get past the guard.”

“Right,” Morris agreed. “And if they do, they’ll be met by a courtyard full o’—”

“Shite,” Fergus muttered. “Shite!”

Dougal concealed a satisfied smile. Their scheme was working.

“How the devil did they get through the gates?” Morris wondered.

“Someone opened them,” Fergus ground out.

“Who?” Gaufrid growled. “I’ll murder the traitor.”

Feiyan stiffened in Dougal’s arms. He gave her a warning squeeze. It had to be torture for the lass, pretending to be dead, unable to see what was happening. But if Gaufrid saw that she was alive, she’d become a hostage in earnest, and the next guard tasked with slitting her throat would actually do it.

Despite the Laird of Rivenloch’s virtuous speech about not negotiating with outlaws, Dougal knew from speaking with her last night—when he’d finally convinced her of his innocence and they’d come up with this daring plan—that Laird Deirdre would sacrifice all she owned before she’d let harm come to one of her clan. The Warriors of Rivenloch would fight to the death for Feiyan.

“Don’t worry, m’laird,” Morris said with confidence as he sauntered to the inner wall overlooking the courtyard. “An army’s standin’ ready for them in the yard.”

Gaufrid joined him at the wall.

“See, m’laird?” Morris said. “The mercenaries are goin’ to—”

Gaufrid, joining Morris at the wall, spat out a foul curse.

Morris echoed the curse.

Fergus shoved his way between them to see what was happening. A primal growl of frustration rolled up from his throat before he bit out, “Go.”

With a spate of vile oaths, Gaufrid and his minions fled along the wall walk to the far end of the keep.

After they’d gone, Dougal whispered, “Ye can join the livin’ now. ’Tis safe.”

Feiyan opened her eyes in alarm and sprang back to life. “What’s happening? My clan…”

“They’re fine,” he assured her. “Everythin’s goin’ accordin’ to plan. Here.” He reached inside his gambeson and handed her the dagger she’d lost.

She frowned down at it. “How did you…?”

“Adam retrieved it, searchin’ for rats in Gaufrid’s bedchamber.” She furrowed puzzled brows at that. But there was no time to explain. “Come on.”

She flipped the dagger once in her hand, clearly eager to use it. “What do we do now?”

“The battle has begun,” he said, nodding toward the yard below.

Her face fell as she peered down at the chaos in the courtyard. “Twelve of my clan against an army of mercenaries?”

“Not exactly.” He threw back his hood and gave her a wink. “Follow me.”

Fergus couldn’t understand what had gone wrong.

How his perfect plans had gone to shite.

He’d wasted two years of his life kissing Gaufrid’s arse while carefully keeping him under his thumb.

He’d proved his loyalty, incinerating an entire town under a false banner just to rid Gaufrid of his meddlesome brother.

He’d sent Dougal to certain death at the hands of the savage Rivenloch clan. And though the devil had inexplicably dodged that fate, Fergus had at least managed to lock him behind bars.

Fergus had assembled a host of mercenaries unlike any in the Highlands. An army to strike fear into the hearts of anyone who even thought of infiltrating Darragh. Bloodthirsty thugs, miscreants, and outlaws who wouldn’t squirm when it came to ruthless slaughter.

He’d unmasked the pesky wench who’d followed Dougal home and managed to leverage her as a hostage against one of the richest border clans in all of Scotland. And even though Gaufrid had had to spill her blood when Rivenloch refused to ransom her, Fergus would still profit handsomely off their horses and armor, once they were defeated.

They would be defeated. They had to be.

Fergus was admittedly shaken by the fact that someone on the inside had let Rivenloch through the gates. Still, there were only a dozen enemy warriors. Darragh’s forces numbered over a hundred. Defeating the piddling company should be child’s play for his mercenaries.

Why then was he staring down at a bloody tangle of perplexing mayhem in the courtyard?

As he hurried along the perimeter of the wall walk with Gaufrid and Morris, insulated by burly guards at their fore and aft, he squinched his eyes at the pandemonium below.

And suddenly he saw it.

Servants who should have been cowering in corners, hiding inside the hall, hunkering down in the safe havens of

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