Page 57 of Cottage in the Mist (Time After Time #3)

“So how do you want to handle this?” Iain asked as he and Bram knelt with Ranald, Fergus and Jeff in the woods near the back wall at Dunbrae.

Clouds had obscured the sun, leaving the day cold and gray.

Tree branches arched over their heads, rattling in the wind.

Just ahead of them, Dunbrae’s stone tower gleamed eerily silver in the faded light.

Bram forced himself to focus on the task at hand, but his heart remained centered on the tower and the woman conceivably locked inside.

Alec’s man Dougan had found tracks indicating that the men who’d taken Lily had indeed come this way.

He prayed that whatever his uncle’s plans, Lily was still alive.

Knowing they couldn’t be more than an hour behind, they’d pushed their horses to the limits.

But now faced with the enormity of all that had happened here—his father’s death, his clan’s demise and his wife’s kidnapping—Bram’s rage knew no boundaries.

He’d make his uncle pay if it was the last thing he did.

“If you’re going to help Lily,” Ranald said, “you canna give in to your anger.”

“Ranald’s right,” Iain agreed, laying a hand on Bram’s shoulder. “You’ll need a clear head if we’re to make this work.”

They’d agreed that Alec and the bulk of their forces would attack the tower head on, pulling Malcolm’s men into the battle and giving Bram and company the opportunity to sneak through the back gate.

It was a risk, since Frazier knew about the entrance, but Bram was betting that he hadn’t had time to secure it properly.

Now they were simply waiting for a signal that Alec and the rest of the men had engaged.

“My head is clear.” Bram closed his fingers around the hilt of his claymore as he answered his cousin. “All I ask is that you leave my uncle to me.”

Ranald exchanged a glance with Iain.

“What?” Bram snapped, his gaze moving between the two of them, his patience wearing thin.

Iain sighed. “Only that your attention is better spent on rescuing your wife. ’Tis a far better thing than obsessing about vengeance.”

“But Malcolm has to pay for what he’s done to me and mine,” Bram growled.

“Aye, that he does,” Ranald agreed. “But Iain’s right, Lily’s safety is far more important.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” His words were spoken through clenched teeth. “I would ne’er do anything that would put her in danger. But that doesn’t mean I canna be the one to take my uncle down.”

Iain held up a hand. “I’m just saying you need to be sure you don’t let your anger get in the way.”

“And how was it with you and Davidson when he had your wife?” Bram asked, his anger now directed at his cousin. “Did you just ask him to let her go all nice and polite like?”

“Nay. I strung him up and killed him. And if I could have done it a dozen times more, I would have, believe me. So I know what you’re feeling.

But I also know what could be happening in there.

” A dark shadow of memory crossed his face.

“And if in an effort to hurt you, Malcolm has hurt Lily, then she’s going to need you more than you need revenge. ”

Fear threatened his resolution and he shook his head to banish it. “I’ll deal with what we find when we find it. But unless I say otherwise, Malcolm is mine.”

“Fine,” Iain said. “Have it your way. I’m only here to help.”

As quickly as it came Bram’s anger at his cousin vanished. This wasn’t Iain’s fault. Any of it. “I know. I dinna mean to snap.”

“Under the circumstances, ’tis to be expected,” Iain replied.

“Listen,” Jeff called, cocking his head toward the front of the tower.

Above the rustling of leaves, the blood curdling cries of battle sounded. Horses screaming. Men charging. Metal clanging against metal.

“Alec has begun the attack,” Fergus noted. “Best we get on with it then. Use his sacrifice to good end.”

Bram nodded and motioned their little band forward.

He led the way across the uneven ground between the edge of the forest and the tower’s wall.

As with the other side, the gate here was also obscured by vegetation.

Using both hands, he pulled it out of the way and then pulled on the rusted handle of the iron gate.

It refused to budge, and for a moment he feared Frazier had remembered the entrance and locked the gate.

But then Ranald added his strength to Bram’s and the gate screeched wildly and swung open.

They stood for a moment at the opening in the wall, waiting to see if the noise had alarmed Malcolm’s men, but it seemed that the din of battle had obscured the sound.

Bram rushed through the gate and came to an abrupt stop.

The great front portcullis hung drunkenly from one chain, the wood splintered and broken.

Alec had made good on his promise to breach the walls, but even as Bram felt a surge of triumph he was stabbed with pain. Dunbrae was his home—had been his home.

But unless they won the day it would be true no longer.

The inner bailey was full of fighting men, the smell of blood and battle filling the yard.

Light flickered amongst them, almost as if it were following in their wake.

Bram moved forward, claymore raised, dodging a thrust here, a parry there.

Ranald and Iain had spread out to flank him, Jeff and Fergus taking up the rear.

They moved like a wedge, cutting through the fighting men as they edged around to the front of the tower.

It was only when they had gained the front courtyard that Bram realized what the flickering was.

Fire. The tower was on fire. It raced up the wooden steps that led to the door.

And he could see more flames thrusting out of the windows, black smoke spiraling into the windswept sky.

To his left he could see Alec and Dougan, the two men fighting together, handily taking out all who dared to challenge them.

With a nod to his cousins, Bram ran up the steps, but was stopped by one of the tower’s guards.

The man raised his claymore, his eyes narrowed as the deadly blade began its descent.

Bram pivoted, and then swung his own weapon.

The man fell, only to be replaced by another.

Bram lunged, cutting the man across the arm that held his weapon.

Behind Bram, on the stairs, Ranald fought a second man.

Iain, still in the courtyard, fought alongside Jeff and Fergus as they held off others.

With a twist and a parry, Bram drew the man off and then made quick work of him, stepping over his body as he and Ranald, with the others on their heels, took the last of the stairs, dashing through the opening of the tower, through the hallway and into the great hall.

A place meant for comfort, it offered only danger now.

It too was full of flame, and lined with enemies.

Bram’s heart screamed at him to hurry. If he did not then that which was most precious to him would be lost. For a moment it felt as if he’d lived this moment before, but he pushed the thought aside as he surged into the fray, moving toward the stairway at the far end of the room, fear urging him onward. He had to get to Lily.

He quickly dispatched one man and then turned to find Ranald at his back, two men circling them both as they twisted together, trying to keep their enemies in sight.

Behind the attackers, Iain and Jeff emerged from the din, killing the men with swift blows.

With a jaunty grin, Ranald tipped his head to his cousin and turned back to the battle at hand.

Bram, grinning despite the severity of the situation, made for the staircase, Fergus fighting ahead of him to clear the way. Suddenly the battling warriors parted, and Bram could see a man standing guard at the foot of the stairs.

Frazier.

With a bellow of rage, he charged forward. This was the man who had killed his father. The man who had betrayed him and taken Lily. And for that he deserved to die.

His sword reverberated with the first strike, the older man’s mouth open in a snarl. The two of them circled each other as if in a dance, the steps intricate and deadly. Frazier swung, but Bram blocked the blow with his claymore, then pivoted and returned the strike, catching Frazier on his thigh.

Blood oozed from the wound and the man stumbled, but quickly regained his balance.

“I’ll see you in hell,” he cried as he lifted his claymore above his head, but in his zealous need to answer Bram’s blow, he left his body unguarded, and with a swift thrust, Bram drove the blade home.

Blood gurgled from the man’s mouth as he dropped to his knees and then fell to the floor.

Bram stepped across the body and then ran up the steps, taking them two at a time, knowing that Lily’s life depended on speed. Ranald and Iain were close behind him, leaving Jeff and Fergus to keep the rest of the warriors at bay.

Lily struggled against her bonds. She was surrounded by shadows, the windows boarded shut, the torches here unlit.

Malcolm had tied her to the bedpost. Her arms were stretched around it, rope binding her wrists.

The post rose up at least eight feet, probably more, ending with a flourish that connected to the bed’s canopy.

She blew out an exasperated breath. There would be no sliding out of this one.

The smell of smoke was thick here. Oppressive. Frightening. Her eyes watered, and somewhere below her she could hear the clanking of metal against metal. Swords, her mind whispered. Which could only mean one thing. Bram was here.

Joy and fear warred for a place in her heart.

A candle flamed in the darkness.

“He comes.” The voice was low, grating, the words an eerie echo of her thoughts. A shiver ran up her spine. She turned toward the light and the sound; nothing was visible except the flame, and the shadowy shape of a hand and an arm.

Malcolm.

“Who?” she asked, the words a whisper, her heart already sure of the answer. “Who comes?”