Page 37 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER THIRTY

M acNab Castle

"The damned MacNeill whore played right intae our hands," Murray MacNab said with satisfaction, leaning back in his chair by the fire. "By the time the king finishes questioning her testimony, she'll be exposed as the lying thief she truly is."

Bruce, a second degree cousin of his, nodded from his position across the chamber, though something in his expression suggested less certainty than his laird displayed. "The forged letters were convincing, but what if she has other evidence? Something we haven't accounted fer?"

Murray's laugh was harsh and confident. "It will be easy tae deny it came from me. All she has is a desperate woman's word against mine. The king will see through her lies soon enough, and then MacDuff will have tae answer fer harboring a known traitor."

The sound of boots in the corridor outside made both men look toward the door. A sharp knock followed, and Murray called out with obvious pleasure, "Enter!"

A guard stepped in, his face carefully neutral as he approached with a sealed letter bearing the royal arms. "From His Majesty's court, me lord. Urgent dispatch."

Murray's eyes gleamed as he reached for the parchment.

"At last. Nay doubt the king requires me testimony tae complete the case against that MacDuff bastard and his treacherous bride.

" He broke the seal with eager fingers, his smile widening as he prepared tae read his vindication.

But as his eyes moved across the royal summons, his expression shifted.

The confident smirk faded, replaced first by confusion, then by dawning horror, and finally by a rage so pure and violent that Bruce instinctively shifted in his chair.

"What daes it say?" Bruce asked quietly.

Murray's face had gone white except for two spots of livid color high on his cheekbones. His hands began tae shake as he read the letter again, as if hoping the words would somehow change.

"They... she..." His voice came out strangled. "They believed the bitch’s evidence. A letter from me own hand. They're summoning me tae court tae answer charges of blackmail and treason."

The silence that followed was deafening. The guard remained frozen by the door, clearly sensing the dangerous shift in the room's atmosphere.

Suddenly Murray surged tae his feet, his dirk flashing as he drew it from his belt. "Ye!" he snarled at the messenger. "What did ye hear from the soldier that delivered this? What lies are they spreading?"

The guard's eyes went wide with terror as Murray advanced on him, the blade gleaming in the firelight. "N-naething, me lord! I only carried the message?—"

"Lies! All of ye, spreading poison about me!" Murray raised the dirk, his face twisted with murderous fury. "I'll cut the tongue from yer head before I let ye?—"

"Murray!" Bruce's sharp voice cut through the madness. "The guard is nae yer enemy. He's one of our own men."

Murray paused, the blade hovering inches from the guard's throat, his breathing ragged. For a moment, it seemed he might strike anyway, lost completely to his rage.

"Think," Bruce continued urgently. "Killing our own men serves nae purpose. Let him go."

Slowly, reluctantly, Murray lowered the dirk. The guard stumbled backward, his face pale with terror, clearly understanding how close he'd come tae death.

"Get out," Murray said quietly, his voice more dangerous in its control than his earlier shouting had been. "Get out before I change me mind."

The guard fled without a word, his boots echoing frantically down the corridor. Murray remained standing, the dirk still in his white-knuckled grip, his chest rising and falling with the effort tae control his fury.

Bruce waited until the footsteps faded before speaking. "What will we dae?"

Murray turned toward him, and Bruce was struck by how his laird's face had changed. Gone was the confident schemer who'd played Highland politics like a master chess player. In his place stood a man driven tae the edge of madness by desperation and wounded pride.

"Dae?" Murray's laugh was bitter. "What will we dae Bruce? We'll nae crawl tae Stirling like whipped dogs tae face their mock trial."

"But if we ignore the royal summons?—"

"Then we'll be outlaws." Murray's voice carried a strange satisfaction, as if the prospect of casting off all pretense freed him from some burden. "But at least we'll be free tae deal with our enemies as they deserve."

He moved to the window, staring out at his lands with eyes that seemed to see far beyond the familiar landscape. "The MacNeill whore thinks she's won. Thinks she can destroy me with stolen letters and tearful testimony before the king."

"Murray—"

"She's forgotten something important." Murray turned back, his eyes blazing with renewed purpose. "Kings may pass judgment, but justice belongs tae those with the strength tae take it. And I intend tae take mine."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine at the tone in his laird's voice. "What are ye planning?"

"War," Murray said simply. "If they want tae play at trials and royal justice, let them. But while they're celebrating their victory, we'll be taking what's ours by right of conquest."

"Against the MacDuffs? Murray, that's madness. They're too well defended, after today?—"

"After today, they'll be celebrating," Murray interrupted. "Drunk on their triumph, convinced they're safe behind their stone walls. They willnae expect us tae strike so soon after their supposed vindication."

"But the cost?—

"The cost of victory is always high, Bruce. But the cost of surrender is higher." Murray sheathed his dirk with a sharp snap. "Gather the councilmen fer a meeting, then send word tae every man who still owes me loyalty. Tell them we ride within the day."

"Where?"

Murray's smile was cold as winter stone. "Tae Castle MacDuff. Tae take back what was stolen from me, and tae teach that MacNeill whore the price of defying Murray MacNab."

***

The sun had barely risen when Murray MacNab stood atop the stone platform, his dark eyes scanning the assembled men below in the courtyard. The sounds of armor clanging, weapons being sharpened, and the murmur of anxious warriors filled the air.

The courtyard was alive with the urgency of preparation as the men of MacNab Castle readied themselves for the march ahead. The air was thick with the heavy scent of sweat and anticipation, a reflection of the dire situation they found themselves in.

“Ye ready, lads?” Murray’s voice boomed, rough and commanding, cutting through the noise. His eyes glinted with fury and desperation. “Taeday, we ride out. We ride out fer war, fer family, fer MacNab!”

The men shouted their approval, though some faces remained wary, the weight of their dwindling numbers and resources hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

“We’ve lost too much!” Murray’s voice cracked with intensity, fists clenched at his sides. “But we willnae lose again. I’ll nae let a traitor like MacDuff laugh at me, and I’ll damn sure take back what’s ours!”

He paced before them, then stopped in front of the warriors, looking each man in the eye.

“And if ye truly call yerselves men of Clan MacNab, ye’ll fight tae bring back MacNab honor.

Fight like ye never have before. And when ye see the Lady Iona—” his voice hardened, “—ye take her. Bring her back tae me. The man who daes this will receive enough gold tae change his family’s station. ”

The men muttered, some nodding eagerly, others casting hesitant glances at one another. But the fervor in Murray’s voice was undeniable, pushing them forward like cattle driven to slaughter.

“Arm yerselves, ready yer weapons! This is our moment! We will nae lose again, nae tae MacDuff, nae tae anyone. Today we make history! Today, we fight fer what’s ours!”

The men roared in unison, their voices rising in a unified battle cry. Weapons were drawn, swords were sharpened, and the preparations for the siege began. The air buzzed with desperate energy, the kind that only comes when warriors know they’re committed to a final, all-or-nothing gamble.

As the men filed out of MacNab Castle heading south toward MacDuff territory, the rhythm of their boots drummed in unison. The landscape stretched before them—a rugged, unforgiving stretch of the Highlands.

Murray rode at the head of the column, his face set in a grim line. His mind was consumed with fury—fury over Dougal’s capture and Iona’s betrayal. The thought of her, the woman he had once been betrothed to, now standing by Ruaridh MacDuff, stoked the fire within him.

“Bruce,” he muttered through clenched teeth, not looking at him as they rode side by side. “I’ll make her regret ever thinking she could defy me.”

Bruce, met his gaze briefly, his face unreadable. “Ye’re consumed by yer hate, Murray. It’ll cloud yer judgment. If we’re tae succeed, ye need tae focus. We cannae afford to lose sight of what matters.”

Murray’s hand tightened around the reins, and his voice grew low and dangerous. “Iona’s betrayal matters , Bruce. She’s the reason we’re here. If she hadnae gone tae MacDuff, if she hadnae turned on me, we wouldnae be fighting this war. She’s the one who started this. And I’ll finish it.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, glancing at the horizon. “Aye, but the war is nae just about her. It’s about our clan, our future.”

Murray didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he urged his horse forward. The journey was long, but every step brought them closer to their destination. The landscape began to change, the familiar places giving way to the more heavily guarded MacDuff territory.

As they neared the borders, the tension thickened. Signs of MacDuff patrols appeared—flags flying, soldiers stationed along the ridges, eyes scanning the distance. Murray’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anticipation and rage.

“Keep yer wits about ye,” Bruce muttered, keeping his voice low. “We’re close.”

Murray didn’t answer, his mind already racing with plans, his focus entirely on the prize ahead. The time for talk was over. They were nearly there.

Night had fallen on the following day by the time they reached the outskirts of Castle MacDuff, their army now hidden in the shadows of the rolling hills.

The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the battlefield, the silence of the night broken only by the sound of distant waves crashing against the cliffs below.

Bruce gathered the men, his calm voice issuing orders as they took their positions. “We’ll strike at first light. The men in the rear will set up siege equipment. The archers take the high ground, while we move in on the front gates.”

Murray stood to the side, his expression tense as he watched the preparations unfold. His mind was a whirlwind, obsessed with the twin goals of revenge and Dougal’s rescue. The plan was solid, but Murray couldn’t help but feel the gnawing uncertainty in the pit of his stomach.

Bruce approached him, noticing the restlessness in his laird’s posture. “We’ve done all we can. The men are ready. We strike in the morning.”

“Nae yet,” Murray growled, his eyes burning with intensity. “We’ll wait. I want tae see them squirm, watch them think they’ve won. When they least expect it... we strike.”

Bruce nodded, though the skepticism in his eyes was hard to hide.

The definitive positioning was set. Bruce gave his final instructions to the men, ensuring each group knew their role. Murray remained standing, watching over everything with an intensity that was almost palpable.

“At me command,” Murray said softly, his voice growing darker with anticipation. “ Attack . Guards, ready?!”

A collective murmur of readiness ran through the ranks, the air thick with the tension of the coming battle. The men shifted nervously, but their loyalty to Murray was unquestioned, and they would follow him into the storm.

Murray’s eyes flicked toward Bruce, his expression hard. The time had come. All they had to do was wait for the signal.

And in the silence that followed, the anticipation mounted, every heartbeat stretching the moment longer.