Highlanders Collection. Ann Lethbridge

more than it is.’

      ‘It’ll ne’er happen,’ Monroe said. ‘The clan’s too divided. Bram was meant to be chief, but he doesna want it anymore. He’s too weak, anyhow.’

      ‘He is not too weak,’ Nairna shot back. ‘In a few weeks, he’ll be as strong as any of them.’

      ‘If he comes back.’ With that, Monroe nodded his head in farewell and walked away.

      Nairna’s skin turned cold. He’ll come back, she reassured herself.

      He had to.

       Chapter Ten

      Bram remained in the shadows, watching the English soldiers who patrolled the garrison. He knew their faces, especially the men who had guarded the prisoners. Some had been impassive, merely obeying orders. Others had enjoyed tormenting those in chains.

      He gripped the crossbow Alex had given him. Though he would have preferred hand-to-hand combat, given his physical weakness it was likely the better choice to remain here.

      He’d led Alex and Ross to the loose section of the palisade wall near the back of the fortress. Vines and underbrush had grown over the wall, and the greenery kept the loose stones hidden from the rest of the soldiers. They’d spent the last half-hour removing the stones in silence, until the opening was large enough for a man to fit through.

      Bram chose his position behind the veil of vines, keeping his crossbow loaded. With any luck, they could free all of the prisoners and get Callum out, using the chaos to make their escape.

      As his brother and Ross entered the fortress with stealth, time crept onwards. Bram stared at the limestone, remembering how, day after day, he’d stacked the stones atop one another. The backbreaking work was done in silence, occasionally interrupted by a soldier issuing a command or smashing a quarterstaff against a captive’s shoulders.

      He lost sight of Alex and Ross as they disappeared with the others, keeping to the shadows. The remnants of a stone wall lay unfinished near the inner curtain. The Earl had several garrisons across Scotland, and Bram had worked upon many of the structures before they’d been moved to Cairnross.

      Had they arrived a few hours earlier, the prisoners might have been working on the wall. As it was, the men were likely belowground, trying to steal an hour or two of sleep. The underground cellar wasn’t tall enough to stand in, and remembering the interior brought a phantom ache to his neck and shoulders.

      Bram’s gaze grew fixated upon the opening within the ground; it was as if he were looking through water, with blurred images and muffled sounds. Though he kept a bolt fitted to the crossbow, he felt himself slipping away from the present into the past.

      The scars upon his neck itched, a bead of sweat rolling down to his collarbone. The scents of the garrison stung, bringing him back to the years of imprisonment. When a soldier passed by him, he held his breath.

      He could almost feel the slash of the dagger against his flesh once again. Taste the blood in his mouth from where they’d struck him across the jaw, yelling taunts about his weakness.

      Where was Callum? He craned his neck, searching for a glimpse of his brother. Right now, he wanted to leave his position, to free the others from captivity and bring his brother out of the darkness.

      Broken memories assaulted him, and as minutes transformed into an hour, there was still no sign of Callum. It was as if he’d vanished. Bram’s fingers trembled upon the trigger of the crossbow. With the slightest pressure, he could kill one of the English soldiers who’d threatened them.

      One of the soldiers lifted a torch and headed to the underground entrance where the prisoners were held. What was he planning to do?

      Without waiting to find out, Bram released the bolt. It struck the stone wall beside the soldier, bouncing away in a clear miss. Seconds later, the man dropped the torch. He unsheathed his sword and charged at Bram, his voice crying out a warning to the others.

      The crossbow fell from his fingers onto the ground. Bram reached for the claymore he’d worn strapped to his back, but his hands froze upon the hilt. His arms felt as though they were weighted down with stones, unable to move.

      He saw the eyes of the man who had tortured his brother and himself. Nausea swam in his stomach, and when the soldier’s blade raised high for the killing blow Bram managed to unsheathe his weapon. He barely defended the blow that slashed at him, stumbling like a child.

      His mind roared at him to strike back, to fight for his brother’s life. But his arms moved too slowly, his body broken down. It infuriated him that he’d come so far, only to lose his strength.

      Move, damn you, he ordered himself. But his strength wasn’t enough to counter his lack of co-ordination. He’d truly fallen hard. God above, what had happened to him? After all this time, his fighting had worsened. Shame burned through him when Alex stepped in to cut down the soldier.

      His brother stared at him, as if he no longer knew him. ‘It was a mistake for you to come.’

      Bram knew it, though he said nothing. He locked glances with Alex, furious with himself for his weakness. He’d foolishly believed that his anger would carry him when raw skill would not.

      He reached for his crossbow, but Alex stopped him, handing him a shield instead. ‘Get back to the horses and wait for us. Ross went below to free the others, but Callum wasn’t there. He’s gone.’

      The words took the air from his lungs. Had they been too late? Was his brother already dead?

      The roar of the other prisoners resounded in the night air as they fought for their freedom. One seized a torch and used it to set a shelter on fire. Flames and black smoke soared into the sky, while they ran for the gates, some with their hands and ankles still chained.

      On the opposite end of the garrison, Bram saw a woman huddled against the other end, cowering against the wall. If she didn’t move, she’d be caught in the violence. All around her, prisoners cut down their captors, slaughtering the English with any weapons they could find.

      Seeing her fear reminded Bram of his wife. He couldn’t leave this woman here, any more than he’d want Nairna to be trapped in such a place. As he crossed the garrison, slipping through the shadows, his thoughts drifted back to her. Though he supposed his wife was safe enough at Glen Arrin, he hadn’t liked leaving her behind.

      It reminded him too much of the night he’d left her after their wedding. He’d kissed her goodbye, never realising that it would be the last touch between them for seven years.

      And tonight, if he didn’t get out of this burning fortress, it might well be the last time he saw his wife.

      Bram stared at the woman, who kept her face to the stones, quaking with fear. Interfering with her fate was a mistake. He knew it, yet he couldn’t stop himself from approaching her.

      He avoided the men around him, keeping his shield up, until he reached her side. ‘Are you a hostage?’ he demanded.

      She gripped her arms, as if she hadn’t heard him. Lowering her hood, he realised that she was only a little younger than Nairna. With veiled hair and terrified eyes, her gaze darted about as if she didn’t know where to flee.

      ‘If you want to leave this place, my brother can grant you sanctuary,’ Bram offered. ‘My wife will look after you, and I promise, you’ll face no harm.’

      The woman stared at him as if fighting her own indecision. There was distrust on her face, but an even greater fear of staying behind. In the end, she picked up her skirts and ran towards him. ‘Please,’ she begged, in heavily accented Gaelic, ‘help me get home to my father.’

      Bram caught her hand and drew her outside the broken wall. He spied Alex and Ross starting to make their own escape and he led the woman to their horses.

      When Alex and Ross arrived with the others, the chief lost his temper. ‘Bram, what in God’s name have