Highlanders. Michelle Willingham

in standing here, freezing,” Mary said. She took Juliana’s arm and they hurried back inside.

      In the hall, Juliana grabbed her hand. “You should disguise the boys—dress them as village children—and warn them not to tell anyone who they are.”

      Mary turned white. “You think he will take my sons hostage?”

      “I don’t know what to think!” Juliana cried. “But we should prepare for even the worst possibility.”

      Mary nodded and ran off. Juliana blinked back tears. If there was one thing she must do, she thought, it was protect her sister and her children.

      CHAPTER THREE

      AS NIGHT FELL, THE castle was prepared for an attack. Fire burned atop the ramparts so boiling oil could be thrown on any invaders, Piles of rock and stone sat beside the catapults, and archers and soldiers stood upon the walls. The sisters waited as the moon rose, but no attack came.

      In the great hall, Juliana stood up. “He isn’t coming.”

      “No,” Mary said, “not tonight.”

      Juliana wondered as her sister did—had he taken Achanduin Castle? She imagined Alasdair there, his men celebrating the easy victory in the great hall, mugs raised in laughter, in triumph.

      Would he come tomorrow? Or would Achanduin Castle be enough?

      Mary stood. “I am going to get some rest. You should, too.”

      Juliana somehow smiled. She would never sleep that night, not when she was afraid of what the dawn would bring.

      But Mary paused. “There is one thing I cannot comprehend. It was our brother who attacked Ardtornish Castle. Not you. So why is he here?”

      Juliana stiffened. “I don’t know.”

      Mary gave her an odd look and left.

      Juliana sank back down onto the bench, staring across the great room, where many of her soldiers slept upon pallets. A huge hearth was on the opposite wall, and a fire raged there.

      I am sorry ye were here.

      She suddenly recalled Alasdair’s parting words, and felt frozen. She did not even want to try to comprehend what he had meant, or if he had been truly remorseful.

      She laid her cheek on her arms on the table. He was at Lismore not because of Alexander, but because of her—she somehow sensed it.

      Tears burned her closed eyelids. She wished she had never asked her brother for an army, she wished she had never dreamed of revenge!

      But mostly, she wished that she and her sister had left for Dunstaffnage that morning—that she had insisted they depart immediately. For then Mary and her three children would be safe.

      And to make matters worse, Mary was five months pregnant. If something happened to the babe—or any of the children—Juliana would never forgive herself.

      Juliana started awake. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But she saw now that the fire in the hearth was burning, having been stoked by the maids. The light outside the windows was pale from the dawn.

      She leapt up from the bench and ran into the corridor and up the narrow stairwell. The two men in the tower turned as she ran past them.

      The dawn was gray, snow falling. The barest light stained the day, with no sign of the sun. And there were no ships on the horizon.

      She was in disbelief. Was he gone?

      “Lady Juliana, ye must come to the entry tower.”

      Juliana whirled around to face the watchtower, away from the east ramparts and the sound. She took one look at Fergus’s pale, grim expression, and knew Alasdair Og had come.

      She inhaled, praying for strength and courage. Then she nodded and followed him inside, downstairs, and across the castle. Mary appeared and fell into step beside her as they went outside.

      It was snowing more heavily now. A light dusting covered the courtyard. Ahead was the entry tower, the drawbridge below closed. All of her archers and soldiers were on the ramparts on each side of the castle gates.

      Juliana went up the exterior stairs with Fergus and Mary and pushed inside the tower. She went to the window and gripped its ledge.

      Perhaps a hundred mounted warriors, fur-clad Highlanders and mail-clad knights, formed a line between the western hills and the castle, like a barricade, facing her.

      Juliana felt sick. She could not see behind the front lines, but she knew hundreds of archers and foot soldiers armed with swords and spears were there. Three blue MacDonald banners sporting sinister red dragons waved above the army.

      “What are we going to do?” Mary whispered.

      Juliana could not speak. She watched one rider on a gray warhorse separate himself from the army, slowly coming forward. She felt so much tension, it was choking her.

      “It is Alasdair Og,” Mary said tersely.

      He halted his mount at some distance from the entry tower. He was too far away for his features to be visible, but he clearly stared at the tower—Juliana knew he stared at her.

      “If ye can lure him closer, our archers can murder him,” Fergus said thickly.

      “No. Do not shoot at him,” Juliana said, so vehemently, Mary and Fergus looked askance at her. “We are not murdering him in cold blood.”

      “Then he will murder us,” Fergus said flatly.

      Mary stared at her, and Juliana knew her thoughts—he had certainly murdered Bishop Alan in cold blood. But, oddly, she did not believe that Alasdair Og would murder her or her sister. But he was bent upon revenge. She knew that. And suddenly there was no choice. She knew what she must do to protect her sister and her nephews.

      As if he could fathom her silent thoughts, he suddenly rode closer. She could make out his long dark hair, tangled about his shoulders as he stared up at her. Their gazes met.

      It was time, she thought. Juliana asked Fergus for his dagger. In surprise, he handed it to her. She instantly reached down beneath her blue surcote and sliced off a strip from her linen cote. Mary gasped as Juliana handed the dagger back, realizing now what she intended.

      Juliana turned and walked out onto the ramparts, Mary and Fergus behind her, their expressions grim. As she started towards the crenellations, a group of archers surrounded her. “Stand back,” she ordered.

      “Lady Juliana, ye cannot put yer life in jeopardy,” Fergus protested.

      “He will not hurt me.” She pressed against the edge of the wall, knowing she believed this.

      Looking down at him, she raised her hand and dropped the linen flag of surrender over the wall. They both watched it float toward him, very much like the falling snow.

      * * *

      JULIANA STOOD BEFORE the hearth in the great hall, her hands firmly clasped before her, stiff with tension. It was unbearable.

      She knew that Alasdair would walk into her hall at any moment, claiming it as his own.

      She glanced at the stairwell. Mary had gone to check on her children, who were dressed as common Scottish children. Elasaid was going to claim that they were hers.

      Children were used as hostages all the time.

      She heard heavy booted steps, followed by deep, masculine tones. Her heart lurched. Someone laughed. The same voice said, “Mayhap this bodes well, eh, Alasdair? Mayhap our next fight will be as easy and as bloodless. Mayhap all our enemies will turn tail when we next approach!”

      Juliana trembled. She was frightened, but she was also furious. She was being accused of cowardice.

      Alasdair stepped through her door and his gaze founds hers. “I dinna think Lady Juliana has ever turned