Page 92 of Steel & Surrender

Both Greig and Davy swiveled, their gazes cutting through the crowd in the direction the shouts had come from.

Leather-clad figures burst from the shadows, dirks flashing in the firelight.

Warriors. They came from the northern corner of the field—where the light thinned and the path fell away toward the bay.

Greig’s parents still sat on that edge, not far from the line of braziers, and as Davy and Greig drew their dirks and moved toward them, Loch stepped in front of Mairi.

Steel rang through the night, followed by shouts and screams.

The villagers—and the cooks, servants, and grooms who resided within Duart Castle—fled, some of them pushing others out of their way, such was their panic.

But some held their ground, those of the Guard who had attended the revelry. Finn MacDonald too, who, like the clan-chief, stepped in front of his wife, shielding her with his body as the first of the warriors descended upon them.

And as Greig pushed his way through—no easy task, since it felt like fighting against the tide as locals fled the scene—he spied a familiar flash of green, blue, and red tartan.

MacDonalds.

His heart kicked, fire flaring hot in his gut.

Whoresons!

He’d known that the MacDonalds of Sleat were planning something. But hadn’t they’d set their sights on Moy? That was where they’d sent additional warriors to help defend the stronghold.

Christ—they’d never meant to strike Moy.

It had been Duart all along. They’d bided their time and waited until a night of revelry, a night when locals and the Macleans alike would be celebrating the harvest.

Perhaps the MacDonalds thought they were fools, that the clan-chief and his sons would attend unarmed.

But that was a miscalculation.

Greig carried his dirk at his side and a sgian-dubh in his boot. They all did.

And just as well, or this would have been a massacre.

His left thigh twinged then—a warning. He’d treated it harshly all day, taking little rest after the strength contests, and then later, he’d danced with Brìghde before swiving her.

His leg was letting him know now that it might fail him.

Brìghde.

Someone had to warn her. However, he couldn’t focus on that now, not when the first of the MacDonalds bore down on him.

Instinct took over.

Gritting his teeth, he ducked under the lethal swipe of a dirk and shifted his weight to his right.

He swapped hands with his dirk and jabbed under his opponent’s guard. It punched through leather and into flesh.

The warrior wheezed a curse. However, it cut off when Greig’s fist slammed into his mouth, felling him.

He whirled then to see it had now turned into a pitched battle.

His father fought a few yards away. Loch’s face was set in a rictus of fury as he slashed at the warriors that now surrounded him.

Mairi’s back was pressed up against her husband’s, her eyes wild with fear.

She carried no weapon.