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The surprise on his face changed to a threat. “Even better, ye silly lass. Do ye think ye can take me? Give me my grandson, and I will leave ye alone.”

The goddess of winter, Beira, must have passed through the air, because Marjorie turned into an ice statue. “He isna yer grandson, ye slug! He is my son. A Cambel. MacDougalls will never touch a hair on his head.”

“What he is, is a bastart. I will legitimize him and make him my heir. He’s the son of my only son. All my daughters gave me nothing but lasses.”

“Over my dead body,” Marjorie growled through her teeth. “He doesna ken about ye, and he never will as long as I have a say in this.”

She hoped Colin was sleeping, but what if he heard her? She’d concealed the truth of his violent conception from him to shield him from the knowledge, but she might need to tell him the truth and explain to him what happened.

“Is that yer last word?” he said, looking at her from under his eyebrows.

“Aye.”

“Then over yer dead body it shall be.”

He put his helm on and drew his sword. “Buaidh No Bas!” Victory or death.

“Buaidh no bas!” the clan behind him echoed.

“Chruachan!” Marjorie roared.

“Chruachan!” Dozens of voices pierced the air around her.

MacDougalls launched forward, splitting into two rivers—half of them heading to the northern wall, while the other half ran with siege ladders towards the front wall.

“Archers, ready!” Marjorie cried. “Loose!”

Three dozen arrows flew through the air in a high arch and fell into the swarm of people below. Warriors fell with pained grunts.

“Again! Loose!” Marjorie cried. She turned to the inner side of the wall and yelled to the courtyard. “Sand! Bring the sand here and to the northern wall!”

While arrows flew, down in the courtyard, two men per cauldron picked up the hot sand and made their way to the top of the walls. The siege tower moved towards the castle, as well as the battering ram.

“Shoot the men with the ladders!” Marjorie cried.

She turned to Malcolm and Konnor. “I’ll go to the northern wall. Can ye hold the attack here?”

“I’ll come with you,” Konnor said.

“Aye, I’ll hold command here,” Malcolm said.

Marjorie and Konnor hurried along the wall, through the tower, and onto the northern wall. The MacDougalls were trying to lean the siege ladders against the wall, but the spikes at the base were hindering them.

“It’s working!” Marjorie said. “Konnor, it’s working.”

Konnor nodded, his eyes burning as he stared down at the attackers. They had archers, too. While John MacDougall was at the main gate, his first commander was probably here.

“Take aim,” a man on a horse in full armor cried, and a hundred or so archers lined up a few yards away and nocked arrows on bow strings.

“Take shelter!” Marjorie yelled, and the warriors knelt behind the shutters and behind their shields. Konnor sank to his knees and pulled her with him, covering them both with a shield.

“Loose!” came the call from behind the wall, and arrows thunked around them, jumping off the stone floor, piercing the wood. Konnor grunted a little as an arrow hit his shield.

They had enough time to take a quick breath before the enemy would shoot the arrows again while the archers reloaded their bows. Enough to take another shot and stop them. “Aim for archers,” Marjorie cried, rising to her feet. “Take aim! Loose!”

Arrows flew. The back and forth of arrows continued for a while. After some time, Marjorie looked down and froze. The MacDougall warriors were cutting down the wooden spikes. They’d cut enough to put the first siege ladder, and it already rising.

“Pour hot sand on the bastarts!” she yelled. The men lifted the cauldrons with heavy grunts and turned them over. Steam rose, and the air filled with the scent of hot stone. Men yelled in pain as sand fell on them and burned their skin.