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“All right, all right,” Muireach grumbled. “Ye can settle yer marital issues after ye disappear in the air like a child’s fart. Wait for my signal.”

He walked out, leaving the door open a slit. Owen watched him through it and saw him stop and greet the guards. They glanced briefly at Muireach and then continued talking. One of them was older and sat on a small stool, the other one leaned against the wall leisurely.

Muireach made a sign behind his back with his hand, and Owen opened the door. He stepped on the stone floor without a sound, although he was afraid his thundering heartbeat might alarm the guards. Muireach walked on slowly so the guards would concentrate on him.

Owen reached the man who was standing, grabbed the sword propped against the wall next to him and stabbed the guard in the back. He grunted and sank to the floor. The second guard watched in astonishment as his comrade fell. He opened his mouth to cry out an alarm, but Muireach rushed and pierced his throat with a dagger.

“Aye, ye Sassenach bastart,” Muireach growled. “Wanted to do this since the day ye took the castle.”

Owen looked back at Amber, who watched everything with a pale face.

“Lass?” he said, worried they were taking too long.

“I’m fine. Let’s not waste any time.”

But before they could move to take the stairs, the door to the other wing of the dungeon opened. Hamish and five English warriors entered the space.

They froze. Hamish’s expression changed from astonishment to shock to furious determination. His sword glistened in the light of the torches as he drew it from its scabbard. Five more swords appeared.

“You Scottish animals,” growled one of the men.

Owen stood protectively between them and Amber, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon. Muireach assumed a defensive position, dagger in hand. The air crackled with tension, as though lightning had struck nearby. No one moved.

Hamish glared at Owen with something unreadable in his eyes. Then his eyes darted at Amber, and he nodded to his right. It was such a small twitch, he almost didn’t notice it.

Hamish whirled and stabbed the English man to his left in the chest. The rest of the soldiers stared in pure astonishment, so did Owen. The only one who didn’t lose his wits was Muireach. Using their surprise to his advantage, Muireach stabbed the soldier closest to him and let out what sounded like a battle cry as he jumped forward with surprising agility for a man his age. The soldier raised his sword and deflected the blow.

One of the other men launched at Owen, and he finally came out of his stupor and raised his sword. He brought his blade down and it bit into the man’s ribs. The guard yelled but managed to strike out at Owen. The weapon only missed Owen by the length of a fingernail.

Owen swung his sword again, but he was too slow. The guard blocked it and thrust his own blade towards Owen’s neck. Owen didn’t have time to deflect, but before the blade met his flesh, a shadow passed behind the man. There was a loud thud, and the guard stumbled and fell to the floor. Amber stood with a wooden plank in her hands.

Hamish dealt a deadly blow to the last guard standing, and Owen looked around. Every single English enemy lay dead, blood spreading around them like small, dark lochs. Hamish wiped his blade against a cloth, and Muireach was already walking towards Amber with his bloody dagger still in his hand.

Amber leaned down and removed the helm from one of the guards. She put it on, and it hid her face somewhat, but her long, curly hair stuck out in all directions from under it. She quickly shoved the mass under the helm. Owen hoped it would stay under there and that the dark night outside would conceal everything else.

He took another one of the helms and put it on. He undid a guard’s belt and cinched the scabbard and sword around his own waist. Muireach helped Amber do the same with another sword and sheath.

“Go,” Hamish said. “Quickly.”

Owen laid his hand on Amber’s shoulder, but before he stepped on the stairs, he turned to Hamish. “Why did ye help us?”

Hamish sighed and looked at Amber. “I couldna let him hurt her like that anymore.” He glanced up towards the stairs. “Now go. I still have a mission to complete in Stirling. But I hope I wilna meet ye on the battleground.” Owen turned to follow Amber and Muireach, but Hamish said, “Owen, I am sorry about Lachlan.”

Owen drew in a quick, angry breath. This was not the place nor the time to talk about this; though, it did make him feel a little better that Hamish regretted what had happened with Lachlan. He nodded, and then they fled up the stairs to the ground floor of the tower, through a larger door, and farther out into the cool, summer night.

Owen had forgotten how sweet fresh air was outside, how soothing the chirping of night crickets and the hooting of an owl was. It was liberating to look out into the vast open space and not see the confining thick, granite walls.

The yard was empty, and no smoke rose from the kitchen’s chimney. The stables and cowshed were quiet. The great hall, too. Down the hill, torches illuminated the wooden palisade and the unforgiving outer curtain walls of the Stirling fortress.

“There are nae guards that I can see by the palisade,” Owen said. “But there will be at the gatehouse. We must convince them to let us out.”

“Aye,” Muireach said. “Let us get the horses.”

They went into the stables, and Muireach and Owen worked as quickly as they could to saddle the horses. He’d rather ride double with Amber since she was still recovering and weak, but that would raise suspicions, and they’d be faster on separate mounts.

Two horses were saddled, and Owen began saddling a third.

Muireach frowned. “Three horses?”