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Raghnall nodded. “We have that in common, lass. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch. We attack tomorrow.”

Rogene nodded and went back to Catrìona. They made a sort of sleeping bag for the two of them out of two woolen cloaks. But she couldn’t fall asleep, thinking of the black fox from Raghnall’s story.

Foxes were lonely animals. She was lonely. She’d always relied on herself.

But she couldn’t get inside the castle by herself.

She had to trust Raghnall, and Catrìona, and twenty-four warriors she didn’t really know.

And she had to be able to entrust her life and Angus’s life to them.

The thought made her stomach tighten, her gut twisting into a painful knot.

Chapter 25

The next day…

“Thirty-two, I think,” Rogene said as she peered through the undergrowth at the jetty.

The morning was gray and dull, the freshly risen sun invisible behind leaden clouds. A storm was coming from the sea in a heavy black cloud with a wall of indigo rain. The wind threw misty drizzle that smelled of seaweed into their faces. Waves crashed into the beach beneath them. The ships and boats jumped up and down, knocking against one another.

“Thirty-seven,” Raghnall said.

Worry stabbed Rogene in the gut. She had counted only thirty-two. While she was trying to find the five men she hadn’t noticed, Raghnall turned to the warriors who gathered behind them.

Wait, Rogene wanted to scream, we need to check how many there are…

But she knew with her rational mind that it meant wasting time. She just needed to trust Raghnall and the rest. And that was hard. How could she put her life in the hands of strangers when she didn’t even trust her aunt and uncle?

Sweat misted her back under the man’s tunic she wore.

“There are many more of them than of us,” Raghnall said to the men. “And they’re all warriors. Look at their swords and axes.”

They scowled at him, attentive. Broad-shouldered and muscular, they all looked menacing and experienced enough to do their job right. But Rogene wished she could take a sword and wield it together with them.

“We must act fast,” he said. “They’ll be distracted by the rain and the storm, which will play out for us. It might even muffle the screams.” His gaze darkened. “Remember. Nae honor. We slice through them like a scythe of death.”

Rogene and Catrìona gasped. “We said nae deaths. Just knock them unconscious,” Catrìona said.

Raghnall gave her a hard stare. “There are too many of them. We canna allow them to alert the rest of the castle.”

“But—” Rogene said.

“Nae but, Black Fox,” Raghnall said. “They took my brother. Kidnapped him. I dinna have time for mercy. ’Tis war.”

“But—”

“’Tis final,” he said, and she saw steel in his eyes. The steel of a killer. “If ye disagree, ye both”—he looked at Catrìona—“I suggest ye stay behind.”

Her stomach flipped with panic and fear. She had no choice. She had to trust him. All of them. “I won’t stay behind,” she said.

“Neither will I,” Catrìona said, her face pale. She clasped Rogene’s hand. “’Tis one thing to hear about battles and death from my brothers,” she said. “’Tis quite another to see people die…to kill them.”

Rogene squeezed her hand back. She couldn’t agree more. She’d read about medieval battles and clever Highlanders’ tricks in warfare. Thousands died in this skirmish, hundreds in that. This guy won, the other lost. Those had been just numbers on paper.

Now it was time to see people die. To watch those numbers come into existence.

And maybe become a number, too.