It took the warriors three days hard riding to get to Stirling, and by the time they did, they were exhausted. They set up camp far enough away from Stirling that they’d not be spotted, and then Tierney and Samuel donned plain garments and walked the four miles to Stirling to scout out the castle.

As they walked, they made leisure talk whenever they spotted the English scouts in the trees or up on a hill. The scouts ignored them, not realizing they were in fact the ones being scouted.

Over a dozen traitorous scouts were discovered as they traversed the dirt road. Hiding in trees, in brush, on rises, and in the rooted beds of massive trees. All good spots, but easily discernable to anyone trained to look. Besides keeping himself alive, in prison Tierney had learned the art of observation. ’Twas truly an extension of keeping himself alive. Subtle noises. Subtle changes in color. A different scent. A shift in the wind that wasn’t actually the wind. A feeling at the back of his neck.

They’d be able to take out every one of the scouts easily before they brought their army to Stirling, and if they were quick about it, the scouts would not be able to warn one another.

Stirling Castle rose, dark and foreboding into the sky, its thick high walls seemingly impenetrable. There was a somberness about the place. An oppression that Tierney felt deep in his bones. He tried to shake the feeling that he was deliberately walking back toward a life he’d just left. But it stayed with him. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to lock the sensations away.

“Let me go on ahead,” Samuel said. “You walk the perimeter.”

“I’m fine.”

With narrowed eyes, Samuel appraised him. “You do not look fine.”

“’Twill pass. I have a task to complete. I will see it done.”

“No one will blame you if you decide not to.” There was no judgment in Samuel’s face.

“I will blame me.” That seemed to be enough of a pep talk, because he instantly felt a surge of renewed energy rushing through him.

Samuel nodded. “All right. But if—”

“No need. I’ll be fine.”

Even though it was late in the afternoon, the castle itself was busy, with merchants coming and going, guards loitering and what looked to be a few high-handed nobles ordering dejected Scots around.

The sight made Tierney seethe, but when they managed to swipe a wagon and maneuver their way around the bailey, he was more appalled to see the three men dressed in MacDonald colors in the center of the bailey—in the stocks. These were the men they’d come to save.

Their backs were covered in raw, red stripes from a recent whipping. His own back gave a painful twinge in answering sympathy. Their heads and arms were locked in the wooden stockade. Left in the center of the bailey for the guardsmen, and anyone else who walked by to torment. If not for the labored rise and fall of their backs showing they lived, Tierney would have guessed they were all dead by the way their heads hung so limply.

These beaten warriors were their mission. MacDonald or nay, they were his responsibility. All clan to clan conflicts seemed moot in the face of a common enemy.

“Their placement makes our mission harder,” Samuel murmured.

“Aye.” There’d be no sneaking in to release prisoners before unleashing the army in an attack. These men, from their position here, could very well be killed in the ensuing battle before Tierney or Samuel were able to release them, making their mission an automatic fail.

Separating to make themselves less conspicuous, they examined the rest of the fortified walls, the gates, and then when the sun set, they crept along the walls feeling for any secret entrances. One secret entrance was discovered, but, it was barricaded with stone and mortar, which could not be dislodged without setting off alarms from the guards above. However, they did find a blind spot for the rampart guards, and this weakness they would use to their advantage.

By the time they returned to camp, ravenous and full of anticipation, they’d devised a plan.

They each ate their share of bannocks and jerky before catching a few hours of sleep, and then the first wave of knights were led out by Samuel to take out the scouts they’d seen and any others.

A second wave of warriors was sent out to line the forest at the rear of the castle. They would act as the reinforcements, swarming the castle when the walls had been breached.

A team of archers were assembled to take out the men on the walls. The largest men would wield the battering ram for the front gate, along with warriors to guard their backs.

Lastly, Tierney took a dozen men on horseback to help him sneak into the castle to free and protect the three prisoners, only then would the men begin attempting to open the gates for those waiting outside.

The four miles to the castle was an easy journey, and they made it through the dark with no trouble. They left their horses hidden in the forest. Tierney wished the various regiments victory, then took his dozen warriors, crawling along the moors at a pace that had to be slower than a snail’s, until they made it to the side of the wall that held a blind spot to the guards above. Tierney’s team would alert the archer’s outside once they’d gained entrance, so they might take out the guards on the wall while Tierney and his men attempted to gain possession of the three prisoners. Theirs was the hardest and most dangerous part of the mission.

Tierney went first, climbing the stones of the castle wall without a hook and rope, praying the entire time he’d not grip or step on a loose stone. At the top, he leapt over the side of the ramparts and crouched low, keeping his hands on the stone to steady his racing heart. He counted the guards, the same number as there had been when he counted them below. None of them had moved. Stealthily, he let down a rope for the other men to climb. They followed his lead at the top, leaping over the side and crouching. When the twelfth man made it to the top, they made one more cautionary scan, determining that the guards were oblivious to their entrance. The three MacDonalds remained in the stocks below. And though they were still limp and half dead, Tierney was glad to see them there, because he had worried whether or not they would remain or be put inside for the evening. Saints, but he hoped they had the strength to walk. Even run.

With hand signals, he instructed the men where to go, this was going to be the hardest part.

Tierney gave the signal. A moment later, arrows whistled through the air, striking the guards on the wall, who fell to the ground simultaneously. There was perhaps a thirty-second window before anyone noticed what had just happened, and so Tierney and his men sailed over the ramparts to the bailey. While Tierney and two others broke the stockade, as they didn’t have a key, nine warriors guarded them. Just as he’d predicted, though it was more like fifty seconds, rather than thirty, a round of guards came rushing from within the barracks, weapons raised and bellowing their battle cries.

Letting out a battle cry of his own that would alert their forces outside to attack, Tierney raised his sword in the name of his king and launched into the fray. Behind him, the three prisoners were whisked back the way they’d come over the wall by three warriors who’d escort them to camp.

All hell broke loose as his men scaled the walls, battered the door, and the English guards within Stirling were completely overwhelmed. Tierney had ordered that all women and children should be spared, but that anyone who raised his sword should be dispatched. Lucky for the women and children, they didn’t attempt it.

What felt like a breath later, but was probably half an hour at least, the English soldiers had surrendered, and Samuel had taken those who’d laid down their swords as prisoners, and the dead were being piled into wagons for a quick burial.

“You did it,” Samuel said to Tierney, clapping him on the back.

He’d done it. Part of it at least. They still had to deliver the prisoners. That did not lessen the sense of victory he felt. MacDonald, a mighty warrior, had not been able to accomplish what Tierney had. He’d proven his worth to his men, to his people. That no matter how oppressed he may have been, he would still rise up in victory.

“MacDougall! MacDougall! MacDougall!” The resounding shouts of the men echoed off the stone walls, vibrating through his skin, muscles and bones. He felt it deeply, resonating. So light he felt, he could have been floating.

For a moment, Tierney stood, stunned, sweat dripping off his body, blood on his hands, and victory flowing through his veins.

He pressed his fist to his heart and turned in a slow circle, nodding at his men. Locking eyes with them all and feeling that fierce bond of total triumph. Today they were the conquerors. For so many years they’d also been oppressed—this was their victory, too.

“Today we have subdued the English!” he bellowed. “We have taken back a stronghold for our king. This is our victory! We did this together. We have shown the English that we will not be held as their captives, that we will not allow them to come onto our lands, into our homes, and take what is ours. And no matter how many times they try, we shall prevail. They cannot take our dignity, they cannot take our freedom, for we will not relinquish it!”

The resounding cheer echoed off the walls of Stirling, bouncing from fist to fist of every man, and straight into Tierney’s chest.

Every time he’d stared into the eyes of his warden, of John de Warenne, he’d imagined this day. Of the moment, he would be victorious and take back what was his.

This was the victory he needed to prove himself, and from the wide smiles, the shouts, the respect and loyalty he saw from each man who’d followed him into battle, he knew he’d gotten it. Oh, if only his father were there to witness this. If only de Warenne were there. He’d shake his fist at them both, hold his sword at their throats and then toss them both into his dungeon so they might watch him succeed, the ultimate punishment.

“Samuel,” he said, nodding at his friend. “The castle is yours.”

Samuel and half the men would remain behind to hold the castle until the Bruce could bring in his own set of guards, while Tierney returned to the Highlands delivering the message to MacDonald that Stirling had been reclaimed along with the three men Tierney and his men had been tasked with retrieving.

Samuel grinned, came forward and pounded him on the back, thrusting a tankard of ale into his hands. “I look forward to doing battle with you again, Laird MacDougall.”

“’Twould be my honor.”

By that time, the sun had risen over the castle, and though the men were exhausted, they were ready to raid the castle’s stores for a feast.

Tierney sent for the prisoners to be retrieved from camp, no need for them to spend the night in the elements when they would be safer behind the walls that had been the scene of their torment before. They would have the village healer take care of their wounds before they went out on the road, and his men deserved a day of rest and celebration before they continued on to Finlaggan Castle on the Isle of Islay, where MacDonald resided.

But as daybreak turned to noon, and the men rested between bouts of revelry, there became no need to travel to Finlaggan, for MacDonald made himself known to them.

“Tierney MacDougall,” the older man, just as broad of shoulder as he was long of beard, bellowed from outside the makeshift gate that had ben erected after they’d broken it down the night before.

They allowed the MacDonald chief in, and he greeted his three men enthusiastically. And though they were hurting, though they flinched when he grasped them to him, they also cried tears of joy.

“Thank ye for saving my brother and cousins,” MacDonald said. “I owe ye a debt of gratitude.”

Tierney grinned, having expected as much, but not giving himself too much lead to hope it would actually happen. These things had a tendency to run in the favor of the man with the most power, and at the moment, that happened to be MacDonald. “My lands and castle are all that I ask for.”

“Aye, that was the agreement, was it nay?”

Tierney nodded, feeling pride straighten his spine. “And relay my faithfulness to the king.”

MacDonald studied Tierney long enough that the silence and scrutiny became uncomfortable, and he was certain that the man was going to go back on what he said. But at long last, he nodded. “Consider it done. MacArthur will retreat from the castle with his men.”

“About that,” Tierney interjected. “What say ye to MacArthur and his men taking possession of another castle and the guardianship of my wee half-brothers?”

MacDonald’s eyes twinkled. “I like the way ye think, lad.”

“Then ye agree?” Tierney had promised Rosamond that he wouldn’t turn her kin out simply because he’d regained possession. But he also knew that Captain MacArthur would want a purpose. And what better purpose than guardianship of two noble lads and a castle to steward?

“Lady MacDougall will give him hell for it. Likely come after ye, too.” MacDonald grimaced, perhaps thinking about Tierney’s stepmother’s reaction.

“I have no fear of the lady,” Tierney said. “She seeks what she thinks is right for her sons. And until I have an heir of my own, my half-brothers will be mine. They’re my blood, and I intend to see them reared as lads of their station should, and with the right allegiances.”

“To King Robert.”

“Aye. To King Robert.”

“I’d known it before ye came home, that ye’d make the Bruce a mighty ally, but ye’ve proved yourself formidable, MacDougall. With men like ye, we shall one day see this country as our own again.” MacDonald reached out his hand, and Tierney gripped his arm.

When he’d been in his cell, when he’d been bleeding, full of fury and pain, he’d dreamed of this day. Dreamed of the moment he could stand up for what was right and good and just. When he could stand up for what was his. Face his king and proudly proclaim what he’d showed him on the battlefield—his allegiance. But what he’d never expected was the urgent need to share it with his wife, his Rosamond.

“I must be off to my wife,” Tierney said. “She will glory in this victory with me.”

The men were just as eager to be off, though they loved a good celebration, more revelry awaited them at Dunstaffnage, for when they returned, they would come back to a castle they could call home, and lands that had rightfully been returned to their clan.

“My lady, ye canna go!”

Rosamond faced off with Captain MacArthur and Gunnar who both stood arms outstretched in front of the opened gates that would gain her access to the road, as though they’d be able to catch her if she rode past. The road which would lead her to her husband—though she would need to inquire along the way as to just where Stirling was. It had been a sennight since she’d woken to a loud cheer and then seen him riding through the gates without so much as a goodbye, and a sennight that she’d spent praying, nervously cleaning and rearranging furniture until the whole of the castle had started to hide whenever she walked by in fear she’d come up with something else ridiculous they could do in the meantime.

“Out of my way,” she bellowed. If she had to pull out the small sword she’d managed to find in her husband’s wardrobe, obviously leftover from his boyhood training days, then she would.

They glanced at each other, perhaps realizing this, and then continued to stay right where they were. “We canna allow it!” Brave, they were.

“I will not hesitate to run you down, the both of you.” As if to prove her point, she tightened the reins and gave the signal. The horse she rode, rose up and waved its forelegs toward the men in a threatening manner.

“I beg of ye, my lady, a little more patience,” MacArthur said, eyes pleading. “And please, dinna do that again. If ye fall off that horse, his lairdship will have our heads when he returns. Stirling is a good three days’ hard ride, and a battle takes time. His lairdship might not return for several more days.”

Narrowing her eyes, she looked from one man to the other, then threw her hands up in the air and let out a dejected sigh. “I shall say your goodbyes for you then.” But just when she was about to run them over, a ghost rode across the moors at breakneck speed. “Tierney!”

The men flew out of her way just as she kicked her horse forward and through the gate toward the man she’d been determined to see.

Tierney looked confused at first and then alarmed to see her riding toward him. The moment her horse reached his, she flung out her arms and tossed herself onto his lap, sobbing tears of joy.

“I thought you dead,” she wailed against his broad chest, breathing in his familiar scent and then pummeling him for making her so fearful. “You did not even say goodbye!”

“I am alive and well, love.” He buried his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, but if I had, I might not have been able to go, and ye know I needed to.”

She opened her mouth to admonish him some more when he captured her lips with his. When she’d stopped pummeling him and clutched at him with a desperate need, he pulled away enough to say, “I’m home, sweetling. We’re home. Dunstaffnage is ours.”

“Ours?” Her eyes widened as she took in his serious demeanor.

Tierney’s grin widened. “Aye. Victory is ours.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” She sagged against him.

Tierney wrapped her up in his arms and she clung to him, certain that nothing, not even the threat of death, would get her off of him.

“Where were ye going just now, lass?”

“To find you.”

“To find me? How?”

“Tierney,” she stroked his cheek. “I did not know, only that if I did not find you, I would have searched this island from one end to the other looking for you.”

She felt his breath hitch, his heart pounding against hers.

“I love you, Tierney MacDougall. You are mine, and I would do anything to have you by my side.”

The breath he’d been holding blew out of him in one long whoosh. “Oh, saints, Rosamond, my love, I have loved ye from the moment ye waved that fiery log at me. I would give ye the world if I could.”

She cupped his face, stroking the stubble on his cheek. “All I want is you.”

“Forever, I am yours.”

And with that, he kissed her until they were both breathless, and the men on the wall were cheering loud enough to alert the king in Edinburgh.