While Brogan had been off rescuing his wife, Comnall and Liam were left behind to deal with the mercenaries. Comnall was not nearly as confident in Henry’s plan as Brogan had been.

Each of the womenfolk had been dressed in tunic, trews, and hooded cloaks. Gertie and Tilda, though reluctant at first, agreed to dress as men.

“I have to admit,” Gertie said as she adjusted the hood of her cloak, “that it feels downright empowerin’ to be wearin’ trews.”

Tilda giggled in agreement. “I be three and seventy and never thought I would see the day where I was dressed as a man and given a quiver and bow.”

They took to the upper wall with the rest of the women, and took up spaces between Liam and Comnall. “I think we be as ready as we ever will be,” Gertie told the men.

Comnall rolled his eyes and sent a prayer heavenward. “Where the bloody hell be Seamus?” he asked Liam.

“Iarainn went to fetch him.”

“Why do ye suppose they have no’ attacked yet?” Comnall asked as he peered over the wall.

Liam shrugged his shoulders. “I imagine they be waitin’ fer Aymer.”

Gertie spat on the floor at the mention of Aymer’s name. “I imagine he be burnin’ in hell right about now.”

Tilda nodded in agreement. “And the Frenchman right along with him.”

Each of those lining the upper wall had all the faith and confidence in their laird, Brogan. None doubted that he was at this very moment, attacking Aymer and the Frenchman and rescuing their lady.

A moment later, they heard Seamus grousing loudly as he made his way up the ladder. “Did no one think to build stairs fer the wall?” he shouted. “I be an auld man, fer the sake of Christ!”

Urging him upward was Iariann. “Stop yer bellyachin’,” she yelled at his back. “Or I swear I’ll toss ye over the wall and let the murderin’ bastards below have at ye.”

He growled deep and low as he made his way upward. Liam and Comnall each grabbed an arm to pull him up the rest of the way. Seeing he was balanced on his own two feet, Comnall helped Iariann next.

Once everyone was in place, Comnall and Liam took their positions. “Be ye ready?” Liam asked Seamus.

Thankfully, the man did not shout. Instead, he gave a nod of his white-haired noggin.

“There be no way this is going to work,” Comnall muttered under his breath.

“Have faith,” Gertie said, nudging him in his ribs with a hard elbow.

Liam took a deep breath and looked at the men below. “I recommend ye men be on yer way!” he shouted. His deep voice echoed off the walls and across the glen.

Three of the mounted men urged their horses closer. “We recommend ye give up yer keep now,” the man in the middle shouted up. “Surrender now and Aymer will let ye live!”

Liam glanced at Comnall and smiled before turning his attention back to the men below. “We have some three thousand men headin’ toward the keep as we speak! They be Mackintoshes, father and brothers and kin to our laird, Brogan Mackintosh. And they be right mad that ye be attemptin’ to lay siege to this keep!”

The three men below looked to each other before bursting out with laughter. After catching his breath, the one in the middle spoke again. “Think ye we are to believe such a lie?”

“Believe it or nay,” Liam shouted back. “Ye’ll find out soon enough.”

He pulled Seamus to the wall and gave a nod of his head. Seamus took a deep breath and let out a long, shrill whistle.

* * *

Comnall would never have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Long moments after Seamus whistled, they could hear the low rumble of countless horses pounding their way across the land.

Comnall and Liam had heard the tale almost as soon as they had arrived last summer. The tale that Seamus could let out but one whistle and all the Mactavish horses would come running to him. But they had believed ‘twas naught but an exaggerated tale. Until now.

“Archers!” Liam called out excitedly. “Ready yer arrows!”

The women, who had had only one lesson on how to nock and aim their bows, stepped forward excitedly. It mattered not where they aimed or even if they hit anyone. What mattered was how the men below would react to both the sound of the horses fast approaching and the arrows flying in their direction.

The sound of hooves pounding against the terrain was like rumbling thunder in the distance. Soon, the three men who had come forward were looking quite surprised. Their mounts began to whinny and fret with anticipation, knowing a battle was about to ensue.

As the sound of the horses grew louder, Liam called out to the women. “Archers!”

One of the women lost an arrow in her excitement. Quickly, she scooped it up and nocked it again. “So verra sorry,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

“Och!” the woman standing next to her said. “Do no’ fash yerself over it, Mildred.”

Comnall and Liam rolled their eyes but remained quiet.

The crowd of gathered men below began nervously scanning the horizon. Uncertainty and doubt began to fall over them as the sound of horses grew nearer and louder.

When it sounded as though hell was about to rain down on them, Liam looked at the women. “Archers!” he called out. “Ready! Aim! Fire!”

Caught off guard by what sounded like thousands of mounted soldiers heading their way, the mercenaries were not ready for the hail of arrows. Dozens of arrows flew through the sky. Only two hit anything; a log in front of the three men and a rock near the others.

“Archers!” Liam called out once again. “Ready yer arrows!”

Quickly, albeit a bit haphazardly, the women nocked more arrows. He gave the order once again. “Ready! Aim! Fire!”

More arrows flew through the air. This time, three of them hit, all of them landing in the same man. He fell from his horse, arrows sticking out of each of his arms, and his thigh.

“Oh, dear!” One of the women called out. She went as pale as a sheet. “I did no’ mean to hit him!”

“Och!” Gertie yelled. “Ye’re supposed to hit them! The bloody bastards want our keep!”

The thunder of hoof beats grew louder and louder. Liam called for the archers to ready themselves again.

“I wager ye I can hit the one closest to the front of the line,” Gertie challenged Tilda.

“Which one?” Tilda asked. “The one in the red tunic?”

“Nay, the one next to him who looks ready to shite his trews!”

“Ready! Aim! Fire!” Liam called out.

Gertie missed her intended target, but Tilda’s aim was true. Dead center in the chest of the man in red.

“That be some right good shootin’!” Gertie exclaimed happily.

Before Liam realized it, he no longer had to give the order to shoot. The women were doing it of their own volition.

* * *

Before the Mactavish horses could be seen, the women had killed or maimed at least a dozen of the mercenaries. Even as the hired men began to flee, heading northeast, the women continued to shoot arrows through the air.

They took great pleasure in their work. “I hit one!” Evelyn called out happily. “I hit one!”

It took several attempts to get the women to stop. “They have fled!” Liam shouted. “Ye can stop shootin’ now!”

They looked positively disheartened to hear his call. “But they have no’ shot back!” Tilda said, nocking another arrow.

“Because they have fled,” Liam ground out.

“But what if they come back?” she asked, her brow furrowed with determination.

Liam chuckled. “Then ye can shoot them.”

Pleased with his answer, she un-nocked her arrow and put it back in her quiver. “Ye promise?”

“Aye,” he laughed. “I promise.”

* * *

Hours later, after Brogan and Mairghread returned to the keep, he listened intently while Liam and Comnall recounted the afternoon. They were in Mairghread and Brogan’s chamber. The hour was quite late, but the excitement in the air did not lend itself to a restful sleep just yet.

Mairghread had bathed and changed into a clean nightdress. Sitting up in the bed, she cradled her son in her arms as she listened.

Henry was sad to have missed the sight of the mercenaries fleeing, as well as the women archers happily defending their keep.

Mairghread declared that they should celebrate this day each year. “We should never forget the day our womenfolk defended the keep so gallantly.”

Liam and Comnall would not necessarily call them gallant, but brave they had been.

Gertie was sad to learn that Mairghread had ordered the traitors banned from the clan. “Are ye certain we can no’ line them up and let our archers at them?” she asked hopefully.

Liam nearly choked at the image. ‘Twould be torture for certain, for he was convinced ‘twould be a slow, painful death. Who knew how long it would take before their arrows either hit their targets or did any damage.

“Nay,” Mairghread said as she kissed the tip of her son’s nose for what seemed the hundredth time since he had been born. “I think we have had enough killin’ fer one day.”

Brogan readily agreed. “I think it be time we celebrate livin’.”

Gertie and Tilda glanced at once another. “We have called fer a priest to come and christen yer son.”

“I hope ye do no’ mind,” Tilda added. “But ‘tis a most joyous occasion. One that must be celebrated, aye?”

Mairghread knew where they were trying so delicately to go. Rolling her eyes, she gave a slight shake of her head. “Aye, ‘tis to be celebrated. I suppose ye already have somethin’ planned?”

The two old women smiled sheepishly. “We might have an idea or two,” Gertie admitted.

“I suppose it be nothin’ simple,” she replied as she handed the babe off to Brogan.

“Simple?” Tilda asked, unable to look her lady in the eye.

“Aye, simple,” Mairghread said with a yawn.

“Twill no’ be too extravagant,” Gertie said.

Mairghread knew she was lying.

* * *

Three weeks later, a celebration to rival the coronation of a king was held in honor of Gavin Mactavish. There was not a spot in the keep that had not been scrubbed clean or that did not hold a flower or candle.

A grand feast was held after Gavin’s christening that made the celebration of Mairghread and Brogan’s wedding pale in comparison.

The affair was attended by Ian and Rose and half their clan, as well as Arline and Rowan Graham and Leona and Alec Bowie. Hundreds upon hundreds of people came to help celebrate the momentous occasion.

No expense was spared.

They sat at the high table as one person after another approached and offered their well wishes. When Mairghread complained of the cost, Brogan simply smiled. “Ye would have me ignore me first son’s christening?” he asked as he held the babe in his arms.

Her eyes grew wide in astonishment. “Ye mean this be all yer doin’?”

Smiling at his son, he said, “I might have helped Gertie and Tilda just a bit.”

Unable to keep from smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Will ye never cease to surprise me, Brogan Mackintosh?”

“I hope no’,” he said. “Elst ye might get bored with me.”

“Bored? With ye?” she asked with a good measure of disbelief. “That will never happen.”

“Do ye promise?” he asked playfully as he kissed her forehead.

“I do so promise.”