As they rode, the clouds scuttled away and the sun burst forth over the white-blanketed land. The snow glittered like a million diamonds. It was nigh blinding in its beauty, yet Corinne could stare at naught but Reid, terror filling her.

He sat slumped forward in the saddle. His head, which drooped nearly to the horse’s neck, bobbed loosely with the animal’s steps. His hands remained bound behind his back, and one of Serlon’s men had lashed his legs together with a length of rope underneath the horse’s belly.

Corinne prayed that he did not slip from the saddle, for if he did, he would be dragged along the ground, tied as he was. She prayed that he would wake soon, that his head would stop bleeding where Serlon had hit him with his sword.

But most of all, she prayed that no matter what happened, she be granted another look into Reid’s stormy gray eyes. That she be able to tell him she loved him one more time. That he would enfold her in his arms and she’d know they would be safe.

The sun marked the passage of morning to midday, its cheerful progression across the blue sky a cruel contrast to the darkness squeezing Corinne’s heart as she watched Reid.

At last, he stirred, groaning.

“Reid!” she breathed.

“Quiet,” Mungo snapped behind her.

The MacVale warrior holding Reid’s horse’s reins looked at him, then rose his voice to Serlon. “He’s awakening, Laird.”

Serlon guided his horse closer to Reid’s. “Ye are a strong one, arenae ye?” he muttered. “I wish my other son was more like ye.”

Reid lifted his head, his eyes clouded and bleary, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Ye have another son?” he asked tightly. No doubt he was in a great deal of pain from the blow he’d received.

“Aye,” Serlon replied, his gaze traveling over the sparkling landscape. “Ye’ll meet him soon enough.”

He kicked his horse into a trot, and the others hastened after him. Corinne’s gaze followed the direction he rode, her eyes landing on a dark smudge against the white plain. A tower rose in the distance. It must be the MacVale keep.

Heart leaping to her throat, she turned to Reid once more. He squeezed his horse tight with his knees, managing to keep his seat in the saddle even as he grimaced with each jarring step.

The chance of a miracle, some way to break free and escape, had dwindled to nearly naught. There was no more time to plot a getaway, to plan a daring flight. There was only the two of them, Reid bleeding and hurt, and she held immobile in Mungo’s crushing grip. All this time, she’d survived on little more than hope, but now she had to face the truth.

Once they reached the MacVale keep, the MacDonnells couldn’t save them. No one could.

 

*   *   *   *

 

Reid clenched his teeth against the agony that jolted through his skull like a hammer strike with each of the horse’s steps. He forced his eyes to remain focused on the keep they drew toward, for if he looked at Corinne again, he would see the fear in her eyes, the bruise darkening her cheek, and the split in her lip, and rage would consume what little of his wits he had left.

He had another brother somewhere behind those towering stone walls. It had been nigh two days of panic, pain, and shock, yet that revelation was mayhap the most staggering of all.

He’d sworn to Serlon that he would wipe out the MacVales once and for all for his actions. Could he stand not only against his father, but against a brother he didn’t know?

Reid cursed silently, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain for a long moment. For all that he’d threatened Serlon, he was completely at the man’s mercy. If it was only himself, he might have tried to escape, to spook his horse and make a break for it. But he had no doubt that Serlon would hurt Corinne to punish him.

The MacVale keep now loomed before them. It was a single tower, dark and severe against the sharp blue sky, surrounded by a circular stone curtain wall. Along the wall, Reid could make out several men in the green and brown MacVale plaid watching their approach across the snowy moor.

The MacVales inside the keep continued to stare down at them, but to Reid’s surprise, the portcullis hadn’t begun to rise by the time they’d halted before the gates.

“Open up!” Serlon bellowed, glaring at the battlements overhead.

A strange silence was the only response.

“I am yer Laird!” Serlon shouted. His horse danced sideways at his angry tone, but still the portcullis didn’t move.

“Nay,” came a loud, clear voice from the wall. “Ye arenae. No’ anymore.”

A ripple of confusion traveled through the half dozen MacVales surrounding Serlon. Reid felt his aching jaw slacken. What in…

“Fillan,” Serlon hissed, his gaze fixed on the spot where the voice had come from. “Ye sniveling wee cripple, what have ye done?”

A dark brown head appeared on the battlements. Even from this distance, Reid knew.

It was his brother.

He pulled in a hard breath as their gazes connected and he saw recognition mirrored in the young man’s keen eyes.

Fillan’s gaze shifted to Corinne, his features hardening before returning to Serlon.

“I have done what ye should have long ago, Father,” he said, his voice steady and cold. “I recognized that our people have been starving—for food, aye, but for leadership as well.”

“Open the gate,” Serlon roared, “else I’ll rip off that club leg of yers and beat ye to hell with it!”

“Nay,” Fillan snapped icily. “Ye willnae hurt me—or our people—anymore. Ye’ve nearly destroyed the clan in yer quest for war and chaos. But while ye have been scheming against the MacDonnells and Mackenzies, I’ve been plotting as well.”

Fillan tilted his head to the left, then the right. “These arenae yer men anymore. This isnae yer keep, nor yer land. And ye are no’ our Laird.”

A chorus of shouts rose from the battlements and inside the wall, drowning out Serlon’s enraged reply. The man’s face was beginning to turn deep red.

“This is treason,” Serlon spat. “I am the Laird. Ye cannae—”

“Ye are the treasonous one,” Fillan cut in. “Ye’ve starved us, beaten us into submission, and taken our honor. The clan willnae stand for yer warmongering any longer.”

Sensing an opportunity, Reid raised his voice. “I am Laird Reid Mackenzie. Serlon MacVale kidnapped my wife and attempted to frame the MacDonnells for it.” Even before the murmurs of discontent subsided from within the keep, he went on. “He failed, for the MacDonnells now ken what he was about. A war party is riding toward the keep even as we speak, ready to bring down the hammer on the MacVales for what Serlon has done.”

The rumble of displeasure turned to shock as the MacVales learned just how much harm Serlon had done.

Serlon reined his horse toward Reid, drawing his sword as he went. “I told ye to shut yer mouth!”

With no hope of defending himself, all Reid could do was lurch to the side. He would have toppled from the saddle, but the rope that bound his legs under the horse’s middle held him suspended, forcing him to dangle sideways.

Serlon’s blade slashed across his exposed calf. Reid only had a moment to feel the burn of the cut when suddenly his legs were freed and he fell the rest of the way to the ground. Though Serlon’s sword had opened his flesh, it had also cut the rope binding him.

Bellowing a curse, Serlon yanked on his reins, trying to wheel his horse around to where Reid lay in the snow.

“Halt!” Fillan shouted from the battlements. “Ye’ve already set the MacDonnells against us. Ye willnae harm the Mackenzie Laird also.”

“Try and stop me, ye ungrateful—”

“This is an act of war against the MacVales,” Fillan called. “Put up yer sword or die where ye stand.”

Serlon froze, his sword raised over Reid. His dark eyes blazed with fury as he turned to his men. “Attack the keep!” he cried.

His warriors stared at him, stunned.

“How, Laird?” the archer said, his eyes wide.

“Ye fools!” Serlon snapped, turning away from Reid. He kicked his horse to the archer’s side. “Draw yer weapons! Use yer bow, Paider. Attack! They threatened yer Laird!”

“Dinnae,” Fillan boomed in warning.

Sensing that the situation was about to explode in disaster, Reid shoved himself upright, his gaze locking on Corinne. She still sat perched in the saddle, one of Mungo’s thick arms wrapped around her and her hands bound before her.

“Corinne,” he said, willing his voice to be steady.

Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes so wide he could see the whites all around their blue-green depths. He flashed his teeth at her, then jutted his chin toward Mungo.

Just as Paider hesitantly lifted his bow toward the keep, he gave Corinne a single nod.

And then all hell broke loose.