Part 32 (1/2)

Meredith stood with her ear pressed to the heavy door. When she heard the sound of the guards outside the door being engaged in battle, she clenched her hands at her sides and strained to make out the voices muttering savage oaths and barely coherent phrases. A scream pierced the air and she heard the thud as a body dropped to the floor just outside the door. The fighting went on for what seemed an eternity. She heard a second body fall. Then she detected the sound of footsteps receding.

For long minutes she continued listening with her ear pressed firmly to the ma.s.sive door. There was only silence outside the room. But from the upper floors she could hear the distant sounds of battle.

How much longer should she remain here with the women? This room offered shelter, a safe haven from the battle. But those were her men fighting, dying. And they were here to rescue her. Regardless of Brice's words, Meredith knew in her heart that she had no choice.

She must show herself to her men and order them to cease this battle at once and return with her to the Lowlands.

She lifted sweating palms to the latch that secured the heavy door from inside. Behind her the women lifted pleading eyes that spoke of their disapproval.

”Please, my lady,” Cara whispered.

”There is only death beyond this room.”

”I must go. I have the power, the authority, to stop this slaughter.”

”Nay, my lady,” Mistress Snow said, coming to place a restraining hand upon her arm.

”My lord Campbell ordered us to stay here where we are safe. He is the only one who has the authority to end this battle. I beg you, please do not disobey him.”

Meredith lifted her head a fraction. No one, not even these well-intentioned servants, would dissuade her.

With her shoulder to the door she pushed it open an inch and peered about. Two men lay in pools of slowly congealing blood. She recognized the two as men who rode with Brice and her heart went out to their widows still waiting bravely just beyond the door. At least for a little while longer she would spare them the gruesome sight of their loved ones.

Motioning for Mistress Snow to latch the door behind her, Meredith slipped out and hurried to kneel beside each of the fallen warriors in turn. Both were dead. Judging by the b.l.o.o.d.y swords beside them, both had fought furiously before giving up their lives.

She lifted her head and listened to the sounds of battle being waged above her. Lifting her skirts she ran to the stairs and began to climb.

The great hall was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying.

Blood spattered the walls and tables. The hulking forms of men writhed and twisted as they moaned or choked back sobs. Pain and death were everywhere.

Meredith walked among the fallen men, kneeling to whisper a word of comfort, to offer a tankard of water. Not one of them, she realized was a MacAlpin. All except Brice's men were strangers to her. Brice.

She studied each face, and though she was not aware of it, her heart sought only one. When a search of the entire room did not reveal him, she let out a long sigh of breath. Brice had survived the first wave of attack.

Meredith heard the sound of the pipes from the direction of the courtyard. When she reached the door she looked out at a scene of such carnage it took her breath away.

The storehouse had been burned. Black acrid smoke filled the air.

Animals, free of their pens, milled about while swordsmen battled all around them. Chickens, ducks, geese, were trampled in the melee.

Goats bleated and ran about, seeking to escape.

Young Jamie, standing alone in a corner of the courtyard, struggled to play the bagpipes while all around him were fallen comrades.

Meredith saw tears streaming down the lad's dirt-streaked face, but he continued to play, though she was certain he no longer knew nor cared what the song was. He played because Brice had ordered it. And he would go to h.e.l.l and back for his beloved Brice.

Seeing a flash of saffron sleeve, Meredith cried out Brice's name and watched in horror as a tall man fell to the ground. His hands pried in vain at the blade of a sword buried in his chest. But when the man's head lolled to one side, she realized he was not Brice.

Her gaze scanned the swordsmen who milled about the courtyard. There were twenty men for every one of Brice's. Where had they all come from?