CHAPTER 33
My foot was bleeding. I had stepped on some sharp wooden stick, which had pierced the sole of my flimsy sandals. Every
step I took was painful, and I almost didn’t have the strength to keep going. I had been hiking since the morning and
didn’t expect the road to Castle Coulin to be that long. Night had fallen, and I needed to be careful not to lose my
way. I caught a glimpse of Castle Coulin after I had finally reached the mountaintop—from which I was now descending
again. Just don’t lose it now that you’re in the home stretch, I kept reminding myself.
I pressed my hand against my side, but it didn’t help. My body ached all over, and I needed a quick break.
“Goddamn Highlands!” I wailed, slapping my cheek when I felt yet another midge bite. Those tiny, wretched flies had
been following me all day, and I felt as though I must be covered in hundreds of bites.
I was so close to Coulin that I didn’t want to give up now, and so I put one foot in front of the other, trying to
ignore the pain, the itchiness from the midge bites, and my physical exhaustion, just so I would get there in time.
A small noise nearby made me spin around and whip out the dagger.
“Shit!” I whispered, remembering the bandits. I ducked and tried to be perfectly still while anxiously scanning my
surroundings. In this darkness everything looked like a bush or rock to me.
Then I finally made sense of a black shape nearby and hunkered down even lower. I suppressed another cussword, even
though I had several good ones lined up on the tip of my tongue. Cautiously, I glanced around. I was sure that there had
to be someone—a person—because a fully saddled horse wouldn’t be wandering around the Highlands all by itself. But
that was exactly what it looked like: The horse was alone, roaming here and there and just chewing on grass.
I watched it for a while longer to make sure that I wouldn’t run into its owner, wherever he or she might be. But I was
in a hurry, and a horse suited me and my aching foot just fine—even though I had no idea how I would even get up on it.
I stood up and started quietly speaking to it. When it turned its head in my direction, I carefully held out the palm of
my hand. It didn’t seem shy at all and came closer while I blabbered on and on, hoping to gain its trust. Eventually I
was able to run my hand slowly down its neck, trying to find the reins.
Startled, I withdrew my hand when I felt something wet and sticky underneath my fingers. I couldn’t see it in the
darkness, but I knew right away that it was blood. My hands were covered in blood, and I recoiled, trying to fight my
panic.
Dammit! I couldn’t lose my cool now. That horse was my ticket out of here, and I wiped the blood from my fingers in
disgust before firmly and determinedly reaching for the pommel. In doing that, my hand accidentally grazed the
embroidery on the saddle. I could just about make it out in the fading light: Highland thistles, all lined up in a row
around the seat, all the way down to the saddlebags.
“No,” I stammered in terrified disbelief, shaking my head and denying the obvious truth. “No, please, don’t let it
be true,” I begged, running my hand over the enormous bloodstain.
It couldn’t be! Again I saw the Scotch thistles before me and remembered how Kyle had ridden off into the sunset in
this very saddle, laughing. I needed to be sure. In a frenzy, I tore open the saddlebags, rummaging through them in
search of some kind of proof. Was this really Kyle’s horse? Was this Kyle’s blood on my hands?
There had to be a different explanation. But deep in my heart I knew that Kyle’s destiny had already been fulfilled.
And all because I hadn’t had the courage to warn him.
Desperately, I rifled through the bags. Through my veil of tears, I barely saw what I was pulling out: a long leather
band, a fishing line plus hook, a package wrapped in soft leather, and a piece of paper. There was nothing that I could
specifically ascribe to Kyle, and so I unfolded the piece of paper and froze. The note slipped from my numb fingers, and
I watched it, shocked to the very core of my being, as it slowly drifted to the ground.
How did the letter I had left behind for Payton get into Kyle’s saddlebags? And what was Kyle doing here, anyway?
Payton’s words popped up painfully in my memory. Words of explanation and apology for what he had done—what he would
do—this very night:
“And surely everything would have turned out differently if Kyle hadn’t died! He was the youngest of the alliance. He
wasn’t supposed to be there at all that night, but he rode after the others, secretly following them.”
He was following the others! Why?
The letter rose from the ground, spun around, and rose higher and higher until it was swallowed by the darkness, as if
the wind wanted to carry my words up into the sky so everyone would know of my guilt and shame. Had Kyle followed his
brothers because of me?
“No! Oh God, please…no!”
I wept uncontrollably. I had been so sure that I didn’t have a choice, but now the feelings of guilt overpowered me. As
I recalled Payton’s words, they were like a knife thrust into my heart:
“Cathal had spotted him in the distance and immediately sent someone back to take Kyle home. But it was already too
late. Kyle had been attacked—stabbed from behind with a short dagger. He had drowned in his own blood.
That cowardly and deceitful attack changed everything. Now everyone called for revenge. Kyle had been one of them, and
everyone wanted to avenge his death. Within a few minutes, they had charged the enemy’s castle. It was the middle of
the night, and most of the inhabitants were asleep.”
And I was the only one who knew that it wasn’t the Camerons who had killed Kyle! Nathaira Stuart had invented the
ambush to hide her own treacherous act!
“If Kyle hadn’t died that night, the McLeans wouldn’t have joined our fight. They would never have taken part in the
massacre of the Camerons without a personal reason to join in. I killed Kyle for us!” Nathaira had admitted to Cathal
back at the motel, shortly before dying herself.
When she told this story back in present-day Delaware, I had felt the pain and anger about this betrayal very deeply.
But now that I was living through it all myself, experiencing it firsthand—being responsible for it, on top of it all—
I crumpled to the ground in a pathetic, helpless heap and sobbed uncontrollably. Dark storm clouds shifted, covering the
moon and throwing the world into a black abyss. A blinding streak of lightning twitched across the night sky and burned
itself into the darkness.
“Murderers! Cowards! They’re going to pay for this!” the men roared.
“Damn them all to hell!”
“Their castle must burn!”
The voices screamed for revenge, and then the one female in their midst pulled her sword and reared her handsome black
stallion. “Let us put an end to this feud once and for all! Nobody will dare attack us ever again! Death! Death to the
Camerons!”
She dug her heels hard into her horse’s flanks, breaking into a gallop toward the enemy’s castle. Her raven hair blew
behind her like a fateful beacon of warning, beckoning the men to follow her. Payton looked over to his oldest brother,
the man he had sworn an oath of allegiance to, the man whose orders he would follow no matter what.
The news of Kyle’s murder had hit Blair hard. The last words he had spoken to the boy had been in anger, and Payton
knew that Blair regretted this deeply. Hatred burned in Blair’s eyes when he pulled his sword and commanded, “Revenge
for our brother!”
Nobody stayed behind. Everyone scrambled for their weapons—not a single man hesitated. They all wanted to repay murder
with murder.
Payton, too, wanted to numb this boiling pain with blood. He wanted to kill the person who had done this with his own
two hands, and so he turned and raced his horse toward the castle, pulling his broadsword in full gallop.
It hadn’t taken them long to storm the poorly defended parapet and open the castle gates from within. Now they hacked
and slashed their way into the heart of the castle keep, with the Camerons taken by complete surprise and falling easy
victims to their burning, bloodthirsty hatred. Men, women, and children perished under the angry blades of their
attackers.
Payton’s grief and raging pain guided his hand, and over and over made him raise his sword against an onslaught of
enemy warriors.
By his side was the youngest of the alliance: Cathal’s little brother, Kenzie, whose very first battle this was.
Blinded by his thirst for revenge, he was charging an enemy much superior in experience and strength, and Payton had no
choice but to cover the young hothead’s back.
He followed him into the castle keep, almost stumbling over the limp, lifeless body of a slain maidservant. Still behind
Kenzie, he saw him charge up the stairwell and hurried after him, listening for the clinking of swords and angry shouts
of men as he started climbing the tower. The winding staircase was dark, with only a faint shimmer of moonlight coming
through the tiny arrow loops.
The blackness made Payton stop for a moment, mercifully numbing the bloodred noise swirling inside his head. With his
chest heaving, he pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall. Tears streamed down his face as he detected the
metallic scent of blood on his clothes and felt the heavy steel blade in his hand.
The image of his slain brother burned into his raging mind, and his throat felt so tight that he thought he would
suffocate right here in the stairwell.
Kyle had been what they called a child of the sun. Wherever he was, there was joy. He would never have wanted all these
people to die. He didn’t approve of violence and had never even enjoyed hunting.
Payton stumbled on. He kept going with the sudden realization that he’d made a terrible mistake. The freezing air on
the battlements awakened his numb mind. Disoriented, he spotted Kenzie facing a man who’d barely had enough time to get
dressed before grabbing his weapon. Even without shoes or a vest, the man swung his axe with deadly precision.
To end this brutal massacre, Payton couldn’t allow Cathal’s brother to get hurt. He needed to come to Kenzie’s aid,
even if he had no intention of ending another life, enemy or not. For whatever was happening right now, it was terribly
wrong. There was no other word for it but murder.
He had to bring the others to their senses if he ever wanted to redeem his mortal soul. Was it too late for that?
There was Cameron blood on his hands, and it had soaked through his shirt. A name flashed through his mind: Sam. And, as
if the mere thought of his beloved conjured her image, she appeared right before his very eyes.
The wind lashed at her hair, pressing the white nightgown tightly against her body. Seeing the terror on her face,
Payton instinctively stepped toward her. She held out her arms as if trying to push him away, looking over her shoulder
in a frenzy. Two of Cathal’s men blocked her exit and moved in with a cold and calculating precision.
Sam? Why was she here? Was she really here? Payton shook his head to get rid of the apparition—but nothing happened;
she was still there. The horror in her eyes, the desperation…
“Tomas!” she screamed at the man with the axe. One of the warriors grabbed her arm. “Tom—”
The blow to her head made her stumble, and she broke away in Payton’s direction. He was struggling to tell reality and
delusion apart.
The half-dressed warrior noticed the woman and went berserk.
“Isobel!” he yelled, knocking the shield from Kenzie’s hand and bringing his axe down on the boy in a blind rage.
Payton heard his heartbeat and felt the blood rush through his body. He smelled the ozone of a lightning flash that was
setting the sky ablaze. He saw the firm resolve in the woman’s eyes as she climbed the battlements, pressing her
trembling hands against her mouth, sobbing. She would rather throw herself to her death than submit to those men—Payton
was sure of it. She leaned against the wind, eyes locked with those of the man she had called Tomas. But she had no time
to issue a warning cry before one of Cathal’s men plunged a dagger into Tomas’s back. He stumbled forward and saw the
blood slowly spread on his shirt.
Payton was too far away to come to Kenzie’s rescue when Tomas Cameron raised his axe in a final move. He brought it
down on young Kenzie without ever taking his eyes off Isobel, his wife.
To Payton, she seemed like an angel, climbing the battlements and shining bright against the dark night sky.
“Sam!” he roared with a sudden flash of recognition. Had he really just seen her? Payton wasn’t sure. He only knew
one thing: She was innocent! She couldn’t die!
Payton saw her sway. She staggered backward. He was paralyzed, trying to move to come to her aid, but his body wouldn’t
respond. He reached her too late, clutching desperately at her falling body. At the very last second, he grabbed her
arm. Her scream pierced the very core of his being, and he saw the terror in her wide-open eyes—the same pair of eyes
that had looked at him with such love and lust only a few hours ago. With every breath that he took, he could feel her
fingers slowly slipping from his hands. He realized that he didn’t have the strength to pull her back over the
battlements. Little by little, she slipped closer to the abyss. From his throat rose a panicked scream as the woman lost
her grip and fell to her death.
He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her body hit the sharp rocks below, and instead he let himself slide back
down on the floor. He was shaking. He didn’t need to turn to know that both Kenzie and Tomas had not made it through
this cursed night.
Something soft was touching his cheek. A strip of white linen against his skin, it had a caressing, comforting feel,
like the loving touch of a mother. Carefully he released the piece of fabric from the edge of the battlement. Isobel’s
nightgown was embroidered with soft, delicate stars.
Without feeling anything inside, he clawed his way back to the two slain men whose glassy eyes were turned up to the
sky. He closed Tomas’s eyes with the flat of his hand, then pried open the man’s hand and gently laid the strip of
fabric across his palm. Then he crawled over to Kenzie and lifted the boy into his arms. Before climbing down the
stairs, he looked around the top of the tower one last time. He, too, had died up here tonight. When he climbed down the
stairwell, he had become a stranger to himself. He turned his back on this battle, the men, and revenge.
One single thought kept him going: I need you, Sam! Save me! Forgive me, please, and save me!