Page 4 of Cottage in the Mist
He called for her, his voice swallowed by the raging fire. Another timber fell, and a wall collapsed. He jumped across a gaping hole in the floor, landing hard, but still moving. The doorway ahead was edged in flames, the smoke and fire roiling like some kind of evil spirit.
Ignoring the danger, he sprinted forward, bursting through the opening, again calling her name.
And then, through the shimmering heat, he saw her, tied to the bedpost, her long hair unbound, her green eyes wide with fear.
A shadow moved behind her. Rage threatened to engulf Bram. “God’s blood, what have you done?”
“Naught but what you deserve,” came the answer. Other shadows moved. He was surrounded.
“Go back,” the woman screamed.
But he pushed onward, stumbling as still more of the burning tower fell. “I’ll no’ leave you.” His words were whipped away by the inferno surrounding them. But he knew that she had heard him. The men from the shadows rushed him, but still he pushed forward, his entire being focused on her.
There were only a few feet separating the two of them now. There was bruising on her face and a trickle of blood at the corner of her beautiful mouth, and he swore there would be hell to pay.
But first, he had to free her.
He reached out a hand, but as he did so the floor in front of him collapsed, crashing to the ground below. One moment he was looking into her eyes and the next, she was gone.
“Wake up, lad,” a voice called urgently.
Bram shook his head, his mind still filled with smoke and fire.The rubble threatening to bury him. He had to reach her…
“Bram, I beg you. Wake now, for they’re coming. And they’ll no’ spare you.”
Someone was pulling him back, the images fading, the dream dissipating into the night. Bram struggled from sleep, his heart still pounding. “I’m awake. What in God’s name has gotten into you?” He stared up into the ruddy face of his friend Robby Corley.
Robby, the Macgillivray horse master, wasn’t a man easily frightened, but there was fear present now, and Bram’s brain cleared in an instant.
“The tower has been o’er run. They’re coming to kill you,” Robby said.
“That canna be.” Bram shook his head, wondering if he’d woken from one nightmare into another. “Where are my father’s guard?”
“They’re either dead or they have thrown their lot in with the invaders.”
“And my father?”
His friend’s eyes cut to the floor. “He’s dead.”
Pain ripped through Bram, his hands clenching with the enormity of what Robby was saying. “Dead.”
“Aye.” His friend nodded with finality. “And so will you be if you dinna go now.”
Seamus Macgillivray had not suffered fools lightly, and he’d not be pleased if his only son were to let grief overcome his duty to the clan. With a grimace, Bram rose from the bed and wrapped himself in his plaid, still struggling to understand what was happening. “You’re telling me that no one at Dunbrae remains loyal to my father—“ He paused, the hard truth sinking in. “—Or to me.”
“Nay, there are a few left.” Robby lifted his chin, his brown eyes steady. “Me for one. But that is no’ enough. Come now. We must go.”
Bram grabbed his sporran and his claymore, following Robby to the door.
“We’ll take the front stairs. They’ll no’ expect us there.”
“But surely there will be guards,” Bram protested, even as he knew it was the right move. In battle, surprise was everything.
“Aye,” Frazier Macbean, his father’s captain, agreed as he rounded the corner. The three men stood for a moment, Frazier eyeing the younger men’s arms. “I havna’ a weapon,” he said. “I barely got out of my chamber alive.”
Robby drew his dirk and tossed it to the man. “’Tis all I have, but ’tis better than naught.”
The older man deftly caught the knife and the three of them ran along the corridor. They could hear the clanking of footsteps on the back stairs behind them. Rounding a corner, they pulled to a stop as Bram took a look out onto the landing. Below, the great room was empty, but he could hear the sounds of men moving in the corridor that led to the kitchens.
