The wooden gates stood open as they neared the outer barbican, a structure with twelve-foot stone walls, the first defense of Girnigoe Castle. Cain slowed his horse to a trot, and Ella bounced. Her eyes scanned the faces of his warriors, each nodding or holding a fist to their hearts as Cain rode through the bailey and under another archway, the horse’s hooves clopping hollowly across a wooden drawbridge. Several men even bent on one knee, their eyes cast downward in respect or fear.

Did they wonder why he had not led them on to Dunrobin Castle? Was the death of his father the reason for withdrawal or was the new Chief Sinclair convinced that he could conquer the Sutherland clan by forcing her to wed him? I will not. I will die instead. Hadn’t she always guessed that she would die young, despite Kenneth’s command that she was to live a long life? The thought that she might die today made her heart pound.

Inside the gate, Ella’s breath caught, her stomach twisting. Gilla stood with a warrior off to the side. She looked well enough, but did she wonder where her mistress was? “So,” she said, “you are a thief of lands, castles, people, and horses.”

“Unlike Sutherlands, we care for our horses,” Cain answered behind her. She didn’t bother to tell him that Alec Sutherland had loved his horses much more than his people.

At the end of the drawbridge, the thick points of a portcullis rose up, allowing them entry into the inner bailey, structures encircling it. Beyond the bailey, she saw another drawbridge leading to more buildings. No wonder Girnigoe hadn’t been taken by siege. It was built upon the sea for defense with many walls, baileys, and at least two drawbridges.

“Seraph must be walked, watered, rubbed, and fed,” Cain said to the lad who ran out to take the reins as he easily jumped down from the tall horse.

“Aye, milord,” the lad said, bowing low.

“And check for rain rot along the girth line.”

“Aye, milord,” the boy said, his face as serious as Jamie’s had been when Ella had told him she must ride into battle that morning. Poor Jamie. The twelve-year-old boy must be so worried for her, his kind heart tormenting him with thoughts of her torture. What would he do if she died? Would his nursemaid, Florie, and Kenneth keep him hidden like they had all these years?

Ella watched Cain warily. Would he grab her or perhaps knock her to the ground before his men? He had retrieved her mask but did not give it to her to don. Everyone could see the humiliating brand that marked her as a Sutherland. She stifled a flinch as he pivoted around and grabbed her around the middle. Hand flying in defense, she slapped at him. He moved his face, dodging her strike, and released her where she sat.