Embers in the Snow

Chapter 51 | Know Thy Enemy

The light of dawn had just begun to spill over the distant hills, casting a faint glow over the gathered men, their armor gleaming in the dim light. Horses whinnied and pawed at the ground, sensing the tension in the air, and the low murmur of voices filled the courtyard as final preparations were made.

Ewan stood at the head of the assembled warriors, his eyes scanning the men who had gathered under his command. He had led them through battles before, but today felt different. There was a quiet resolve in the air, a sense of unity that had only strengthened in the wake of the mercenary attacks. He knew that if they didn't act quickly, the enemy would strike again—perhaps with even more devastating force.

Next to him stood Allistair, his expression hard and determined, his gaze locked on the road ahead. His brothers had spent the night going over their plans, refining their strategy until every detail had been accounted for. They had dispatched scouts to monitor the mercenaries' movements, but their greatest asset still hadn't returned—Duncan, the scout who had been sent to infiltrate the mercenaries and discover who was behind the attacks.

"We canna wait much longer," Allistair murmured, his voice low enough that only Ewan could hear. "Every hour we give them is another hour they have to regroup."

Ewan nodded, his jaw tight. "I ken. But without Duncan's report, we're still going in blind. We need to know exactly where they're hiding, and who's giving the orders."

As if on cue, the gates to the castle swung open with a loud creak, and the sound of hooves echoed across the stone courtyard. Ewan and Allistair turned sharply, their eyes narrowing as Duncan rode through the gates, his face streaked with dirt and exhaustion but alive with determination. The men parted to let him through as he approached Ewan and Allistair, dismounting quickly and bowing his head in deference.

"My lord," Duncan said, his voice hoarse from the long ride. "I have news."

Ewan's heart quickened as he stepped forward. "What have you found?"

Duncan took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The mercenaries... they've been gathering in an old fort to the west, hidden deep in the hills. It's well-guarded, but their numbers are fewer than we feared. They weren't expecting us to strike back so soon."

Allistair folded his arms, his expression grim. "And the leader? Who hired them?"

Duncan's face darkened. "It's worse than we thought, my lord. The mercenaries aren't just in it for gold. They were hired by a coalition of smaller clans. Clan Ross may be involved, but they're not alone. Clan Munro and Clan Gunn are backing the mercenaries, hoping to destabilize our alliance and divide our strength."

Ewan cursed under his breath, his mind racing. "Clan Ross and the others... they've always kept their distance, biding their time. This was the moment they chose to strike?"

Duncan nodded grimly. "They saw weakness in the wake of Laird MacLeod's execution. They think if they break the alliance between your clans, they'll be able to pick off each clan, one by one."

Allistair's eyes blazed with anger, his hands tightening into fists. "So they want to divide us, weaken us. They'll regret that decision."

Ewan stepped forward, his expression hardening with resolve. "They wonna have the chance. We'll strike now, before they can regroup. If we hit them at the fort, we can scatter the mercenaries and send a clear message to the clans behind this—MacLeod and MacDonald will not be divided."

The warriors behind them straightened, their eyes gleaming with renewed purpose as Ewan spoke. The plan was set, and the time for action had come.

Ewan turned to Duncan. "You've done well. Rest for a moment, then rejoin the scouts. Lead them to the fort—show them the best way in."

Duncan bowed his head in acknowledgment, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of their upcoming mission. "Yes, my lord."

As Duncan left to prepare, Ewan and Allistair stood together, looking out over the assembled warriors. Ewan's eyes lingered on the men, each one prepared to fight for their home, their family, and their honor.

"We'll ride soon," Ewan said, his voice steady. "But first, we say our farewells."

Allistair nodded, his jaw clenched. "I'll check on the men. I'll meet you at the front."

Ewan turned to leave, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. He needed to see Aili one last time before they rode out. She had always been his anchor, his steadying force in times of turmoil, and he knew that whatever happened today, he needed to hold her close before he left.

Aili was waiting for him just inside the castle gates, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she watched the warriors prepare. Her face was pale, her eyes dark with worry, but when she saw Ewan approach, she straightened, her expression softening.

He came to her without a word, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of the world pressing down on both of them.

"I heard Duncan's report," Aili whispered, her voice trembling. "It's not just mercenaries, is it?"

Ewan shook his head. "No. There are clans behind this—ones who've been waiting for the right moment to strike. But we'll stop them, Aili. I swear to ye."

Aili buried her face against his chest, her hands gripping his tunic. "Just come back to me, Ewan. That's all I ask. Come back to me and Isla."

Ewan pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, his eyes locking with hers. "I will," he promised, his voice filled with emotion.

Aili's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she nodded, her heart aching with both fear and love. "Then go. And end this."

Ewan kissed her softly, one last time, before pulling away. The moment lingered between them, filled with the unspoken hope that this wouldn't be the last time they stood together. But the weight of duty was calling him, and he couldn't afford to hesitate any longer.

He turned and made his way back to the courtyard, where Allistair was already mounting his horse. The warriors were ready, their weapons gleaming in the early morning light. Ewan mounted his own horse, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked out over his men.

Allistair turned to him, his face set with grim determination. "It's time."

Ewan nodded, his gaze sweeping over the warriors of Clan MacLeod and Clan MacDonald. "Today, we fight not just for ourselves, but for our clans, for our families. We'll show these mercenaries—and the clans who hired them—that we will not be divided. We'll strike at the heart of their forces and end this before it grows any worse."

A cheer rose from the men, their voices filled with the strength of unity and resolve.

With a final glance at Aili, who stood watching from the gates, Ewan turned his horse toward the road. Allistair rode beside him, and together they led their men toward the distant hills where the mercenaries were hiding, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that this battle would decide the future of both their clans.

And as the sun rose higher, casting light over the Highlands, they rode toward the storm, ready to face whatever lay ahead.