by Wyatt, Dani
Behind his scream, as loud as it was, there was a roar. The noise of someone in the heat of battle, spilling blood to save their own. And I would have known that voice anywhere.
Sara.
“Stay where you are,” I yelled up, knowing it was her in that tower without seeing proof. “I’m coming!”
“Bors!” She yelled in reply. “Help me!”
“I’m coming. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
There was a pause, then a crash, and her voice came from further away. “No!” Her voice tore through me like a knife. “Hurry, Bors! Someone’s at the door!”
I broke into a run, taking a deserted alleyway to avoid the well-guarded front entrance of the castle. If there was treachery within the walls, whoever was holding Sara might also have loyal guards at the front entrance. Going that way would be too much of a risk.
Every castle had dozens of hidden side entrances for non-nobility to use—some small, for washerwomen and the like, and others much larger, for ox-carts that carried food and supplies.
In war those entrances would be barricaded and guarded, but in peacetime, like now, some at least would be unattended. I just hoped that whatever betrayal had put Sara in danger was limited enough to make entrance to the castle still possible.
I was right. I found a small wooden door near a row of empty milk pails. After a couple of thrusts of my shoulder, the wood splintered with a crack and I muscled my way through.
Ascending a narrow, dark staircase, I burst into a stone hallway, lit with rows of torches left and right. Guards were posted on both sides, and they came at me with blades bared and crossbows drawn.
“The stolen princess,” I panted, my fingers tightening around my knife. Right now, my hope was they were loyal to the king. “She is in danger. She was brought here by the Queen’s guard. I believe she is in danger. I have to help her.”
The guard nearest me flipped up his armor faceplate, and I recognized his face at once. Seamus. A grizzled, war-beaten old warrior of clan Mackay that I’d fought with at the Firth. That was years ago, but his actions and the expression on his face told me he recognized me too.
Beside him, the two other guards held back, deferring to Seamus.
“Bors? What the fucking hell are you doing here? And what’s this about the stolen princess? Have you once and for all lost your mind?”
“No, but there’s no time to explain everything. She’s upstairs, Seamus. If you’re still loyal to King Rowan, please help me. Or, I’ll kill you.”
He nodded without another word, and we took off for a staircase nearby. The four of us rampaged our way through the hallways, flinging open doors as we approached where I thought I’d seen her. Room after room showed us nothing, until finally I heard her scream once more, this time from behind a double-thick door that didn’t budge when I rammed it.
“The queen’s summer day room? What the fuck is going on?” Seamus started ramming the door along with me, putting his shoulder to it.
It took all four of us several tries to break it down, but when its hinges finally came away, I saw Sara just as she was being seized by one of the Queen’s guards.
“Take your filthy hands off her.” I demanded, my vision clouded with red. “It’s over. This won’t do you any good.” I lunged forward, Sara’s eyes glinting with fear, and I never wanted to see that look in her beautiful eyes again.
The guard that held her turned, saw me coming, and his lips twisted into a grin. “You’re right. I’m dead either way.” And with one single, horrible thrust, he plunged his blade into Sara’s side.
I screamed out her name as her blood spilled from the wound and she shrieked, gasping for air. Once again, my universe turned black as midnight as everything I’d ever wanted was ripped from me before my eyes.
Blind with rage, I hurled myself at the guard, savagely ripping my blade from under one ear around to the other, nearly severing his head. He fell back with me above him, and I withdrew my blade, only to plunge it again into his chest, and again, and again, venting my sorrow and anger on his now-dead corpse.
“Bors! The princess!”
I dragged myself from the object of my rage, and fell to my knees beside her, pulling her against my chest, hoping the beating of my own heart would give strength to hers.
Her body was limp, her eyes half-closed, and I felt my heart tear asunder.
No, no, no, no, fuck no.
I couldn’t lose her, not now. Not like this.
My fingers trembled as I placed them against her throat, the blood of her attacker smearing over her pristine flesh. But I felt it. Mercy of God, she had a pulse.
“She needs a healer. A doctor.... Now!” I yelled, and the two King’s Guards that came with us immediately ran to find help, while Seamus stayed, standing guard, glancing from Sara to the open door and back.
“My beautiful girl,” I whispered against her cheek. “Please. Hang on.”
I grabbed at the fabric of her skirt, bunching it and pressing it to the wound to stay the bleeding.
Fuck, I’d survived so much without knowing that she was my destiny. Now I had found her, and I couldn’t bear the thought that I was about to fucking lose her. I could feel her growing weaker in my arms as her warm blood pooled in my hands. I placed as much pressure on her wound as I could, but I could tell she was growing weak, life fading.
She looked up at my face, but her eyes were far away. “I’m so sorry.”
Christ almighty. I couldn’t fucking live without her. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t. “No my angel. It is me that is sorry. Sorry for losing you, for letting them take you...”
She gave no response. She had the look of being in a dream. Or of passing into another world.
I looked up. I hadn’t prayed in decades. But now I did, after my own fashion.
“Don’t you fucking take her from me,” I warned God, as I held her close. “Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard. I’ll hunt you down and have my revenge.”
I embraced her, keeping her safe and close, trying to protect her from a fate bigger than us both. The life that was ripped away from us flashed before my eyes.
Our home.
Our children.
Our love and peace and hope.
A hand on my shoulder shocked me out of my grief, and I looked up to see the royal doctor in his medical robe.
“Let me tend to her, sir. Move aside.”
All the warriors in the land couldn’t have made me leave her. Not a fucking chance.
“I can’t let her go,” I said, as my tears fell onto her beautiful cheeks. “I can’t watch her die.”
“Let him help her, and hopefully neither of us will have to,” said another voice, this one firm but shaky with emotion.
Turning, still clutching Sara to my chest, I found myself looking into the stunned face of King Rowan himself.
Sara
When I awoke, I thought I was in heaven laying on clouds.
I was in a spacious bedroom of gray stone walls and colorful tapestries, surrounded by vases of Lenten roses.
So this is death, I thought. It’s not so bad. Although, I expected a little more white.
Turning my head, the first face I saw was that of my one true love. Bors sat at my bedside, with his head slightly lowered and two fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose.
I wish I had given you the family and children you wanted. I’m so sorry…
I savored a few quiet seconds, studying him there in the morning light. He looked tired and haggard, like he had been sitting at my bedside for days. Which seemed odd. For heaven, I mean.
“Bors,” I said finally, and reached out for his hand. “Are we dead?”
His expression changed instantly, and as he looked up at me his worry melted away.
“You’re awake. Oh, thank God for you. No, sweet princess, we’re both alive. Very much alive.”
Alive.
Alive.
“What happened?” I whispered. My voice was hoarse and my
throat was dry. Iplaced my hand on my stomach, where I felt a thick pile of what must be bandages under my nightdress.
Bors didn’t answer, but instead hurried to the big door on the far side of the room and called for the doctor, who appeared at once.
He was an elderly gentleman, with a long white beard, kind eyes, a full belly and a soft smile that calmed me.
Saint Nicholas himself, I thought, a giggle croaking from my dry throat.
He took my pulse and placed a cool, soft hand to my forehead, speaking gentle words of encouragement. Once he had checked my bandages and assured himself I was well, he stepped aside, smiling.
“I believe she’s out of danger.”
Bors resumed his seat beside me, pouring me a glass of cool water and holding it to my lips.
“You almost did die,” he said, setting down the glass for me. “Thank God we were in the palace. The doctor was able to get to you right away. If we had been anywhere else, you…” He stalled, and his eyes filled up with tears as he cleared his throat and steadied himself.
“Shhhh,” I said, and clutched his hand. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Look, I’m better now, you can stop worrying.”
With his thumb and forefinger, he swept his tears away and nodded, smiling. It made me love him all the more, seeing this softness beneath his gruff exterior. Knowing that I was the woman capable of drawing it out of him made me feel like the queen herself.
The queen.
As if I had been thrown into a frigid lake, it all rushed back to me—Queen Beatrice, her guards, the horrible events of my imprisonment. My pulse quickened and I gripped the edge of the embroidered coverlet that was spread across the bed.
Now it was Bors’ turn to soothe me, as he saw me looking with panicked eyes, side to side across the room.
“The queen is in chains, awaiting trial, though I don’t think she’s in any doubt about her fate. She’s in the same dungeon where she tried to keep you, with the King’s men guarding the door day and night. It’s all over.”
It was hard for me to sigh with relief, given the pain in my stomach, but at the very least the stress started to lessen in my shoulders.
“I’m safe?” I asked, just to be doubly sure.
“You are. I fucking swear it.”
Suddenly, a thought hit me and I gripped his hand hard. “Bors, the war. Angelica. We have to send for her—”
“No we don’t.” He smiled and shook his head. “There won’t be a war between the clans, that’s been seen to. Clan Johnston won’t dare attack us now, not while we’re under the protection of the king.”
“What? I don’t understand. What happened?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but a soft knock at the door interrupted us. When the door swung open, Bors stood, though he did not let go of my hand.
“Your Grace,” he said, lowering his head.
There, standing in a patch of sunshine from the open window, stood a man who had to be King Rowan. His hair, though graying now, had clearly been the same color as mine in his youth, and his clothing was the finest I’d ever seen.
His magnificent gold grown, emblazoned with emeralds the color of my eyes, sat straight and steady on top of his head. His face was the face of a man who led his people from the front. Handsome, strong, and weather-worn.
I felt embarrassed being in such disarray in front of him, and tried to smooth my hair to look a tiny bit more presentable, but the King raised his hands, kneeling beside my bed.
“Please, don’t trouble yourself, my dear. How are you? How is your pain?”
I stared at him in astonishment. My dear. This term of such affection from the most powerful man in the land left me speechless, mouth hanging open as I tried to form words remembering the man who pretended to be my father for the entirety of my life.
“She seems better,” Bors answered for me, grinning at my embarrassment before he leaned down to my ear. “He’s just your father, you know,” he said sweetly, with a friendly and warm glance at the king. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him. He’s not a bad guy, for royalty.”
“I am so very sorry for all you have suffered,” the king said. His eyes were shaped like mine, but bronze where mine were green. They grew misty now, as he pinched the bridge of his nose in sorrow. “My beautiful daughter. I made so many terrible choices that led to your kidnapping. I was blind to the truth of those around me. And you suffered for my arrogance. Please,” he said, lowering his head as if in shame. “Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, father,” I said. “I’m grateful for the life I had, it brought me to where we are now. Even with all I’ve suffered, I wouldn’t change it for fear of losing something I care about.”
I met Bors’ gaze, and he smiled and nodded his agreement even as I wondered about all the details of my birth, my real mother, how I came to my fate…so much I didn’t know.
“Thank you, my dear,” the king said, looking up. “I am so grateful as well.”
It was all so incredibly overwhelming. In a matter of days, my life had been turned upside down. I had fallen in love, I had seen the death of the man I had thought was my father, I’d almost met my own end, feared my newfound love was lost, killed a man and now here I was, in the company of King Rowan, surrounded by such riches and extravagance that I felt unworthy to even look upon it all, never mind touch or enjoy it.
All I had known was gone, replaced by a world in which I felt I did not belong. I felt like I was standing on the shore while the sand was swept out from under my feet. I held onto Bors’ hand and locked eyes with him. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but somehow, he knew it all without my uttering a word.
He pressed my fingers to his lips, never looking away from me. In his eyes, I saw light and fire, love and adoration: all the things I had never imagined I would have—all the things I now knew I could never live without.
He took time with the kiss and said finally, “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you always.”
King Rowan frowned at those words, deep thought furrowing his brow, but I smiled. Such luxury and finery surrounded us, and somehow it was my birthright. But I would give it all up in an instant for my scarred clan warrior. I loved him, and I would not be separated from him.
Somehow, I knew, we would find a way for our love.
Sara
I regained my strength quickly and the doctor was pleased at how well I was healing. He said I would not suffer any lasting consequences for the attempt on my life.
I was relieved to hear it, but still had one important question that I was unsure how to ask. When I was left alone with my nursemaid, I finally asked her what was on my mind.
“Tell me truly. Will I still be able to bear children?”
She turned to face me over her shoulder, her eyes soft and warm. She was kindly and aged, like the grandmother I had never known.
“Yes, you will, child. And I hope you bless our kingdom with dozens of daughters and sons just as lovely as you.”
The next few days passed like a happy dream. I spent long hours with Bors and my father, and I learned all that had happened while I slept.
Clan Johnston had been forced to pay reparations for their part in my kidnapping, and for sanctioning the ill-fated attack on Angelica’s house. The king had placed Clan Mackay under his personal protection, meaning that any attempt at war would be swiftly and severely dealt with.
My father—the king—wanted to know every detail of all I could remember about my life to that point. My childhood, my upbringing, the man I had known as my father and many other things. What I did not know from my own experience, Bors was able to fill in for me, about Bardo and the Queen’s Guard, sharing what he knew or gathering information from contacts he made in the castle.
“I’m very grateful to you for returning her to me,” my father said to Bors, one afternoon at my bedside. “But I’m no fool and I have eyes. It’s clear to me that there is more to your relationship than cap
tive and savior.”
Bors glanced at me and then at my father. “I was hoping to wait until Sara had regained her strength, but I guess now is as good a time as any.”
The king raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“The truth is, your grace, with all due respect it doesn’t matter what you say. Sara is mine, not yours, and we would have been married before you even met her if not for the attack by the Clan Johnston men that forced us to flee.”
“Is that so?” My father was trying to stifle a smirk. I guessed he wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and it tickled him to be treated as a normal man for once.
“As soon as she’s ready, I’m going to marry her. And I’d like to do it with your blessing. That is, if she’ll still have me?”
Bors looked at me and lifted his eyebrows in anticipation. I was so startled by the question that I stumbled over my words. “I…I’ve…” But with my hand clasped in his, I told him with my tightest squeeze what I felt in my heart: yes. A thousand times, yes.
“Is that what you want, my dear?” Asked my father, still looking amused.
Finally, I found my voice. “Yes, more than anything. I love him and I never want to be apart from him.”
My father’s brow furrowed in apparent consideration of the idea, and he turned his gaze on Bors.
“He is the man who returned you to me,” he said, “and in truth it does my old heart good to see the two of you so deeply in love.”
Bors looked at me and smiled, and I squeezed his hand in joy, but my father held up a finger, shaking his head.
“But the fact of the matter is, no daughter of mine can ever be allowed to marry a commoner. That is the law and moreover it’s my wish. I won’t allow such tradition to be broken, not even by you.”
* * *
Sir Bors of Mackay was knighted that afternoon, in a ceremony in the royal gardens, beneath my bedroom balcony. I was strong enough to stand and watch the ceremony, with all its ritual and seriousness.
