by Mariah Stone
Euphemia inhaled deeply and let out a long exhale. Her face took on an angelic expression. Without showing any signs that she was worried, she closed the door behind her and looked at Angus.
“Ah, Lord Angus, yer whore came to rescue ye. Mayhap ’tis true love?” She chuckled and shook her head. “Even better. I dinna need to send anyone to Eilean Donan for her. I can show ye here and now how I treat a harlot who dares to seduce my man.”
Rogene shook as the pair of icy blue eyes stared into hers. The woman wasn’t big, or tall, or muscular. Or anything. How could she have such power over her? Immobilizing her like this, her feet rooted to the floor, her arms trembling as the handle of the dagger chilled her fingers.
“Leave her alone, Euphemia,” Angus cried.
Her brave, strong, selfless Angus. Completely helpless now. And she was the one in control—a freaking PhD student who loved books and reading and speculating about theories.
Not killing.
But she had to be strong. As strong as she’d always been for David.
“Don’t forget that I’m the one with the weapon,” she said, but her voice shook.
She wasn’t fooling anyone. She didn’t believe she could really stab another human being. Based on the amusement in Euphemia’s icy cold stare, neither did she.
“Aw, lass.” Euphemia was slowly walking towards her holding Rogene in a steely gaze. “What are ye doing pointing that at me? Ye arenae capable of scaring a child, my dear. Ye keep making things easy for me.”
With her heart drumming against her rib cage, Rogene watched Euphemia take one step after another until she came to stand so close that the tip of the dagger pressed directly under the woman’s collarbone. Rogene stared at her with wide eyes, feeling her lips tremble. She could kill her now. There’d be no better opportunity.
Do it, part of her cried. What are you waiting for?
But her hands refused to move.
“Come on, Rogene,” Angus growled. “Ye can do this. Just one stab and she’ll be done.”
“Aye, Rogene,” Euphemia purred. “Kill me while I’m letting ye. ’Tis the only way ye can get the key and save this handsome man from my evil claws. Otherwise, he’s mine. And ye’re dead.”
“Do it!” Angus cried, thrashing and beating against the chains.
To hell with this!
Rogene sucked in a breath and with a roar, shoved the dagger forward.
Only to find empty air. Losing her balance, she stumbled against Euphemia’s leg and fell flat on her stomach. The dagger slid away, and Euphemia picked it up.
Rogene pushed against the floor to stand, but felt the sharp, cold edge against the back of her neck.
“This is how ye threaten someone, lass,” Euphemia said. “Ye mean it.”
She pressed on the dagger, and Rogene felt a sharp bite as the edge broke her skin.
“Get away from her,” Angus growled.
“Stand up slowly,” Euphemia said.
With her arms and legs shaking, Rogene stood up. What an idiot. She should have done it.
“Turn around,” Euphemia purred.
Rogene turned around slowly. There they were again, her eyes—pure ice. Pure cold. Pure nothing.
“I should have killed you, bitch,” Rogene spat.
The dagger was pressing directly against the artery in Rogene’s throat. She felt it pulse against the metal. Rogene clenched and unclenched her fists in helpless fury.
“Ye should have,” she said. She turned to Angus. “I want ye to see the woman ye think ye love die in front—”
Rogene grabbed Euphemia’s shoulders, pulled the woman’s body down, and kneed Euphemia right in the stomach. Euphemia doubled up with a gasp and fell onto her back.
With an angry groan, she struggled up, but Rogene sat on her stomach and grasped the handle of the dagger, working on wriggling it out of the woman’s hands. She was so strong! She was pointing and jabbing the blade at Rogene, too close to her belly. The blade was swinging dangerously, an inch or two away from Rogene, but the woman wasn’t letting it out of her grabby fingers!
Kicking her fear back into the bottom of her psyche, Rogene slammed her teeth around Euphemia’s wrist. She tasted iron as warm liquid appeared on her tongue.
Euphemia screamed in pain and dropped the dagger.
This time, Rogene didn’t hesitate. She caught the weapon and pressed the edge against the other woman’s throat.
“It’s over, you bitch.” She spat her enemy’s blood on the floor. “You taste like shit, by the way.”
Euphemia was holding her wrist with her other hand and staring at Rogene like she was ready to kill her.
Yeah. She saw Rogene meant business this time. And inside, Rogene knew she wouldn’t hesitate again.
“Key,” she said. “Now.”
Euphemia didn’t move, only breathed angrily in and out.
“Now.” Rogene pressed the dagger and, just as Euphemia had done to Rogene a few minutes ago, broke the skin on her neck. Euphemia raised her chin, trying to get away from the weapon. “Now!”
Euphemia went into the pocket of her dress and retrieved the key. Rogene took it and threw it to Angus. It landed on his chest. He had enough space between his hands to be able to open the handcuffs by himself. Then he undid the cuffs on his ankles and stood from the bed, rubbing his wrists.
“Let me,” he said to Rogene, and took the dagger from her hands. Rogene was momentarily blinded by his nakedness—his gorgeous cock hung right before her, and despite the danger and the adrenaline rushing through her body, she remembered their lovemaking the night he was kidnapped.
He bent down and pressed the knife to Euphemia’s throat. “Get on the bed, ye evil bitch,” he spat. “Undress.”
Rogene expected Euphemia to make more jokes about being naked with him, but Euphemia didn’t say a word. A muscle ticked on her cheekbone as she began unfastening her dress. She let it slide down and the woman’s white body flashed before Rogene.
“Get on the bed,” Angus said.
Euphemia raised her chin, perhaps waiting for a look a naked man might give a naked woman. But Angus’s eyes stayed on her face, and there was not a hint of appreciation. Only disgust. And anger. So much anger.
“Ye wilna get out of this castle alive,” Euphemia said. “Ye ken that, right? There are hundreds of warriors, and ye have a band of what…ten men?”
Angus’s jaw clenched tightly. “I’ll take my chances. ’Tis better to die of a blade than to stay tied in iron at yer mercy. Climb. On. The. Bed.”
Euphemia’s face darkened. She did as he told her. He approached her and pressed the blade against the woman’s throat.
“Rogene, cuff her.”
Rogene took the handcuffs and put them on the woman’s wrists. Euphemia looked full of venom, like a snake ready to sink in her fangs for the kill.
When both cuffs were on Euphemia, Angus returned the dagger to Rogene, found some clothes in the chests, and dressed.
He took the key from Rogene, went to the window, and threw it as far as he could.
“I’m sparing ye yer life, which is more than ye deserve. But if ye come for Kintail,” he said to Euphemia, “I wilna be so forgiving.”
He took Rogene’s hand, his callused palm warm against hers, and pulled her after him. With Euphemia thrashing and screaming, they stepped into the dark corridor where the sounds of battle came somewhere from the floors below.
Chapter 28
The ringing of metal against metal echoed off the rough, torchlit stone walls. Stepping down the stairs, Angus held the most precious hand in his, that of the woman who’d risked everything for him. Something no one else had done in his life.
Ever.
She’d gathered a band of warriors, she’d teamed up with his brother and sister, and she’d come to rescue him. Without knowing how to fight, with no money or any other advantage. Being an outlander in this time hadn’t stopped her.
As they descended the stairs, he turned to
her and looked into her big, warm eyes. “Thank ye, lass. Ye saved my life. Ye were my shield.”
She blinked, and her eyes watered. “It’s not just me, Angus. Your brother and sister came, too. Your warriors.”
“Aye. I ken. But I dinna ken if that would have happened without ye.”
“Of course they’d have come for you without me. I just couldn’t—”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs towards them and Angus drew the dagger in front of him. Goddamn it, it was the only weapon that he had but better than nothing. The warrior was bloody and had wounds—and it wasn’t anyone he recognized, so he must be of the Ross clan.
The man stopped for a brief moment, then launched. He had his longsword drawn, but they stood in the narrow flight of stairs, stone walls to their left and their right, and he had no room to swing at Angus. Having an advantage with the short dagger, Angus drove his blade under the man’s ribs, and he grunted in pain and slid down on the stairs.
“Come, lass,” Angus said as he bent to take the man’s sword. “We must get through.”
“No,” she said behind him and turned to go back up the stairs. “We’ll land right in a battle, and you’re unprotected. No armor, no shield, nothing.”
Her worry warmed his heart. Suddenly, all the yells and cries from downstairs faded away. There was just him and her. This woman wanted to be his shield, while his whole life was dedicated to being a shield for others.
She stood on the stairs above him, tugging him up and away from the battle. But he grasped her by her hand and pulled her into his embrace. Yes, he might die today. Yes, he might be wounded.
“My whole life I was a piece of meat, good for nothing but beating,” he said, blissfully surrounded by the scent of her hair. “For my father. For my clan. For my king.” He turned and met her eyes. “Today, I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight for me. I’ll fight for a chance of us.”
Her eyes watered. “Angus…”
He shook his head. “Nae. Not a word. Come. Stay behind me.”
She opened her mouth, but he stepped back and descended the stairs, clinging to the wall and peering around the corner.
The next landing was empty, so he went lower, to the next floor. There, three men were fighting—two against one… Against Iòna. He was clearly exhausted, his blond hair misted and clinging to his forehead, a gash on his upper arm.
With a roar that made both enemies look up, Angus launched himself at them. That gave Iòna a moment of advantage, and his claymore cut into one warrior’s neck. He met the other enemy’s sword with a loud clang and proceeded to thrust his claymore over and over. Each time he met resistance that reverberated in his body. His wrists were sore from days in cuffs, but he kept going.
The man was strong but not skillful, and finally Angus thrust his claymore into the man’s gut, and he died, clutching at his wound.
“Ye all right, Iòna?” Angus said.
“Aye,” his friend said. “’Tis a slaughter downstairs, Lord. More men are coming. We must leave.”
“Aye.”
“Is Catrìona all right?” Rogene asked.
“Aye, the last time I saw her, she finished three men.”
Impressed, Angus shook his head once. Catrìona knew how to fight—Angus had taught her early on as he couldn’t stand the thought that she wouldn’t be able to protect herself against Father if Angus wasn’t around. But as far as he knew, she’d never wanted to use the sword-fighting skills. She always preferred to choose a peaceful way. She couldn’t stand the thought of taking someone else’s life. “Don’t kill” was one of God’s commandments.
“Good,” Angus said. “Protect Lady Rogene with yer life, aye? Let’s go.”
The three of them climbed down the stairs. Two men fought at the bottom of the stairwell. The rest of the room was dark in the dim light of the torches. A crowd of men had squeezed into the small space, and they banged against one another with swords too long to swing in the space available.
Mackenzie men always had knives or daggers with them, but so, apparently, did the Ross men. Both sides used these shorter blades viciously, along with their fists.
In the middle of the skirmish, he saw Raghnall’s tall, dark-haired figure. He had a black eye and a gash on his forehead, but otherwise looked whole, though tired. He was fighting William, the Earl of Ross.
Catrìona was in the corner with a face Angus had never seen on her before. Her teeth were bared, her eyes wide, her blond hair in wet strands. Clearly consumed by battle rage, she stabbed a man right in the eye with a roar.
She could be Morrigan, the goddess of war and death from Ireland, about whom Angus had heard from his MacDougall mother.
“How do we signal for everyone to retreat?” Iòna asked.
Angus looked around. There, to the left, was the entrance door—closed but not barred.
“This is how,” he said and took a lungful of air. “Retreat!” he yelled so loud that he thought the walls shook.
All heads turned to him. Raghnall’s eyes flashed with triumphant recognition.
“Retreat!” he echoed. “Tullach Ard!” he cried the Mackenzie war cry. And aye, it sounded strange to cry the war cry for retreat, but it meant they’d gotten what they wanted, they’d achieved their goal and could now leave. “Tullach Ard! Retreat!”
“Dinna let them pass!” yelled William.
Someone pushed the door open, and the skirmish spilled out into the storm-darkened courtyard. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Rain descended in a wet curtain, and the daylight was as gray as dusk. Seeing their loss, the Ross men were picking up the fight and attacking with renewed strength. Outside in the storm, Angus knew it would be a pig shite of a battle.
If the Ross men closed the portcullis, they would seal the Mackenzie group inside the courtyard. Ross archers would obliterate them, shooting from the walls.
If Angus and his men wanted to survive, their best chance was to run, not fight.
“Once ye’re outside, lass,” he said to Rogene, “run to the gates and dinna stop a moment whatever happens, aye?”
They could now descend the stairs as more and more people moved outside.
“I’m not leaving you!”
They pushed away and mixed with the crowd moving towards the door. As they moved, someone slashed at Angus with his knife, and he pierced the man with his dagger. It didna need to come to this, he thought. If only Euphemia didna have the need to spill blood and to own him, body and soul. They had to step over the bodies of the dead and the wounded that lay on the floor, and his stomach felt sick as he thought of how many lives had been lost here today.
Unnecessary.
And then, suddenly, there was more space as most people had made it outside.
“Ross men! Yer mistress lost!” Angus cried. “Stop fighting and let us pass.”
“Dinna let him get away!” growled William, who was in the middle of the crowd but staring at Angus.
A man launched at Angus. Angus hit the warrior right in the nose, and he yelled, clinging to his face as blood rushed down over his mouth.
“She’ll never have me,” Angus growled.
He was shielding Rogene and pushing the Ross men aside. He had to stab, and slash, and hit them, as no one wanted to stop the fight. And then they were through the door and into the cold, wet air. An icy gust threw a handful of rain into his face, and he had to blink. It was like plunging into the loch—sprays of cold water flew right into his eyes. The Mackenzie men were running in the general direction of the gate as it was impossible to see even the walls through this storm, only the shapes.
“Shoot them!” yelled someone. “Shoot them!”
“Whom?” came a call back.
“The damned Mackenzies!”
An arrow flew past Angus and thunked into a black puddle. His feet slurped and mud clung to his shoes as he ran with Rogene’s hand in his.
Then another arrow swooshed past and someone yelled, “Stop shooting! ’Tis me, Maol-Moire!”
“Ah damn, ye’re shooting yer own men!” Angus jeered at the archers.
“Stop shooting!” Maol-Moire cried again. “Close the portcullis!”
Ah, goddamn it.
“Faster!” He tugged Rogene after himself.
They ran, losing their balance and landing in the sludge, but getting up again and continuing.
Finally, there it was, the gate. Another few steps or so… The portcullis was almost down!
“Quick, Rogene, go before me,” he cried as he pulled her by the hand so that she was in front of him. “Roll!”
Just twenty inches or so remained between the sharp metal spikes and the ground. Rogene fell to the muddy earth and rolled under the portcullis. He threw himself to the ground, but as he rolled under the portcullis, it landed on his tunic and pinned him in place. He grabbed the tunic, pulling with all his might. The strong fabric finally tore, and he was free. Rogene grabbed his hand and they ran down the slope. He looked for his clan but couldn’t see anyone.
“We have horses hidden!” Rogene cried to him through the raging storm. They were both soaking wet. “Can horses go through this storm?”
“They have nae choice. Do the rest of the men ken where the horses are?”
“Yes, of course. They all must be heading there.”
“Aye. Lead the way.”
Chapter 29
Two days later…
Rogene huddled in the dry, warm heat of Angus’s embrace and looked at the fire. His arm was around her shoulders, heavy and comforting and strong. Around them, the woods were quiet. Warm weather had replaced the storm, and the sun had shone the two whole days they’d been traveling. Thank goodness they’d found a horse, but the poor thing had been so terrified of the storm they’d had to make their way on foot at first, tugging the animal after them.
Once the storm had passed, they’d been able to continue on horseback.
Night birds were hooting, noises and rustles coming from somewhere behind the bushes and between trees, but Rogene wasn’t afraid. She felt shielded and protected by Angus.
