by Emma Prince
Mairin’s fingers sank into Niall’s arm, jerking his attention back to her. Her grim gaze took in the chaos.
“We have to stop this.” Her eyes turned to steel. “And I have to stop him.”
Niall’s heart slammed against his ribs. She meant to take on Bruin?
He opened his mouth, but a din far louder than the turmoil in the village suddenly filled the air. It was the thunder of dozens of horses’ hooves and hundreds upon hundreds of feet in motion.
And it came from the direction of the castle.
“Lancaster,” Niall breathed. “He is mobilizing his army.” His gaze locked with Mairin’s. “Our mission. We cannot let him leave without us.”
“To hell with the mission!” she snapped. She pushed herself to her feet, gripping Niall’s arm for support. Her legs still shook, but she steadied herself against the side of the Bee and Flower’s stables. She lifted her head, fixing him with eyes that flashed like a blade. “I am going after Bruin. And I’m going to kill him.”
Something deep in Niall’s chest cracked like the trunk of a tree splintered by a bolt of lightning. A cacophony of emotions rang through him, discordant and deafening.
Never had he stood more in awe of Mairin’s strength. Where did such bravery come from? After years of torment, she would stand up to her captor. She was not fearless, but rather courageous enough even in the face of her terror to confront him.
Yet if she went after Bruin, Lancaster would leave without them. She was choosing her own revenge over their mission.
Mairin bent, snatching up her skirts to tie them in the makeshift breeches she favored when they trained.
“Follow Lancaster if ye want,” she said, seeming to read his thoughts. “Protect him. At least one of us can see this mission through. But I am no’ going. No’ as long as Bruin is alive to harm more innocents.”
It felt as though Niall’s arms were bound to two stallions, each galloping in the opposite direction, and he in the middle, about to be torn asunder.
He’d staked his name, his honor, his very soul on the Bruce’s cause. When he’d joined the Bodyguard Corps, he’d taken an oath of loyalty, pledged his life to the Bruce. He’d vowed to never stand against him, to fight for him and all of Scotland, and to follow his lead. That meant following orders, including those he’d received for this mission.
When he’d pledged himself to Scotland’s cause six years ago, he’d faced the suspicion and questions of the other men in the Corps without wavering. He’d remained steadfast all these years, never giving them a reason to doubt him.
But more than that, he’d asked them to place their trust in him, to give him the chance to prove his loyalty on this mission. They’d known it would be his ultimate test, pitting his faithfulness to the Bruce and Scotland against his land of birth and his fellow countrymen.
He was already on tenuous ground as the only Englishman in the Corps. The fact that Mairin had questioned his loyalty mere moments before outside of Pontefract’s great hall, even after everything they’d been through together, was yet another reminder that he still hadn’t proven himself.
To abandon Lancaster now would be to implicate himself as a traitor, unable or unwilling to see this mission through. He’d fail this test of his fidelity. Break his vow to the Bruce.
But Niall had made another vow before setting out on this mission. He’d promised Logan that no harm would ever come to Mairin. He’d promised to protect her no matter what.
How could he claim to be keeping that vow if he sent her out into a burning village to face off against a man who had held her captive and tormented her for years?
Yet in truth, this ran far deeper than his pledge to Logan, or his sense of honor, or his duty to his mission.
He loved Mairin. Aye, he had from the first. How could he let the woman he loved face her greatest fear without standing with her and battling by her side?
All this crashed through Niall’s mind in a single hard pound of his heart.
Mairin yanked on the last knot in her skirts then straightened. “Go,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the castle. She began striding deeper into the village, her hand closing around the hilt of the short sword belted to her hip.
But Niall caught her wrist, staying her.
“Nay. I am going with you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.
“I will face this with you. I will fight by your side,” he said fiercely. “Always.”
For the briefest moment, some depthless, raw emotion filled her flinty eyes, making them brim with moisture. A heartbeat later, though, she blinked away her tears, replacing them with steely determination.
“Good,” she said, yanking her sword from its sheath. “I cannae save all these people on my own.”
Niall gave her a curt nod. “I’ll try to stop the spread of the fire and get as many villagers as I can out of here.”
“Aye.” Mairin squared her shoulders. “And Bruin is mine.”
“Mairin.” He couldn’t let her go without telling her the truth in his heart. He loved her. But nor did he want to distract her from what lay ahead.
Impulsively, he looped his arm around her waist and drew her to him. He kissed her, hard and swift.
He wanted to tell her to be safe. Wanted to tell her to stay alive at any cost, even if it meant letting Bruin get away. Some part of him even wanted to throw her over his shoulder and run away from all this, refusing to ever let her go for fear of losing her.
But this wasn’t about his fear, nor the fierce need to protect her burning inside him.
He had to trust her. Had to trust in her strength, her skill, the blazing force of her will.
So when he drew back and let her go, there was only one thing left to say.
“Fight well.”
She swallowed hard. “I will.”
And then she was gone, running after Bruin.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Niall’s kiss burned on Mairin’s lips as she tore through the panic-stricken villagers attempting to flee the quickly spreading fire.
There had been so much left unsaid between them. She’d seen the rough-hewn emotion in Niall’s eyes as they’d parted. A matching emotion surged in her own heart. But there hadn’t been time to linger in the strength of his arms, savor the warmth of his kiss, and tell him how she felt.
Yet he’d shown her how deeply he cared for her with his actions better than he ever could have with words. He trusted her. He believed in her enough to let her go and face Bruin, even though his fear of losing her clearly shook him to the bone.
The knowledge of his trust sent her heart soaring and pushed a fresh wave of courage through her veins. She would face Bruin, and all the years of fear and suffering he represented. She was strong now. She could stop him from hurting anyone else.
Behind her, she heard Niall calling to the villagers, telling them to calm themselves, that he would put out the fires that threatened to destroy their homes and livelihoods. She didn’t look back, though. Instead, she ran farther down the main road, scanning the alleys for Bruin.
She skidded to a halt when she noticed a man hunched over in the small space between two buildings. Though she couldn’t see his face, he seemed intently focused on something on the ground before him.
“Ye there,” Mairin called, approaching cautiously. “Ye’d best move. The village is aflame and—”
The man turned, and Mairin’s stomach twisted sickeningly. It was him. Bruin. He stared at her flatly, but his warped mouth seemed to sneer at her.
“Leave it, girl,” he said, his gravelly voice dismissive.
He turned back to what he was doing. Mairin now saw that he’d been striking two flint stones together over a greased torch. He meant to start another fire.
Mairin’s legs began to tremble, but she forced herself to take another step closer.
“I said halt.” She cursed the waver that made her words high and uneven, but she pushed on. “Y
e willnae hurt anyone else, Bruin.”
That got his attention. He rose slowly, turning to face her. “And who’s going to stop me? A little girl playing at being a warrior?”
He waved a hand at her knotted-up skirts and the sword in her grasp.
Mairin squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “Aye.”
His dark gaze narrowed on her, but his mouth pulled into a twisted smirk. “And who the hell do you think you are?”
“Ye dinnae remember.”
He swept her once more with cold eyes, though from their flat indifference, he didn’t recognize her. “Should I? Mayhap I fucked you in some village and you thought to confront me now, is that it? Or—”
He snapped his fingers, taking a step closer. “Nay, I have it. You are Lancaster’s little bodyguard, are you not? I’ve seen you from a distance, always by his side. I didn’t realize you were so small.”
Mairin willed herself to hold her ground as he took another step toward her. He stood head and shoulders taller than her, and he was built like a massive oak, his torso thick with strength.
“Shouldn’t you be chasing after him now?” he asked, waving a hand over his shoulder toward the castle and the diminishing sounds of Lancaster’s army as they headed north.
“No’ until yer blood coats my blade and yer head sits at my feet.”
Bruin snorted, his nostrils flaring and his mouth curling with amusement. “Mind that tongue, bitch, or I’ll put it to a better use before I’m finished here.”
“Ye arenae finishing aught,” Mairin replied, bracing her feet. “But ye will pay for every vile word ye spoke to me, every rat ye threw into the root cellar, every scrap of food and drop of water ye kept from me all those years.”
At last, recognition dawned across his coarse features. His dark eyes flickered with surprise, then annoyance, then gut-twisting amusement.
“You are that Mackenzie brat,” he murmured. “The Scottish witch Roland Gervais had us kidnap and keep in that cellar. Our little pet that we left to starve.”
“Aye,” she ground out. “But I didnae starve. I lived. I grew strong. And now I’ll make sure ye get yer just deserts for all the harm ye’ve caused.”
At that, he threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound.
“You? Are going to make me pay?”
He turned his back on her then, still chuckling. He reached for the flint stones he’d left beside the unlit torch, completely ignoring her.
Without thinking, Mairin flicked her wrist to bring forth one of the throwing daggers strapped to her forearm. The dagger slipped into her palm, the hilt warm and familiar in her grasp. She cocked it back and let it fly.
If her whole body hadn’t been humming with rage at Bruin, and if she’d taken more time to aim, she might have found his neck and ended him with a single strike. But her hands still shook with a mixture of terror and fury, and she hadn’t taken her time to pick her target.
Instead, the dagger sank into the back of Bruin’s shoulder. He jerked at the impact, then roared in outrage as he glanced over his shoulder to see the dagger buried deep in his flesh. He ripped it free and tossed it aside as if it were no more than a bairn’s toy.
“You’ll regret that, bitch,” he hissed. He lurched to his feet and yanked the sword at his hip from its sheath in one swift movement.
As he moved in on her, it seemed as though the sky broke open and the storm that had been threatening earlier unleashed its might. But instead of lashing rain, thick flakes of snow began falling.
Mairin was beyond feeling the snow’s frosty touch, though. She gripped her sword in a white-knuckled grasp, willing herself to wait for Bruin to make the first move. He was angry and had already underestimated her. Just like in training, she would use that against him.
When he lunged at her, she was ready. He aimed for her gut, but she sidestepped and batted his sword away. His blade was easily twice as long as hers, which meant he could impale her even before the tip of her sword could scratch him. She’d have to stay close, then—no more throwing daggers, only her blade against his.
Bruin grunted in annoyance when his initial attack failed. He skidded past her, his boots slipping on the snow that had already begun to accumulate on the village road’s cobblestones.
He regained his footing quickly, though, and spun to face her once again. With surprising speed given his size, he launched another attack, this time swinging his sword in a wide arc toward her left side.
She moved to block his blade, but the blow was delivered with such force that he managed to drive through her block. His sword sliced along her upper arm, drawing hot blood.
Mairin sucked in a breath, scuttling backward until she was out of his range. She dared a quick glance at her arm. It was only a flesh wound, but the blood seeping through her cloak was a vital reminder. She couldn’t match his brute strength. If she tried, she would be dead in moments. She had to use her own skills and natural gifts—speed, smallness, and deadly precision.
She softened her knees and sank down into a half-crouch, making herself an even smaller target. Then she waited as he stalked closer once more.
“We took bets, the others and I,” he said as he approached, his mouth drawn into an amused snarl. “How long you would scream when we tossed vermin at you. How many times you would beg for water in any given sennight. Aught to pass the time.”
He swung his sword at his side lazily as he moved in. “We should have fucked you,” he continued, sounding almost bored, “but the others were afraid of getting the same pox you claimed to have cursed Arvin with. Besides, Roland didn’t want us to touch you. I believe he was saving the option of raping you himself in front of your brother should he have gotten too far out of line.”
Mairin swallowed against the sour burn of hatred and disgust rising in her throat. Yet she waited, remaining motionless, baiting Bruin to draw closer still. If he misjudged his distance, she would make him pay the price.
“I suppose I should be grateful,” Bruin said, sweeping her with a hungry look. “Grateful that you survived, grateful that I found my way into Lancaster’s employ. For now I have the chance to make good on all my promises to give you a good and proper f—”
Mairin saw her opening. Without hesitating, she darted forward, her sword extended before her. Bruin, who had been so busy provoking her, had let his blade hang from his right hand, dragging on the ground. It left his other side unprotected.
When her sword sank into his left thigh, he bellowed with rage. He swung out at her blindly with his elbow, but she ducked beneath it and flung herself to the ground, rolling away and popping up on her feet a moment later. Her arm burned and her cloak felt heavier from her roll in the rapidly gathering snow, but she hardly noticed either as she squared off with Bruin once more.
He snarled through his twisted lips, apparently no longer interested in wasting time on taunts. Instead, he charged forward, his sword barreling toward her chest. She darted aside again, but this time instead of moving backward, she stepped toward him, drawing her blade across his exposed ribs as she went past.
With another roar, he spun on his heels to face her, one hand clutching his side. Bright red blood seeped steadily between his fingers and fell onto the fresh snow.
“You think you can kill me?” he hissed. “I have burned more towns than you have years, girl. I have tortured men until they shite their breeches and begged for their mothers. I have worked for men like Gervais and Lancaster my entire life. I know how to kill. I know how to maim. And I will make you suffer.”
Mairin lowered into a crouch once more, Bruin’s blood dripping from the tip of her sword. “Come and try.”
Bruin growled like a feral dog, darting toward her once more. He feigned to the left, but as she moved to evade his attack, he changed direction and lunged for her neck.
She barely managed to bring her blade up, deflecting his sword enough to keep her head attached to her body. But she’d allowed him to close t
he distance between them, giving him a chance to use his far greater size and strength.
His enormous body plowed into her, knocking her onto her back in the snow. When he landed on top of her, the air was hammered from her lungs under his weight.
She fought to angle her sword toward him, but he caught her wrist. With a snarl of victory, he tossed his sword aside, then pried hers from her grip and threw it beside his in the snow.
“I’m going to kill you with my hands,” he said, his scarred mouth curving with glee. “That way I can make it last. I will feel your life being squeezed from you.”
He closed both hands around her neck then, tightening his grip until Mairin’s gasping breath was cut off. Panic shot through her like a fiery arrow. She flailed beneath him, but his size and weight kept her pinned to the ground.
She clawed at his hands, but he only squeezed harder, chuckling down into her face at her attempts to free herself.
Stars began to dance before her eyes. Her lungs screamed for air, but her throat couldn’t pull any in. Terror rang in her head like a cacophony of struck bells.
Nay! She could not die like this, under Bruin’s hands, at his mercy. She had endured too much, fought too hard, to let him win.
You are braver than you may know, and stronger.
Niall’s words, from all those sennights ago in the dovecote at the training camp, drifted up from the back of her mind.
You are a fighter. Remember that.
Aye, and she wasn’t done fighting yet. Clarity cut through the haze settling over her like a beam of sharp silver moonlight through a fog.
She stopped struggling, for she was only wasting what precious little air she had left. She let her hands fall away from Bruin’s, which made him laugh again at his complete domination over her.
But as he threw his head back, mirth contorting his features, he didn’t notice the flick of her wrist, or the short, ovular dagger that fell into her hand.
And from his shocked gurgle, he never anticipated the plunge of the dagger into his exposed neck.
His hands flew from her neck to fumble with the dagger, which was already slick with his life’s blood. Mairin sucked air into her burning lungs, pulling so hard that she coughed and sputtered.
