“’Tis no surprise to me.” Will snorted. “I thought he might.”
Well, Liam had certainly surprised her. “I’ve not given him an answer.”
“Why?” His brows tugged low. “You love him, do you not?”
“Aye, but—”
“But naught. Stop worrying after me so much. I know ’tis why you hesitate. For Christ’s sake, Nora. Live your life for yourself, for once. Liam clearly loves you and you him, so wed the blasted man and have done with the matter.”
’Twas her plan after all was said and done, but ’twas good she could count on her brother’s blessing.
“Do you believe he shall truly come?”
Will cut her a dry stare. “Do you honestly doubt he will?”
Nay, not in truth. She opened her mouth to admit as much, but a quick rap at the door stole her words.
With her anxiety in full motion, she and her brother pushed away from the wall as Owen opened the door. Torchlight spilled inside the chamber. Outside in the passageway, a handful of MacNab warriors stood at the ready with hands wrapped around the hilts of their weapons.
The raven-haired soldier panted as if he’d run a great distance. “My lord, my lady, the cogs are in motion.”
The distinct ring of steel meeting steel, followed by masculine shouts, stretched down the corridor. Owen explained, “The men have launched their attack below stairs.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Already?”
“Aye, my lady. There’s no time to lose. We must move before dawn.” He passed a sheathed short sword to Will. “Do you know how to use it, my lord?”
Despite the stress holding her limbs rigid, Nora almost snorted. Saints, nay. He’d never handled a sword a day in his life, but she reserved her comment.
Examining the weapon, Will gripped the pommel and removed the blade from the scabbard. “I’m sure I shall manage well enough.”
Nora peered from the sword to Owen. “What of me?”
The MacNab soldier darted a quick, startled glance at her brother.
“Nora…” Will frowned at her. “Mayhap, ’tis best if you remain in this chamber until the danger has passed.”
Affronted by the suggestion, she narrowed her eyes. Her indignation waded to the surface. By God, this was her clan, too.
Straightening her spine, she stepped closer in between her brother and Owen. She jerked a finger in the air, pointing it beneath their noses. “If you two think to lock me away in here, then you’re both sorely mistaken.” She hit Will squarely with the force of her glower. “Surely, you must know better. Do you not?”
“Saints above, Nora.” Exasperated, Will rolled his eyes. “Owen, I’m afraid there’s no winning this skirmish. Just pass her a weapon.”
Owen huffed a deep breath. “Please, I implore both of you to remain above stairs.”
“Nay.” Nora lifted her chin, the challenge clear in her stance. “We shall not cower in a locked bedchamber. We go with you. Now, a weapon, if you will.”
The soldier opened his mouth as if he wished to protest but snapped his mouth shut and bent to retrieve the small dagger shoved in his boot. He passed her the weapon and she frowned at the wee, sheathed dirk no larger than her hand.
“This is it?” At least Will had gotten a short sword. What the devil was she to do with this? Nick the enemy to death? She glared at Owen.
Shifting from foot to foot, he glanced away. “God’s will, you shall not have to use it.”
’Tis truth, she hoped not either, but she would do what was required in order to protect her brother. Despite her resolve, a shiver darted down her spine, raising gooseflesh along her arms and nape. She sucked in a shaky sigh to quiet her pitching stomach.
She followed Owen and Will outside the chamber and glanced at the MacNab guards anticipating orders. Armed for battle, each man wore a harsh expression, their demeanors suggesting they’d awaited an opportunity to overtake Tavish and his men far longer than that eve.
Compelled to speak her gratitude, she addressed the warriors. “My brother and I cannot thank you enough for your aid.”
The comment earned her a round of nods and grins. An older soldier with graying temples lifted a hand to his broad chest. “My lady, we are overjoyed to see the pair of you, alive and well.”
Shouts of distress, clangs of weaponry, followed by the clatter of shifting furniture reached above stairs, effectively ending their short acknowledgement. True comprehension of what she and Will might step into dawned on Nora. Her pulse leapt in her throat, sucking her closer toward the precipice of panic. Gathering her pluck from somewhere deep inside, she swallowed her bout of nerves and straightened her spine. ’Twas not the time to give in to the fear threatening to cripple her.
“Nightfall has worked on our behalf this eve,” Owen announced. “Our men easily overtook almost half of Tavish’s who’d bedded down for the night. ’Twas unfortunate Fergus sounded an alarm, rousing the rest before we could subdue more.” The soldier’s demeanor took on a harsh edge. “I need the two of you to stick close to me and Gordon.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The rest shall close around us and guard our flanks. Stay with me at all times. Understood?”
“Aye, we shall follow your lead,” Will readily agreed.
She grabbed hold of her brother’s hand, wringing his fingers with a firm press. Sensing her distress, he peered at her and offered a tight smile. “No worries, Nora.”
Consoled by the warmth in his gaze, she forced a smile. “No worries.”
This was what they’d longed for. ’Twas time to retake what belonged to them and their clan.
Signaling his men, Owen marched for the stairs with Gordon at his side. Weapons drawn, the other MacNab soldiers encircled her and Will.
Despite the furled bundle of unease wreaking havoc in her stomach, she clutched the small dirk in a white-knuckled grip. Unsure of what might meet them below stairs, she shadowed Owen and Gordon’s quick steps, careful to ensure Will remained at her side.
The unruly clamor heightened as they descended the main stairway into outright chaos. Throughout the great hall, weapons hurled through the air as men scuffled over the stone floors, slashing and deflecting their enemies’ blades. Grunts, yells, and the scrapes and scuffs of boots drowned together in Nora’s ears. The front doors hung wide open where most of the fight spilled out the entryway and into the inky blackness of night. Flickering torchlight gleamed off sharpened edges of steel.
Rattled by the sight, terror grabbed hold of Nora. Her heart pounded a labored cadence.
“Stay with me,” Owen bellowed.
Without waiting for a response, the ebony-haired soldier moved into the great hall, slashing out at any of the enemy foolish enough to step within range of his sword.
Pushing ahead, Gordon waved his arm at the MacNab guards closed in around them. “Go, go. Now.”
Taking up the flank, Gordon swung at one of Tavish’s men who charged their rear, dealing a devastating blow to the enemy’s chest.
Warm bodies pressed in around Nora, jostling her and Will to and fro as more of Tavish’s guards answered the call to arms. Caught in the midst of a fresh wave of adversaries, their tight circle of soldiers diminished, one by one, as each warrior engaged their enemy.
A hairy ox of a man rushed for her brother’s unguarded back. Heart slamming in her throat, she screamed, “Will.”
Spinning to face the threat, he raised his sword with both hands, deflecting the larger man’s heavy-handed blow. His limp a constraint, Will struggled to hold a defensive stance.
With a smattering of fear and a healthy measure of determination, Nora sprang forward and stabbed at the offender’s arm and side with the dirk clutched in her hand. The big man hissed in pain while warm blood coated her hand. Pricking the fiend repeatedly, she refused to relent. The soldier jerked around to confront her, his ruddy face a mask of rage. He grabbed for her while she continued to slash at his hand.
The instant the warrior snatched
hold of the front of her apron, Will raised his sword, ramming the blade into the giant’s midsection. Releasing his grip, the soldier rocked back on his heels and pressed a hand to the deep gash at his side as crimson stained his tunic. Grunting, he wavered on his feet before dropping to the ground with a heavy thump.
For a suspended moment, disbelief held her and Will immobile as they stared at the dying man at their feet. ’Twas a mercy the commotion of the skirmish shrieked in her ears, snapping her to attention. She grabbed her brother’s sleeve, yanking him from his shock and from the midst of the fray. Wielding her wee dagger, she guided Will through the sea of fighting men to an empty corner of the hall, ready to prick anyone who stepped in her path.
Backing him toward the kitchens, she brandished the dirk in front of her, keeping her eye peeled for anyone who treaded too close for comfort. At the other end of the hall, she caught a glimpse of Tavish locked in battle with Gordon.
Will’s jagged bellow of pain rent the air behind her. Startled, she jerked around just as Beatrice drove a dagger in his back. Clutching his arm, he crumpled to his knees on the sullied rushes scattered over the stone floor, the sword clattering near his bent knees.
The sight of the traitorous bitch’s sneering face snapped the last thread of Nora’s restraint, unleashing a firestorm of rage Nora had suppressed for far too long. From the inside out, fury licked a searing path through her rigid frame. Her entire focus shifted with pinpoint clarity—her aim to annihilate the vile excuse of a woman who’d hurt her brother and countless others.
Outrage ripped a guttural scream from the depths of Nora’s being. Anger bolstered her daring and she charged forward, slamming her shoulder into Beatrice’s middle, knocking them both to the ground. The dagger slipped from Nora’s hand. She scrambled over her nemesis, stretching to reach the hilt.
Beatrice struck her beneath the ribs, drawing a hiss of pain from Nora. She gripped the vile wench’s blonde locks with her fist and twisted. Beatrice cried out, her nails scratching at Nora’s wrist. Undeterred, she struggled to reach the blade. Thrashing beneath her, the bigger woman flipped Nora onto her back. Her head banged against the stone floor, jarring every tooth in her head.
Pure hatred darkened Beatrice’s eyes. Straddling Nora, the woman wrapped her long fingers around Nora’s throat, pressing her into the floor. Writhing and kicking to free herself, she clawed at the sow’s hands and arms. Robbed of breath, she grappled to throw the woman off. As the fight drained from her air-starved body, she slapped, scratched, gouged—anything to free herself from Beatrice’s strangling grip.
A notion flashed in her fading mind—the scissors in her apron pocket. Working swiftly before the life emptied out of her, she clenched the apron, yanking the fabric from beneath Beatrice’s weight. Cramming her hand inside the pocket, her fingers fumbled to hold on to the shears. With the last scraps of strength she possessed, Nora gripped the handles and jerked her arm up with everything she had left in her, burying the shears in Beatrice’s heartless chest.
The loathsome woman’s hold eased and slid away from Nora’s throat. Eyes widening in shock, Beatrice clutched the cutters. Heedless to the warm blood splattering her cheeks, Nora sucked in deep breath after deep breath and shoved the offensive shrew off her. With little regard to the ensuing fight in the hall, she forced herself upright and scrambled for purchase over the stone floor to reach Will’s slumped, unmoving form.
Panic seized her deprived lungs, wedging her chest in a tight vise. She grasped his face between her hands, her gaze sweeping over his pale features.
“Will,” she croaked out. “Do not dare leave me.”
His dark eyes cracked open to stare up at her. “I doubt I could move if I tried.”
A choked laugh flew from her throat while hot tears coursed down her cheeks. Weak with relief, she fell back on her arse.
“I thought…” The rest of the words clogged in her raw throat.
“Nay, though my shoulder hurts a bit.”
Lifting herself to her knees to inspect his back, she winced at the dagger embedded beneath his shoulder blade.
Will shifted his head to peer at Beatrice’s prone figure sprawled on the floor. His gaze darted to Nora’s and his brows shot upward. “Saints, I pity anyone who thinks to harm your and Liam’s children in the future.”
’Twas her turn to raise her brows.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“WHAT THE DAMNED hell is going on here?” Liam’s enraged bellow reached over the peals of weaponry and shouts resonating from inside the MacNabs’ walls. Halted in the valley below, he tightened his grasp on the reins as his gelding pawed the ground in agitation.
Moonlight glimmered off Calum’s scowl. “For Christ’s sake, calm down.”
“Calm down?” he yelled incredulously. “How the devil am I to calm down? I’d like to see you try were it Arabella.”
That shut his kin’s gob.
Calm down? Saints above, he straddled a frayed line between overwhelming frustration and downright panic. All through the day and well into the eve he’d ridden hard only to arrive moments ago to the sounds of outright warfare going on inside the MacNab courtyard in the dead of night. How the blasted hell was he to calm down when Nora and Will were in the midst of a damned attack?
Aggrieved with his inability to overtake Fergus and his men on the road, Liam refused to lose a moment more. Scanning the dim rampart for any sign of archers, he clutched his mount’s reins and tapped the beast’s flanks with his boot heels, urging the horse into a full gallop toward the torch-lit gate.
“Damn it, Boy. Wait,” Fraser barked after him.
To hell with the lot of them. He hardly gave a damn about the MacNabs. His sole focus centered on his lass and her kin. The rest of the godforsaken clan could rot for the little he cared.
Behind him, hooves pounded over the hard-packed earth as his cousin, Fraser, and the others in their small band raced to catch up to him. Despite his sore back screaming in protest, he flew across the valley toward the front gate, desperate to reach Nora.
Throughout the entire day’s journey, countless dreadful thoughts swirled through his mind when he considered what his lass and her younger brother might’ve faced in his absence. As he drew near, the distinct riotous clamor of battle grew, thickening the intense pressure perched in the middle of his chest. Approaching the gate, he tugged the reins, bringing his mount to a halt. His kin and the others followed suit, reining their horses alongside his own.
With a level of caution, he moved closer to the braided steel portcullis and peered through to the courtyard. Struggling to comprehend the scene inside the walls, his jaw slackened at the sight.
Fraser exclaimed, “What the devil?”
Liam spat out a curse, echoing the sentiment.
“’Tis a blasted first for me,” Calum muttered.
Moonlight flung an illuminated blanket over the bailey and the brawling men engaged in combat. Blazing torches hung from the walls and buildings lit the courtyard, flashing off the flat edges of shifting and whirling weaponry, while scuffles and shouts blended together in a dissonance of noise that droned in Liam’s ears. He cast a sideways glance at his kin and the Fraser warriors who’d accompanied them. Each man’s expression reflected Liam’s utter bewilderment.
On the other side of the portcullis, MacNabs fought MacNabs. Not an enemy clan as Liam suspected.
Not that he’d offer complaint. In truth, he was thankful for the boon, but the entire situation wholly caught him unaware.
Shoving aside his confusion, he grabbed hold of one of the sturdy steel bars of the gate. “We have to find a way inside.”
“Leave this to me,” Symon spoke up. “John, lend a hand, will you?”
Both men bounded from their horses and moved alongside the wall. Bending at the knees, John cupped his hands in front of him and tilted his head. As if the pair had rehearsed the maneuver, Symon placed one booted foot in the Fraser soldier’s joined hands, then stepped onto the
warrior’s shoulder with the other. John jerked upright, hoisting the commander high enough to clutch the topmost part of the rampart.
A testament of his strength and agility, Symon used his forearms to pull himself higher up the wall until he managed to kick a heel over the edge. He raised his body with a roll to lie flat atop the stone wall. Within moments, the commander disappeared from view and the distinctive groan of gears whined over the commotion in the bailey. The portcullis lifted with a slow movement that frustrated them all.
Unwilling to wait, Liam urged his gelding inside amid the fray, ducking beneath the rising iron bars. With the entire courtyard engaged in battle, none of the MacNabs heeded their arrival. Before the beast came to a complete rest, Liam’s booted feet hit the ground. His single-minded focus on Nora, he scanned the courtyard, searching the fighting throngs of men while the others hastened to join him.
An unyielding urge compelled him to move, but he paused long enough to inhale several steadying breaths to steel his rattled nerves. Rushing inside like a madman with little regard for his own welfare would hardly save Nora or her brother. Resolved in his task, he yanked his weapon from the scabbard along his waist.
“Kill anyone who stands in our way. Find Nora and Will,” he shouted over the deafening uproar. He tossed a quick glance at Calum. “Guard my back, eh?”
Features set in a harsh glower, his cousin brandished his long sword in front of him. “As if you need ask.”
Weapons drawn and at the ready, they moved as a group into the thick of the fight, deflecting any strike or blow aimed in their direction. Determination propelling him onward, Liam advanced for the front doors hanging agape, weaving through the swarm of men. Some standing, others fallen at his feet.
Once he waded through and managed to slip inside the keep, he spat out a curse. The interior was naught short of hellish chaos.
Inside the great hall, shouts and screams boomed to the rafters. A thick tinge of blood hung in the dense air. Wounded and slain MacNabs littered the grimy, crimson-stained floors. Trestle tables and benches lay overturned or broken to pieces amid the scuffle.
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