Never Love a Highlander (30 page)

What was her aim? What purpose did this pretense of hers serve?

She gripped the torch and then he saw her free hand slide carefully into her cloak. And there, in her eyes, a plea. A plea for help. A plea for understanding. It was gone before he could blink but he hadn’t mistaken it. Or maybe ’twas what he wanted to see. But his pulse ratcheted up and he tensed in anticipation.

He wanted to yell at her to get the hell away, to protect herself and their bairn. He wanted to tell her that whatever she planned, it wasn’t worth her life. Not in trade for his.

But he remained silent, knowing his cry would mean her quick death.

Then she made her move. She turned abruptly and thrust the torch into Cameron’s face. His howl of pain was instantaneous. At the exact moment of his cry, Rionna let out a war cry that rivaled any Caelen had ever heard.

She drew her sword, tore off her cloak, and ran for the stake. Caelen stared in disbelief as McDonald soldiers swarmed over the walls, dropping down, swords in hands.

The wife and clan he’d vowed was not his own had come to save him.

“Are you strong enough to fight?” Rionna yelled as she slashed at the bonds securing him to the stake.

“Aye, I can fight.” He wasn’t dead yet and he’d be damned if he let his wife risk everything for naught.

She disappeared before he had fully loosened himself from the ropes. He caught sight of her engaged in battle a short distance away but before he could think to aid her, he dodged a sword and rolled away, barely surviving with his head.

The first order of business was to find a sword. Caelen dodged again when one of Cameron’s men slashed his blade mere inches from his face. Bending low, he rammed into the warrior’s legs, knocking them both to the ground.

The sword went sliding through the snow and Caelen slammed his fist into the man’s face until blood sprayed onto the snow. He rolled away and lunged for the sword. He gripped the hilt and yanked it to him just as another man appeared above him, sword over his hand as he slashed downward.

Caelen rolled, swinging his sword as he went. The blade cut through the warrior’s leg. Caelen jumped to his feet, his pain and fever forgotten. All that occupied his mind was finding his wife and hunting Duncan Cameron.

He fought his way to the wall, his gaze scanning left and right. Only by sheer will was he even standing. What he saw as he surveyed the courtyard made his heart sink.

While fighting valiantly and with more fire than he’d ever witnessed in the McDonald soldiers, they were vastly outnumbered, and they were tiring quickly.

He finally spotted Rionna again. She was backing a Cameron warrior to the wall. She quickly dispatched him by thrusting her sword in his chest, then yanked it away and turned, only to find another soldier in his place.

That was the problem. For every Cameron soldier felled, there was another right behind.

Caelen began to work his way in his wife’s direction, determined to get her to safety, when he heard a chilling war cry so achingly familiar that he nearly went to his knees in relief.

He rallied his strength, threw back his head, and uttered a harsh call in return. Then he shouted to the McDonald soldiers. “Reinforcements are here! Hold your ground!”

Caelen turned in time to see his brothers charge through the gates. Hundreds of McCabe warriors swarmed from every direction. ’Twas the most magnificent thing he’d ever viewed. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the sight.

The tide had swung decidedly in favor of the McDonalds. Where before they’d looked haggard and near the end of their strength, they suddenly began fighting as though God himself had given then renewed strength.

Ewan, who’d led the charge through the gate, slid from his horse a few feet from Caelen, sword in hand. Alaric rode up a moment later and did the same until Caelen was flanked by his brothers.

“How bad is it?” Ewan yelled as he looked at the blood running down his brother’s side.

“I’ll survive.”

The brothers cut a vicious path through Cameron warriors. They fought with determination, their attack fueled by rage and an overwhelming desire for revenge.

“Where’s Rionna?” Alaric shouted when they reached the middle of the courtyard.

Caelen glanced around before ducking a blow from an advancing warrior. “I know not. I lost sight of her when you came through the gates.”

“Your wife has lost her mind,” Ewan said as he cut through another soldier. “She has to be the most daft, infuriating,
brave
lass I’ve ever had the occasion to meet.”

“Aye, she is all that,” Caelen agreed. “And she’s mine.”

Alaric grinned then pivoted and delivered a death blow, his sword coming away bright with blood. “You’re a most fortunate man, Caelen. Clearly your wife is too stubborn to let you die.”

“Where is Cameron?” Ewan shouted in frustration. “I’ll not let that bastard escape me yet again.”

“Rionna thrust a torch in his face. I’ve not seen him since she freed me.”

They quieted as they greeted another onslaught of attacks. They came from every angle and it took all of Caelen’s skill and concentration to block the agonizing pain and focus on the matter at hand.

His concern wasn’t for Duncan Cameron. He searched for Rionna. He feared for her more than he’d feared anything else in his life.

“They’re running!” Hugh McDonald shouted. “Close in! Close in! Don’t let them escape!”

The courtyard was littered with bodies, and what was once a pristine covering of snow was now bathed in scarlet. The blood shone in the sun, stark against the white, and the acrid smell rose and scattered with the wind.

The ranks had thinned enough that Caelen could see more than a few paces and he frantically searched for sign of his wife. When he saw her, his blood froze in his veins.

She was battling her father, and the man fought wildly, with no discipline of a seasoned warrior. He fought like a man who knew he was going to die.

Her back was to Caelen, and she fought valiantly, holding off the frantic blows with her sword, but each forward attack backed her up and her strength was waning.

Caelen broke into a run, ignoring his own pain and overwhelming exhaustion. He was halfway across the courtyard when he caught sight of Duncan Cameron.

Typical of the coward he was, he’d positioned himself behind a wall of his men, but now most had fallen and he was vulnerable to attack.

The left side of his face was blistered and smeared with blood from the burn Rionna had inflicted on him. He had a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

Before Caelen realized what he was doing, Cameron took aim and hurled the dagger in Rionna’s direction.

“Nay!” Caelen roared.

But it was too late. Cameron’s aim was true and the dagger struck Rionna just inside her right shoulder blade. She staggered, deflected a blow delivered by her father, and then went down on one knee.

Gregor raised his sword again to deliver the killing blow when an arrow struck him in the chest. Caelen never turned to see who’d let the arrow fly. His focus was solely on Rionna.

Rage like he’d never known gave him the strength of a hundred men. He roared Cameron’s name and launched himself at the man who’d felled Rionna.

The two men met with a clash of swords, the sound of metal ringing throughout the courtyard. Caelen fought like a man possessed. He could taste Cameron’s blood. He wanted to bathe in it right after he carved the bastard’s heart from his chest.

But Cameron also fought like a man who knew he was marked for death. Much of the arrogance that Cameron wore like a cloak had disappeared. It was as if for the first time he sensed his own mortality and was desperate to survive.

Weakened by fever and blood loss and the ferocity of the battle thus far, Caelen stumbled back under the force of Cameron’s attack. He dug in his heels and met Cameron’s sword with his own, the impact jarring his shoulders.

With the blades kissing, Caelen thrust his boot into Cameron’s midsection, knocking him back. He followed, pressing his momentary advantage by launching a series of blows that had Cameron retreating.

The insistent clang of metal rang in his ears. Around him the smell of death was thick and cloying. Much of the roar had faded, as McCabes and McDonalds alike worked to dispatch the men who’d sworn their loyalty to a man with no honor.

All Caelen could see over and over was Rionna staggering to her knees before pitching forward to the ground. A sound much like that of a wounded animal bellowed from his throat.

For all Cameron’s cowardice, he was a skilled warrior, and he was fighting for his life. He knocked Caelen back and swung his sword. Caelen went to his knees and jerked his head back so the blade cut through empty air just an inch from his throat.

His shoulder burned, stinging from sweat and slick with blood. His strength was fast ebbing and he had to end this quickly. His brothers were occupied with their own battle across the courtyard. There was no one to aid Caelen. He had no reserves to draw on.

He staggered to his feet after deflecting yet another blow and prepared to launch himself directly at his enemy. Cameron raised his sword over his head and, with a snarl, started to leap forward to meet Caelen’s attack, when suddenly a sword thrust through Cameron’s chest.

He was completely impaled on the length. The point sliced through the front, bathed in crimson. Cameron looked down in complete befuddlement, his eyes glassy as death crept over him.

As his knees buckled and he slipped to the ground, Rionna came into view. She gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands, her face as pale as death. When she lifted her gaze from Cameron’s lifeless body to Caelen, her eyes were cloudy with pain and as dull and glassy as Cameron’s had looked when he drew his last breath.

“He didn’t deserve to die with honor,” she whispered. “He has none.”

She took one step forward then bobbled and put her other foot back to steady herself. Then she sagged and went to her knees in the snow.

All Caelen could see was the blood that soaked her tunic.

“Rionna!” he cried.

He dropped his sword and ran forward, catching her as she pitched sideways. He gathered her close to his chest and gently lowered her to her side, mindful of the dagger still deep within her flesh.

“Thank God,” she whispered as she stared up at him, her eyes so dim that it was like all the life had leeched right out of them. The usual wash of gold and amber, so warm and vibrant, was a dull shade of brown, like trees in winter. “I worried so. I couldn’t find you during battle. I worried you’d been killed.”

A spasm of pain crossed her face and she gave a soft sigh as she closed her eyes.

He touched her cheek, her mouth, her eyes, and even her ears. “Don’t you die, Rionna. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare die on me. You’ll live. I command it. Oh God,” he said brokenly. “Please don’t die, lass. You can’t leave me.”

He lifted her against his chest and rocked back and forth, grief so thick in his heart that he couldn’t breathe.

“I love you,” he said fiercely. “ ’Tis not true that I kept a part of my heart locked away from you. You own all of it, lass. You’ve always owned it. I didn’t give it to you. You took it from the very start.”

He touched her cheek again, willing her to open her eyes, and as if she answered his unspoken demand, her eyelids fluttered and opened, but it was evident it cost her dearly.

She smiled faintly. “ ’Tis glad I am to hear it, husband, for ’tis the truth I despaired of you ever giving me the words I most wanted to hear.”

“You stay with me and you’ll hear them every day for the rest of our lives,” he said in a harsh tone that was rife with grief and desperation. “Ah, lass, I don’t deserve you. ’Tis God’s truth, I don’t, but I want you all the same and I’ll not live a single day without you.”

“What a pair we are,” she whispered. “Battered, bruised, and bloody. Too weak to help the other to our deathbed. ’Tis the truth we’ll have to die here because I lack the strength to carry you.”

The teasing in her tone was his undoing. The knot swelled in his throat and tears burned his eyes, crowding in until his vision went wet and blurry.

“Aye, lass, you have the right of it. Perhaps my brothers will come along and carry the both of us to our sick beds. But if you think you get your own bed, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I’ve never before seen such a pitiful sight. What say you, Alaric?”

Caelen looked up to see Ewan and Alaric standing over him and Rionna. Worry burned bright in their gazes but Ewan’s tone was light and jesting, as if he was loathe to let his fear bleed over into his words.

“Methinks marriage has made my brother soft,” Alaric replied. “ ’Tis a shame when a puny lass has to save his arse.”

“Come down here and I’ll show you puny,” Rionna grumbled.

Caelen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so he sat there, with Rionna gathered tight in his grasp, and buried his face in her hair. He shook from head to toe as it sank in just how close he’d come to losing her, and in fact, he could lose her still.

“How is she?” Gannon demanded as he ran up.

“Gannon,” she said in weak delight. “So glad you made it. I owe you my thanks. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Gannon looked much the same as Caelen felt. Awed. Scared. Mystified.

“Nay, my lady. I have no doubt you and your men would have taken on the whole of Duncan Cameron’s army and dragged Caelen home to McDonald keep.”

He knelt beside Caelen in the snow and feathered a hand over Rionna’s forehead. “ ’Tis God’s truth, my lady. Never have I met a lass as brave and as fierce as you. I’m honored to serve you. I’m grateful you were able to save our laird’s life. I’ve grown used to serving with the grumpy bastard.”

Rionna laughed and then promptly broke off with a groan, as pain wracked her small frame. “He is grumpy, but I’m going to work on that.”

Ewan laid a hand on Caelen’s shoulder when another spasm of pain crawled over Rionna’s face. “Let her go, Caelen. Let Alaric carry her back into the keep. The battle is over. Cameron is dead, and the few men who still live are scattered and running. We must see to both of your wounds.”