Page 74 of Deception of a Highlander

Kieran roared in anger at his foolish error and brought his blade down on the massive shoulder of his attacker. The dirk clattered unseen beneath their feet and left his enemy with only one good hand to wield his sword.

The fight was already won, and though they both knew it, the man did not back down. His sword jabbed awkwardly at Kieran, who shifted out of its path and swung his blade with lethal precision at the man’s thick neck.

Kieran pushed onward, spurred with battle-induced energy. One by one, his foes fell before his feet. Men who would see his people harmed if they were not stopped.

Alec fought at his right, tirelessly wielding the two-handed long sword with its black-purple blade almost invisible against the darkness of night. A stocky man barreled toward Kieran with a bloodied axe hoisted overhead. The blade came down, and Kieran feinted to the left and succeeded in swiping the man’s feet from beneath him. Kieran leaned over him for the kill when another MacLeod rushed upon him from the right.

Before Kieran could react, a blade flashed in the minuscule light of the moon and caught the attacker in the chest. The MacLeod crumpled toward the floor. Colin stepped from the shadows and gave Kieran a nod. His sudden arrival meant only one thing.

Mariel was safe.

A steady calm washed over Kieran, shifting him from protector to warrior. The chill of the wind faded away, and his vision heightened, seeing clearly into the inky night for the first time since he’d seen her on the battlefield. Every sound filtered through his mind, from the low hum of an insect to the ring of metal on metal. His muscles moved with purpose and with the accuracy of well-honed instinct. The stone floor beneath his feet was slick with blood, yet each footstep was anchored and sure.

They would vanquish their enemy. They would be victorious.

His men were succeeding in driving the MacLeods back from the castle’s walls and onto the lawn of its perimeter.

Perhaps he had not lied to Mariel after all. Perhaps he would be home before dawn. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than a fresh wave of MacLeods descended upon them, well-rested and hungry for blood.

* * *

Mariel cradled Coira’s little body in her lap to offer both comfort and warmth. The lights in the sconces had consumed all the oil and burned out hours ago. The frigid darkness enveloped them, leaving them vulnerable to the echoes of battle overhead.

The clash of swords and shrill battle cries were not so frightful. Those sounds had ceased to unsettle. The horrors that assaulted them came from the meaty thunk of a blade as it caught flesh and the groans of men as they took their last breaths. The clammy air of the cellar grew thick with the silence of fear and sorrow as time ticked by, one slow minute after another. Younger children wept against their mothers’ breasts, their questions long since quieted. The women and older children remained stoic; their faces blank as they attempted to block out the cries of the dying.

“Will it be over soon?” Coira asked, her voice small.

Mariel shifted the girl’s weight to regain some feeling in her legs. They had long since gone numb. Her fingers ached, yet still, she clutched Colin’s dagger in her right hand.

“Will it be over soon?” Coira repeated.

“I’m sure it will be,” Blair said in Gaelic through the darkness. There would be no guilt behind the lie. They had all made false promises to calm the children who knew no different.

The deceptive words produced the desired effect, and Coira’s tense body relaxed against Mariel.

Thoughts of Kieran pounded in her brain, as did the memory of the large warrior descending on him like a barbarian of nightmares. Colin had pulled her away before she saw Kieran react. He had defended himself in time, hadn’t he? He was strong enough to deflect the force of the impact or dodge out of its path.

Mariel squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe lest she scare Coira. Kieran was strong, capable, and intelligent. Alec stood by his side and would let no harm befall him.

Of one thing, she was certain. Kieran would not be home by dawn as he had promised.

“I love ye too much to see ye hurt.”

How could those words be so painful and so euphoric all at once? Mariel swallowed the knot in her throat.

He loved her.

She steeled herself against her fears. When next she saw him, she would tell him—no matter what it took. He loved her, and he would trust her. She had to put her faith in that.

Apprehension niggled the edges of her optimistic thoughts. The MacLeod warrior had charged him with such accuracy…

Kieran was fine. He had to be.

A savage cheer sounded overhead, and Mariel sensed the women and children around her give a collective jump.

Though this was Mariel’s first experience with an attack, she knew the sound for what it was. A victory cry.

But who had won?