Page 64

Thomas’s eyes widened in sudden, stark horror as the wall of muscle and rage closed the distance in the blink of an eye. He jerked his dirk backward, aiming to sink the point into Sheona’s throat before he was hit, but Sheona didn’t remain passive. Seeing Brodie explode forward, she used the last ounce of her strength to drive her elbow backward into Thomas’s ribs with all the force left in her frame.

The blow didn’t break his grip, but it threw his balance off by a hair. The dirk skittered wildly, catching the fabric of her collar instead of her flesh.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The heavy oak door at the top of the stairwell slammed open against the stone casing with a crack like thunder.

“Leave her alone!” Angus burst into the chamber, his high, frantic voice piercing the howl of the gale. His small leather boots skidded on the grit-covered floorboards as he charged across the room, his tiny wooden sword raised high in both hands.

The boy did not hesitate, did not look into the abyss, and did not see the sharp iron in Thomas’s grip. He saw only the man holding his father’s bride over the edge. Before Brodie could even shout a warning, the child drove the dull toy blade squarely into the side of Thomas’s hip with all the force his small body could muster.

The pine sword snapped at the hilt, the splintered wood clattering against the stones, but the sudden, unexpected impact caught Thomas completely off balance.

“Curse ye, ye little imp!” Thomas roared, his breath exploding in a startled rasp. Instinctively, the madman jerked his torso away from the sharp sting, his fingers uncurling from the wool of Sheona’s bodice as he swung his arm back to strike the child.

It was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Without Thomas’s arm pinning her against his chest, the rotten timber sill collapsed beneath Sheona’s weight. Her soft leather shoes slipped from the mossy stone, and she tumbled backward into the void, her hands clawing futilely at the cold night air.

“Brodie!” she screamed, the sound instantly torn away by the roaring wind.

“Sheona!” Brodie launched himself forward without thought, his heavy boots striking the larch boards in a blinding, explosive charge. The entire world narrowed to the pale blur of her hand disappearing over the broken ledge. He threw his massive frame flat against the stone sill, extending his right arm into the empty darkness as far as his shoulder could stretch.

His broad palm locked around her thin wrist just as gravity threatened to pull her beyond his reach.

The jolt slammed Brodie hard against the granite edge, the rough stone biting deep through his tartan into his ribs, but he did not yield an inch. Muscle and sinew locked like forged iron. Below him, Sheona hung over the black chasm, the wind whipping her dark braids around her pale, terrified face as her feet swung over the rocks far below. Her small fingers clamped around his forearm, her knuckles white, her blue eyes wide and fixed on his.

A guttural roar tore from Brodie’s chest, a sound of pure, primordial power that echoed off the stone vaulting. With a single, violent heave of his back and shoulder, he dragged her upward against the sheer wall, pulling her clean through the broken window frame and hauling her over the ledge onto the solid ground of the watchtower.

They hit the floorboards together in a tangle of wet wool and heavy leather. Brodie rolled instantly, pulling her fiercely into his arms, crushing her against his chest as if he could press her body directly into his own ribs. He felt the violent shuddering of her breath against his throat, the frantic, rapid pounding of her heart matching his own thunderous pulse.

“I have ye,” he rasped into her hair, his hand pressing firmly against the back of her head. “I have ye.”

She clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into the thick tartan, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she drew in huge, ragged gulps of cold air.

Brodie gently moved her behind him, shielding her completely with his broad shoulders. He shifted his weight, rising to one knee, keeping his body locked between the threat and the woman resting against the stone wall.

Without taking his dark, murderous eyes off Morrison for even a fraction of a second, Brodie spoke, his voice dropping into a low, granite rumble that anchored the chaotic chamber.

“Good job, lad. Now go call the men.”

“Brodie—” Sheona gasped from behind him, her voice raw and scraping against her bruised throat as her hand reached out to grasp the hem of his kilt. “He has a blade⁠—”

“Stay down, Sheona,” Brodie commanded softly, not shifting his gaze by an inch. “Daenae move from that wall.”

Angus stood frozen near the threshold, his chest heaving, his eyes wide as he looked from the broken piece of pine in his fist to the towering figure of his father.

“Go, Angus!” Brodie barked, sharper this time, the command ringing through the stone tower. “Run to the hall! Bring Douglas and the guard!”

“Aye, Father!” Angus cried out, dropping the broken wooden hilt. The boy turned on his heel and sprinted back down the dark, spiraling steps.

Across the narrow, draft-swept room, Thomas was leaning heavily against the eastern pillar, his face twisted in a ghastly, pathetic mask of rage and absolute disbelief. The fine wool mantle he wore was torn at the shoulder, slick with dark rainwater that had blown through the broken window frame. His breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps, white plumes of air swirling around his head in the freezing gale.

“Ye think ye have saved her, MacKinley?” Thomas spat, his voice rising into an unhinged, mocking shriek that cracked against the high vaulted ceiling. “Ye think pullin’ her over a ledge changes what she is? Look at her! Look at the blood in her veins!”

Brodie rose slowly to his full height, his massive shoulders blocking the pale moonlight spilling through the ruined wall. He did not yet draw the broadsword at his hip. His hands hung loose at his sides, his broad fingers curling into tight, heavy fists that thrummed in a terrifying, absolute silence.

“I see me wife, Thomas,” Brodie said, his voice flat, devoid of heat, colder than the wind tearing through the stone slits. “And I see a dyin’ man standin’ before me.”