Page 9

She straightened and looked around, and all breath left Owen’s body. She looked like she came from another world. She was tall and graceful in a predatory way, but big eyes were wide. Her voluminous hair fell in small curls around her face, making her also look innocent. Her skin was dark, the color of brown honey, and she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. He’d never seen anyone who looked like her…

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

A familiar face flashed in his peripheral vision. Kenneth Mackenzie was down on one knee, holding his stomach as a giant English knight raised his blade for a deathly blow.

“Arrrghhh!!!” Owen darted forward and smashed into the knight. He pulled out his dagger and stabbed the Englishman through the slit on his helmet. The man fell in a heap of metal and flesh.

Kenneth lay on the ground with his hands clutching his stomach. Owen sank to his knees by his side. He’d seen enough injuries to know the gaping, bleeding wound was fatal.

If only he hadn’t been distracted by the woman, maybe he could have saved Kenneth.

“Cambel,” Kenneth whispered. “Good. Ye’re here. No one is more qualified than ye to take charge now. Save Inverlochy.”

Owen swallowed hard.

“Ye dinna ken what ye’re talking about,” he rasped. “I canna—”

Owen’s chest tightened. He couldn’t make this wish come true, no matter how much he’d wanted to. He was the worst man to trust with responsibility.

“Surely someone else can,” Owen said. “Someone from yer clan… Angus? Or Raghnall?”

“If nae ye, ’tis lost.” Kenneth closed his eyes briefly. “No time. My sword, Owen. I wish to die with my sword in my hands.”

“Aye…”

That, he could do. Pain tore the back of his throat as he found the blade and put Kenneth’s bloody hands around the hilt.

Kenneth looked at him. “For freedom. For Scotland. For me. Show them…”

His words trailed off, and he stilled. The vein on his neck stopped pulsing, and his eyes glazed over.

Owen crossed himself and lowered his head. Kenneth’s death was on his hands. If he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by that beautiful woman… What was she doing here in the middle of a battle? She didn’t belong here.

His throat tightened.

Take charge, Owen…

He rose and looked around. Clearly, the Highlanders were losing. Each Scot fought two or three English at a time.

He should call “Cruachan!” He should cry out something that would lift their spirits. He should do something to change the situation…

His brother Craig was a leader. His father was. So was his cousin Ian. Owen was a jester who was only good at failing things. His arms hung helplessly.

This was clearly a lost cause. The battle was over.

A female grunt made him look up. The woman was fighting a knight who could crush her under the weight of his full armor. Owen raced towards them, his heart thumping, and met the knight’s sword with his own. He pushed against the man with all his might, and the warrior fell.

The woman glared at him, her nostrils flaring, her full lips pressed tightly. Small droplets of sweat ran down her forehead. She was so pretty and dark and furious, like a goddess of war.

He needed to get her out of here, but how? The secret tunnel! Then he’d come back and help his fellow Scots.

Before the knight could stand up, Owen grabbed the woman’s elbow and tugged her after him. “Come. Quickly.”

She gasped, but the knight was already rising to his feet. Owen shut the door behind him and bolted it. Then he rushed down into the underground storeroom, pulling the strange woman behind him.

Amber fumed as the warrior dragged her down the stairs. Freeing her elbow was impossible, like trying to escape a metal vise. Another man who’d decided to be a hero and take charge of her, as if she couldn’t survive without him.

She’d had the situation under control. How dare he!