Chapter 10
Her tiny panting breaths, scented by the honey spice they had partaken of at their feast, brushed his lips at the sheer closeness separating them.
Before he could speak further or ravage her lips, her eyes clasped shut, almost painfully.
Her explanation earlier about the expression she wore during a shadow-glance – this had to be it.
Aye, she’d looked similar when they were setting the owl free.
Hell, this meant disaster was about to strike!
His eyes darted between the closed door and her. “Keirah?” he hailed, gently.
She gasped again, her eyes flew open, and she began with a reverent whisper to the element in her grasp.
“MacCade, mere moments Clyde will knock; ’tis a ruse to lure you to the door.
He is not a friend but a traitor! Sturan and Rune will charge the threshold once open.
’Tis a trap; they seek to slay you and take me to Lord Kollungr even if I am tainted in their eyes.
The three carry swords and storm all at once, but they keep looking down the passage as if seeking another’s direction I cannot see in the shadow-glance’s angle upon the door. ”
Time to unleash hell! He leapt to his feet, then reached for her hand to lift her instantly by his side.
He scrambled for the table, gathering his sword, while she went to the hearth fetching his daggers from the mantle.
Handing him one, she kept the other clutched to her hip and began to trail him.
A heavier twinge from worry took his voice as he held up his hand to halt her. “Cluaran, you remain here. Do not fight me upon this; there is only cobbled terrain below even if we could cut our way through that window. The path we came is our only means to escape. We shall take our leave together.”
He paused when she asked: “Promise?”
He would have grinned, except he now heard the steps stomping closer. Had he ever felt a rage like the one tearing through his skin at those who dared threaten her? Never!
“I swear it to my soul.” He gave the same sentiment as at the cavern earlier.
He bolted out the door in his braies and barefoot before a knock even sounded, with a snarl and weapons at seeing this done. The component belonging to surprise was now on their side, and what was he going to do with it? Rain hell down on the hunters!
***
Coward! A coward’s blood ran in her veins.
How could she cave so easily and leave him to battle alone?
She clasped her hands to her breasts, holding the dagger close, watching his bare back flare, its muscles resembling a beast about to devour its prey, when he vanished around the doorway.
A Gaelic battle cry sounded in the hallway. Was that the beast or the hunters?
“MacCade!” Raging hell, that was Rune.
One of the four ghosts who haunted her was now here.
Her fingers tightened on the hilt. Arrogant and ruthless and conniving – Rune embodied each of these ill qualities.
The pock-faced Northman had many fighting seasons to his name, being the oldest of the pack, and would call on these deadly talents. Dirty, he is a damn dirty fighter too.
She had seen Sturan in hand-to-hand combat on the raids; he was also a master at his weapons. Her feet took a step toward the door. The numbers were three to one. Even if the shadow-glance described Aonghus had held his ground before time reversed, there were no guarantees…
Clash!
Metal sounded and a howl of voices with grunts from pain traveled about the corner, then…
A terrified scream – oh, no, Fiona.
Aonghus bellowed, “Fiona, stay as you are!” Keirah heard a doorway slam.
“Evander! Bolt the….” Keirah listened to Fiona’s wail next door ordering Evander to seal their chamber.
Crash! What sounded like a table splintering onto the ground one chamber over shook her feet, before a second scream cried from Fiona when the chamber belonging to the lovers became engulfed by the brawl.
Evander must not have gotten the board lowered fast enough.
The battle moved into a series of thunderous echoes which emanated through the wall like a tempest had taken root inside, alongside male voices.
“Circle the Scotsman!” Rune shouted the order.
Sturan retorted fiercely, “You circle the fukin’ Scottish beast!”
Bang! Her feet jumped back when a vibration, rivalling the mating earlier, slammed the wall.
“NAE! Do not let Aonghus cross…” Clyde commanded, but the words were abruptly cut short.
The reason became clear why Clyde fell silent. Bile seared her throat when Clyde’s copper-haired skull rolled by her doorway with unseeing eyes and grizzled neck leaving a trail like a blood snake slithered behind. The traitor to his friend was now missing his head.
“Keirah,” Aonghus ordered sharply, “secure the door!”
She charged forward. At the same time, a scream erupted from her throat as a hand with etchings upon the skin grabbed the frame.
Rune! Use any means necessary. Aonghus’s earlier words surfaced.
Throw the blade? No clean angle! A defiant cry burned her throat as she threw all her weight behind the door, slamming it directly over Rune’s knuckles trying to gain entry.
He gave a painful howl. Aye, cruel bastard!
Cut him, cut him now! All the years of morbid events she saw in her shadow-glances…
Her eyes still closed, unable to look at what she must do, the dagger tore bone when she cut Rune’s fingertips clear off. Oh yuck!
The massive Northman hollered from pain, releasing the door, but, a brutal warrior to his core, he charged at her again.
Before she got a look at him or could shut the entry, Rune’s leather-clad foot tried to step forward and jam in the doorway but was yanked back with the voice belonging to Aonghus snarling: “Nae! You will not touch her, Northman!”
The foot vanished, dragged backward, and she slammed to bolt the door, dropping the board in place.
This complete, the sounds of battle took an eerie muffled quality almost akin to waves crashing on a shore by a violent storm.
It may have been moments or hours or days…
With each breath her heart raced with a skipping flight under her breast waiting. Who…would be victor?
Bang! The door shook. Could it be Aonghus? A second passed, then the brogue caused her spine to decompress.
“Keirah, my lass, you may release the threshold; all is well.”
She flew as if doves lined her soles to tear open the timber.
There stood Aonghus – bloodied and bruised and safe!
She would have thrown her arms about the mercenary, but he grasped a prize: Sturan, who glared at her with his beady gaze.
Her eyes saw in the periphery a mangled pile on the passageway’s floor belonging to Rune’s corpse.
“Your appraisal regarding the traitor’s appearance, ’twas flawless,” Aonghus commended her. “The only feature lacking would be the tusks.”
Sturan had been bound by her mercenary with a leather strap, which was stained vermillion. This had to be the grizzled tie once belonging to Clyde’s scabbard. A firm grip on Sturan’s bicep, Aonghus shoved the boar into the chamber ahead of him.
Taking a few steps back, she crossed her hands higher over her chest. Sturan had spied on her bathing in a river during their disturbing travels; the lust-filled look he had given that day haunted her. She saw a twisted grin take to the boar’s mouth. What a vile creature.
“Do not feel the urge to cover your grandeur, lass, my memory is already etched by your finery,” he goaded. “If you were seekin’ a Scotsman between your thighs, my cock was more than willin’ to see the deed done.” With the mouth of a devil too.
The final word left his lips before Aonghus’s fist caught the side of Sturan’s face. She cringed at the force exerted; the traitor’s eyes rolled back in his head and two teeth snapped from his mouth before they clicked onto the floor. A dull thud sounded after an unaware Sturan hit the floorboards.
Aonghus gripped his sword, advancing with death promised in his eyes. No! She leapt forward, grabbing his arm. At her touch, the mercenary covered by misted blood stilled and looked from the traitorous pile upon the floor to her.
“You declared the king sought him alive,” she reminded him, countering the rage reflected in her mercenary’s gaze.
He lowered the sword. “Aye.” He looked at the oozing lump which was once Rune in the passageway to vow, “One Northman slain, Keirah; three more to be seen to in your honor.”
A loud clapping of hands caused both their necks to snap up toward the doorway. A familiar pointy nose, chin, and long beard came into view. Aonghus bolted before her like a bailey wall at the newfound threat.
Here was the third unseen stranger in her shadow-glance. “Torsten,” she mumbled, horrified.