Chapter 27
“Leona!” Ailis appeared at her elbow, grabbing her arm. “Come on, we need to go inside!”
But Leona couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear her eyes away from Murdock as he moved through the battle like death incarnate.
He was magnificent.
And terrifying.
Every strike was precise, controlled, and utterly lethal. He didn’t waste movement, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t show mercy.
A Kerr warrior came at him from the left, sword raised high. Murdock dodged the clumsy swing with ease, his own blade flashing out to open the man’s throat. The warrior dropped without a sound.
Another attacked from behind. Murdock spun, parrying the blow with a swing, then drove his knee into the man’s stomach. As the warrior doubled over, Murdock brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of his skull. The man crumpled.
“Dear God,” Kristen breathed beside Leona. “I’ve never seen him fight like this.”
“He’s protectin' what’s his,” Ailis said quietly, her eyes on her brother.
To Murdock’s right, Killian fought with equal fury.
Leona had heard stories about Ailis’s husband, about his skill with a blade, but witnessing it was something else entirely. He moved like water, flowing around attacks, his sword an extension of his arm. Two Kerr warriors fell to his blade in quick succession.
On Murdock’s left, Neil proved equally deadly. Kristen’s husband was broader than Killian, more powerful in his strikes. Where Killian was fluid grace, Neil was controlled brutality. He used his shield as a weapon, bashing one man in the face before running another through.
But none of them were like Murdock.
The three of them fought as a unit, protecting each other’s backs, communicating with looks and small gestures.
“Ma!” The child’s scream cut through the chaos.
Leona’s head snapped toward the sound, her heart stopping.
Skye.
The little girl had been trying to run toward the keep when one of the Kerr warriors grabbed her, using her as a shield as Hamish advanced on him.
“Let her go,” Hamish said, his voice deadly quiet. His sword was raised, ready, but he couldn’t strike without risking her.
“Back away,” the warrior snarled, pressing his dirk to Skye’s throat. “Back away or I’ll—”
A black blur launched itself from a nearby cart.
Nyx hit the warrior’s face with all four paws extended, claws out, yowling like a demon from hell. The man screamed, dropping both his dirk and Skye as he tried to tear the furious cat away from his eyes.
Hamish didn’t hesitate. His sword flashed once, and the warrior fell.
“Skye!” Ailis rushed forward, scooping up the child as Nyx leaped away. “Are ye hurt?”
“Nay, Aunt Ailis. Nyx saved me!” Skye clutched at her aunt, but her eyes were scanning the battlefield. “Where’s Da?”
“Fightin',” Kristen said, arriving to help usher them toward safety. “Come, we need to get ye inside.”
But Skye struggled against them. “Nay! I cannae leave Da! I cannae—”
“The lassie stays with me.”
Rufus appeared, looking far older than his fourteen years. He held a sword that was slightly too big for him, and his face was pale but determined. Nyx immediately ran to him, climbing up to perch on his shoulder like she belonged there.
“Rufus, nay,” Leona started, finally finding her voice. “Ye’re too young.”
“I’m old enough to protect me sister,” Rufus said firmly. “And Skye. Get them inside, both of ye. I’ll stand guard at the door.”
The two sisters exchanged glances, then nodded. Together, they half-carried, half-dragged Leona and Skye toward the keep. Rufus followed, his sword raised, Nyx hissing at anyone who came too close.
At the doorway, Leona wrenched herself free. “I cannae. I have to—”
“Ye have to stay alive,” Ailis said fiercely. “That’s what ye have to do. Murdock is fightin' for ye. Daenae make his sacrifice meaningless.”
“She’s right,” Kristen added. “Let him do what he does best.”
Leona looked back at the battle, her eyes finding Murdock immediately. He was still fighting, still moving through Ragnall’s men like a force of nature. But there was something different now, something desperate in the way he fought.
He was looking for something.
No. Someone.
Ragnall.
Her cousin had managed to get to his feet, one of his men supporting him. They were trying to retreat toward the gates, but Murdock had seen them. Was cutting his way through the remaining warriors, his focus absolute.
Murdock’s world had narrowed to a single point of focus.
Ragnall.
The bastard who’d threatened his daughter. Who’d tried to take Leona. Who’d brought violence and death to Ainsley lands and thought he could walk away.
Not today.
Not ever.
“Kerr!” Murdock’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “Face me, ye coward!”
Ragnall turned, his face pale with blood loss but his eyes burning with hatred. “Ye cut off me hand!”
“I should have taken yer head.” Murdock advanced slowly, deliberately.
Around them, the fighting had begun to slow. Warriors on both sides were stopping, stepping back, watching their Lairds.
“Ye’ll pay for this,” Ragnall spat. “I’ll—”
“Ye’ll do nothin'.” Murdock’s voice was cold, absolute. “Dead men cannae do anythin'.”
Ragnall’s good hand went to his sword, but the movement was clumsy, weakened by blood loss and pain. Still, he drew his blade, holding it in his left hand with visible effort.
“Come on then,” he snarled. “Let’s finish this.”
Murdock raised his sword.
They came together in a clash of steel that rang across the courtyard. Once, twice, three times their blades met. But Ragnall was fighting one-handed, weakened, desperate. Each parry came slower than the last.
“Ye killed me brother!” he screamed, launching a wild swing that Murdock easily sidestepped.
“Yer brother was a monster who deserved worse than he got.”
“And what are ye?” Ragnall circled him, trying to find an opening. “Ye’re just like him. Just like all of us. A man who takes what he wants and damns the consequences.”
“Nay.” Murdock’s voice was steady, certain. “I’m nothin' like ye. Nothin' like yer brother. And nothin' like me faither.”
He struck.
The movement was too fast to follow. One moment, he stood still; the next, his sword was a silver blur.
Ragnall tried to parry, but he was too slow. The blade caught him in the side, sliding between his ribs with surgical precision. Murdock twisted, then withdrew. Ragnall stumbled backward, his sword slipping from his fingers.
“I’m the man who protects what’s his,” Murdock said quietly, watching as the man fell to his knees. “And ye threatened what’s mine.”
Ragnall looked up at him, blood bubbling from the corners of his lips. “She… was always… mine…”
“She was never yers.” Murdock raised his sword one final time. “And she will never be.”
The blade came down.
Ragnall’s head rolled across the cobblestones, coming to rest near the hand Murdock had severed earlier. His body collapsed, blood pooling beneath it in a spreading loch of crimson.
Silence fell across the courtyard.
Then, one by one, Ragnall’s remaining men dropped their weapons.
“We yield!” the first one called out, his voice hoarse. “We yield!”
“We surrender!” another joined in. “Please, nay more!”
All around the courtyard, swords clattered to the ground. Men fell to their knees, hands raised. The fight had gone out of them with Ragnall’s death.
Murdock surveyed the carnage, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his sword. Bodies littered the courtyard; he’d lost count of how many he’d killed. His arms ached, his muscles burned, but he remained standing.
Victorious.
And utterly exhausted.
Murdock turned to the surrendered men, his expression hard.
“Yer Laird is dead. Yer plans have failed. But I’m nae a monster, despite what ye may think.
” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I will send one of me men to lead Clan Kerr until Rufus comes of age. The boy is the rightful heir. Will ye serve him?”
The men exchanged glances. Then the one who’d called for surrender first spoke up. “Aye, Laird. The boy is of the true bloodline. We’ll serve him.”
“And what of our dead?” another asked quietly. “May we take them home? Give them proper burials?”
Murdock looked at the bodies scattered across his courtyard. Men who’d followed a mad laird to their deaths. Men who’d been too loyal or too frightened to refuse.
“Aye,” he said finally. “Take yer dead. Bury them with honor if ye wish. But ken this, if any of ye return to these lands with ill intent, I’ll nae be so merciful next time.”
“Understood, Laird. Thank ye.”
The men began gathering their dead, moving with quiet efficiency. Murdock watched them work, ensuring no one tried anything foolish. Around him, his own men did the same, seeing to the wounded, securing weapons, beginning the grim cleanup that followed every battle.
Killian approached, wiping blood from his blade. “That was well done, Brother.”
“Was it?” Murdock looked down at his hands, at the blood coating them. “How many men died today because of me?”
“Because of him,” Neil corrected, joining them. “Kerr brought this violence. Ye only ended it.”
Murdock wanted to believe that. Wanted to think he’d done the right thing. But all he could see was his father’s legacy written in blood across his courtyard.
“Murdock.” Ailis’s voice, soft and urgent, cut through his thoughts.
He turned to find his sister pointing toward the far side of the courtyard. Where Leona sat on the grass, with Skye and Nyx in her arms.
He vaguely remembered his sisters leading them inside, Rufus standing guard. But of course they wouldn’t listen. They’d find a way to get out.
Now Leona was covering the child’s eyes with one hand and pressing Skye’s face against her shoulder with the other. And she was singing.
Horribly. So off-key it was almost painful to hear, but she kept going, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. Some Highland lullaby he vaguely recognized, though she was murdering the melody with spectacular thoroughness.
Skye giggled against her shoulder, the sound bright and innocent and so achingly normal that Murdock felt something crack open in his chest.
“Ye’re terrible at singin', Leona,” Skye said, her voice muffled but amused.
“I ken,” Leona replied, her own voice shaking. “But it helps me when I’m scared.”
Murdock crossed the courtyard slowly, his legs suddenly feeling like they might not hold him up. His sword hung loose in his hand, forgotten, dragging against the stones.
When Leona looked up and saw him, her whole face transformed. Relief and joy and something deeper, something he didn’t dare name, flooded her features.
She said something to Skye, then gently released the girl. Skye immediately ran to Rufus, who’d appeared at the edge of the courtyard, Nyx still perched on his shoulder. They embraced, the cat tolerating the squeeze with patience.
Then Leona stood and crossed to Murdock, her eyes scanning him for injuries.
“Ye’re hurt,” she said, her hands hovering over a cut on his arm he hadn’t noticed. “And here, yer side…”
“I’m fine.” His voice came out rough, raw. “Just scratches.”
“Scratches,” she repeated incredulously. “Murdock, ye’re covered in blood.”
“Nae all of it is mine.” He looked down at himself, at the evidence of what he’d done painted across his skin and clothes. “Leona, I—”
She threw her arms around him, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. She pressed herself against him, heedless of the blood, the gore, the violence that still clung to him. She buried her face in his chest and held on like she’d never let go.
“Thank ye,” she whispered. “Thank ye for savin' her. For savin' all of us.”
Murdock’ dropped his sword and his arms came up slowly, carefully, wrapping around her. Holding her. Letting himself take comfort in her warmth, her presence, her absolute trust in him despite everything she’d just witnessed.
“I would have killed them all,” he admitted quietly. “Every last one of them. If they’d hurt ye or Skye, I would have painted these walls red.”
“I ken.” Leona pulled back enough to look up at him, her eyes fierce. “But ye didnae have to. They surrendered, and ye showed mercy. That’s what makes ye different from yer faither, Murdock. That’s what makes ye the man I—” She broke off.
Murdock’s heart stuttered. “The man ye what?”
Leona stepped out of his arms, and he felt the loss immediately. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“The man I…” She took a shaky breath. “It doesnae matter.”
“Leona…”
“I can finally go back.” The words came out rushed, desperate. “To me castle. To me clan. Ragnall is dead, and Rufus can claim his birthright. Ye daenae have to force yerself to do somethin' ye daenae want to. Ye’ve done enough. More than enough.”
Murdock stared at her, unable to process what he was hearing. “What are ye talkin' about?”
“The weddin'. The betrothal. All of it.” She finally looked at him, and the sadness in her eyes made his chest ache. “Ye only agreed to protect me. But I nay longer need protection. Ye’re free, Murdock. Free of the obligation, free of me. Ye can go back to yer life, to Skye, without the burden of—”
“Burden?” The word came out strangled. “Ye think ye’re a burden?”
“I ken I am.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve brought nothin' but trouble since the moment I walked into that dungeon. But it’s over now. Ye can—”
“Nay.” The word came out sharp, final. “We’re nae done. We’re nowhere near done.”
He started toward her, but she backed away, shaking her head.
“I have to go,” she whispered. “Before I… I just have to go.”