Chapter Thirty-One
Emer wasn’t a fool, of course. She wasn’t the cleverest person, but she knew enough not to charge into battle without a lick of training.
Instead, clutching the dagger until her knuckles ached, she crept around the edge of the encampment, using the trees and the roundhouses to stay out of sight of the soldiers.
She first came upon the woman she’d fallen over on her way into the camp. It took quite a bit more sawing than she expected, but she eventually cut the woman’s bonds. The woman thanked her, then took off like a loosed arrow out the gate.
Emer glanced toward the battle, praying everyone yet lived.
So far, so good. Pride swelled in her chest as she watched Alannah hold her own beside Conan.
Broccan’s movements looked effortless, as though he could deflect a blow with hardly a flick of his arm.
She blew out a breath. Maybe they really could do this.
Creeping from tree to tree, Emer freed the captives on her way to her brothers. After what felt like an eternity, she reached them, sawing steadily at the thick rope that bound them to the tree.
“Why is Alannah out there?” Ossian demanded, his blue eyes wild. “And why did you come back? You should’ve gotten to safety.”
“Who taught Alannah to fight?” Osgar muttered. “Look at her.”
Emer ignored them both, putting all her effort into freeing them. When the rope finally snapped, her brothers leapt off the ground.
Ossian turned to her. “Get out of here, Emer.”
“No.” She could hardly believe the word had left her lips. “Not without you.” She nodded toward the Fianna. “Not without them.”
Ossian’s lips tightened, but the call to battle must have been stronger than his argument with Emer. He and Osgar ran toward the fray, grabbing swords from fallen soldiers and carving their way toward Alannah.
Emer set back to freeing as many captives as she could reach, trying to ignore the screams and cries that rose up from the center of the camp. Trying not to think about how close they were to death. She didn’t have time to worry, not just yet.
Two more captives remained tied to their trees. Emer risked another glance at the battle as she headed toward the first. She instantly regretted it.
She spotted Ossian just in time to see him take a sword to the shoulder.
Her scream was devoured by the beast of battle, by the unending cries of men taking mortal wounds, fighting for their lives.
Osgar moved to defend his brother, standing over him and protecting him from further injury.
Ossian gripped his shoulder, but he looked alive.
A hole opened in their defenses where her brothers had stood, Osgar unable to fill it alone. It left Broccan vulnerable.
Emer watched in horror as three men broke inside the circle. One of them sliced into Broccan’s leg, sending him stumbling forward. Emer’s head spun. She fought to stay standing as she watched the massacre unfold before her.
Alannah hurried to cover him. Holes started forming faster than the Fianna could fill them.
They wouldn’t win.
Despair threatened to claim Emer, her mind refusing to process what her eyes clearly saw. The Fianna had fought through half the soldiers. They had to have slain over fifty men by the looks of it. But they wouldn’t make it to the end.
Not knowing what else to do, Emer ran to free the last two captives, hot tears blinding her vision as she sliced through the stubborn ropes.
She couldn’t lose them. She couldn’t.
Broccan. Alannah. Ossian. Osgar. Conan. Even the Fianna she now counted among her closest friends. They would all die if she didn’t do something. But what could she possibly do?
Emer was small, weak, and utterly unfit for battle. She couldn’t fight even one of the soldiers, let alone enough to be of any help to her friends or turn the tide of the battle.
She had nothing, no way to help. Wandering toward the palisade, Emer grasped for an idea. She neared the gate, spying Gráinne just beyond it, talking with a bound man on the back of a tethered horse. “Gráinne!” she yelled. “Get out of here! What are you doing?”
The girl’s head snapped in her direction. She sprinted for Emer, doing precisely the opposite of what Emer had instructed. Emer’s stomach lurched. This must be how her brothers had felt earlier.
“He’s the king!” Gráinne told her, sliding to stop before crashing into Emer. “He’s the king of Tethba.”
And just like that, an idea finally descended. It wasn’t the sort of thing Emer would ever have considered, and she wavered as she worked out the possibilities, all the ways it could go horribly wrong.
Then she heard a sound that would haunt her nightmares for years to come.
It was the sound of her sister screaming in pain.
Emer’s eyes found her, falling backwards beside Conan. In that moment, Emer reached a decision.
She might not be able to fight like Alannah, but Broccan’s words flooded her thoughts, embracing her as though he were right beside her. He’d told her that her strength wasn’t like Alannah’s. It wasn’t physical.
Strength wasn’t just on the outside of a person. She could be strong enough on the inside to save them. And whether it worked or not, she was going to try.
“You’re certain he’s the king?” she asked Gráinne.
The young girl nodded. “I’ve seen him before. It’s him.”
Dagger in hand, Emer headed out the gate, Gráinne right behind her.
*
Pain lanced through Broccan’s leg, but he stayed standing, knowing it was far more dangerous to fight from the ground. That, and Conan needed help defending Alannah, who had taken a blow. She’d been damned helpful and far less of a liability than he’d expected.
Covered in sweat, blood, and dirt, he kept fighting.
But things were looking grim. It was good that Emer had gotten out.
He swallowed a lump rising in his throat, forcing his attention to his opponent.
The moves were second nature, honed in years of training.
His body moved reflexively, but Broccan knew better than to let his mind wander in the midst of battle.
He didn’t know how much longer they could hold out. They’d only gotten through half the soldiers in the camp—that he knew of, anyway—and they were taking too many blows amongst them. None mortal yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Broccan felt the tide of the battle turn. And it wasn’t in their favor.
Then the air shifted. Slowed. It felt like clearing cobwebs from a looking glass, a sense of awareness rippling through the battle. Something was happening.
It took Broccan all of two breaths to locate the source of the change.
Emer.
Broccan felt his pulse throbbing in his temples, heard the blood rushing past his ears. She was still here. She was still in danger.
She stood within striking distance of the soldiers, a bedraggled little girl at her side looking at the men with murderous intensity. Together, they held the ropes that bound the king of Tethba. And Emer, hand shaking, held a sword to his throat.
“I will kill the king!” she screamed, projecting enough that the sounds of battle died down in a rippling wave around him. “I will kill your king unless you stand down!”
By God, she looked like she’d actually do it, too. His breathing came in shaking gasps as he watched her stand there, open to attack from every side. It would only take one man and she’d be lost.
Around them, the soldiers looked for guidance, standing in indecision, the battle frozen. Confusion took hold of the king’s men. Broccan took advantage of it, knowing it was his only hope of diverting their attention from Emer.
“Return to your homes or your king will die!” Broccan shouted. Having them stand down was useful, but what they really needed was to get the bastards the hell out of here. To get them away from Emer.
Emer nodded to the little girl beside her, who tugged the gag out of the king’s mouth.
“Do as they say!” he shouted pathetically. The man disgraced kings everywhere with his cowardice, but that wasn’t Broccan’s problem. It was Tethba’s, and soon, it would be Midhe’s. “I will meet you at the rath!”
By some miracle, it actually worked. Broccan’s hands shook, the pain in his leg entirely forgotten as he ran through the retreating soldiers. They’d all but disappeared as he reached for her. He needed to feel her, to know for certain she was alright.
She dropped the sword, collapsing into his arms. “Are you alright?” She tried to look at his leg, but Broccan wasn’t having any of that.
His hands cupped her face. She looked into his eyes. She was here. She was still here. She raised her hand over his, her eyes softening. “It’s okay, Broccan. I’m safe now. I’m with you.”
He didn’t know whether to swear, laugh, or cry. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers, soaking in their warmth. Opening his mouth, his tongue teased her mouth open until he could feel her breath course through him. He ran his hands through her hair, still convincing himself that it was really over.
Emer pulled away, running her thumb over his cheek. “Are you alright?” she repeated.
“No,” he choked. “But I can now say, with absolute certainty, that I will worry far less about leaving you behind when I go on missions. Because I can’t imagine anything more terrifying than having you in the middle of one again.”
“You and me both,” she smiled. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea how dangerous it would be to come looking for her.”
Broccan shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. And, as much as I hated watching you in danger, we would have likely lost that battle without you.”
Emer’s eyes widened. “Alannah!”
Broccan had been so worried over Emer, he’d nearly forgotten that Alannah had been wounded. Together, they hurried over to where she still lay on the ground.