Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"Me laird! Inside the castle! There's fightin’ inside!"
David's head snapped toward the messenger who'd just burst through the defenders and met him in the courtyard as he went to look for his wife. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of battle that were still ringing in his mind.
"What?"
"Infiltrators, me laird! They're after Lady Elinor!"
The world seemed to stop. Everything—the battle at the walls, the wounded men, the tactical considerations of holding the gate—all of it faded into background noise.
Elinor was in danger.
"Tristan!" David's voice cut across the courtyard. "Take command!"
David was already running, his wounded shoulder forgotten, his exhaustion pushed aside by pure terror. He crashed through the castle entrance, his sword still in hand, following the sounds of fighting deeper into the keep.
David took the stairs three at a time, his boots slipping on stone slick with blood. His heart hammered against his ribs. His breath came in ragged gasps.
Bodies littered the upstairs corridor—MacDonald guards, infiltrators dressed in his clan's colors. David didn't slow down, just cut through anything that got in his way.
He'd left her. He'd left her to defend the walls while Langley's real plan unfolded inside the castle. While men who'd been hiding for weeks, waiting for that exact moment, moved to take her.
"Hold him! Don't let him get past!"
The shout came from ahead. David rounded a corner and saw two guards fighting against four infiltrators. One was sprinting down the corridor toward—
Their bedchamber.
"No!" David's sword took the nearest infiltrator in the back, dropping him instantly. He yanked the blade free and moved to the next target, blocking a strike aimed at one of his guards. "Get after that one! Don't let him reach her!"
But even as he said it, he heard it.
A scream. High and terrified and unmistakably Elinor.
Coming from the direction of the bedchamber.
David fought with a savagery he didn't know he possessed. His wounded shoulder screamed in protest with every swing, but he ignored it. Ignored everything except the need to get to Elinor. To protect her. To stop whatever was happening in that room.
He killed the last infiltrator with a thrust through the gut, then shoved past his guards and ran.
The door to their bedchamber stood open. Inside, he could see overturned furniture, signs of a struggle. And on the balcony—
His blood turned to ice.
A man had Elinor by the arm, dragging her toward the stone railing. Her dress was torn, her throat bruised. She was fighting him with everything she had, but he was bigger, stronger.
And beyond the balcony railing, David could see a rope hanging down. An escape route.
"Let her go!" David's voice was deadly calm as he stepped onto the balcony.
The infiltrator spun, yanking Elinor in front of him like a shield. His dagger in his hand, pressing against her throat.
"Stay back!" the man snarled. "Stay back or I'll cut her throat right here!"
David stopped, his sword still raised. His eyes met Elinor's, wide with terror but also fierce with determination. She wasn't giving up. Wasn't surrendering.
"Ye hurt her," David said quietly, "and ye'll die screaming. Let her go now, and I'll make it quick."
"You're in no position to make threats, MacDonald." The knife pressed harder, and David saw a thin line of blood appear on Elinor's throat. "Sir Edmund wants her back. And I'm taking her to him. You can't stop me."
"Can't I?" David's eyes tracked every detail—the man's position, his grip on Elinor, the angle of the knife. Looking for an opening. Any opening.
"The rope goes down to the courtyard. My men are waiting. By the time you raise the alarm, we'll be gone." The infiltrator started backing toward the railing, dragging Elinor with him. "And there's nothing you can do about it."
But the man made a mistake. A small one, but enough.
He glanced back at the rope, checking its position. Just for a second. Just long enough for his attention to shift away from David.
So David moved.
He was across the balcony in three strides, his sword sweeping up to knock the knife away from Elinor's throat. The infiltrator tried to adjust, tried to bring the blade back around, but David was faster.
His hand closed around the man's wrist, twisting violently. Bones cracked. The knife clattered to the stone floor.
Elinor wrenched herself free, stumbling away from both of them.
The infiltrator threw a desperate punch, catching David in his wounded shoulder. Pain exploded through him, but he used it, channeled it into a brutal headbutt that sent the man staggering backward.
Toward the railing.
Toward the edge.
The infiltrator's back hit the stone balustrade. His arms windmilled, trying to catch his balance. For a moment, he teetered on the edge.
Then he fell.
His scream cut off abruptly when he hit the courtyard below.
David stood at the railing, breathing hard, his shoulder on fire. Below, he could see chaos—Langley's men at the base of the rope, realizing their plan had failed. His own guards converging on them.
"David."
He turned to find Elinor standing there, trembling, her hand pressed to the cut on her throat. Without thinking, he crossed to her and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she gasped.
"I'm sorry," he breathed into her hair. "I'm so sorry. I should have—I should have known they'd try somethin' like this. Should have protected ye better."
"You're here now." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "That's what matters. You came."
"Always, lass. Always." He pulled back just enough to examine her face, her throat. The bruises were already forming—dark marks where someone had tried to choke her. Rage, hot and vicious, flooded through him. "Who did this? Who hurt ye?"
"He's dead. Malcolm killed him in the corridor." She touched his face, her fingers gentle despite their trembling. "And you're wounded. Your shoulder…"
"It's naethin'."
"It's not nothing. You're bleeding."
"Elinor."
A commotion from outside made them both turn. Shouts. The clash of steel. And then, rising above it all, a voice David recognized.
"MacDonald! Show yourself!"
Langley.
David moved to the balcony railing, Elinor beside him. Below, in the courtyard, chaos reigned. Langley sat on his horse, surrounded by his personal guard, looking up at them with fury written across his face.
"It's over, Langley!" David called down. "Yer infiltrators are dead or captured. Yer attack on the walls has failed. Go home."
"It's not over until I have what's mine!" Langley's voice was raw with obsession. "Send her down, MacDonald! She belongs with me!"
"I belong with no one!" Elinor stepped forward, her voice carrying clearly despite the bruises on her throat. "I'm not property to be claimed! I'm a person! And I've made my choice!"
"You were coerced! Forced into marriage by this barbarian!" Langley gestured wildly at David. "I'm here to free you! To take you away from this place and give you the life you deserve!"
"The life I deserve?" Elinor's laugh was bitter. "You mean the life where you own me? Where I have no say in anything? Where I'm just a prize you won?" She leaned over the railing, making sure Langley could see her face clearly. "I'd rather die than go anywhere with you."
"You don't mean that. You can't mean that." Langley's facade was cracking, revealing the madness beneath. "I did all of this for you! The planning, the waiting, the siege! All so I could save you from him!"
"I don't need saving from David." Elinor's hand found David's, gripping tightly. "He's my husband. My choice. And if you truly cared about me at all, you'd respect that and leave."
"No!" Langley yanked his sword free. "No, you're coming with me! Even if I have to burn this entire castle down to take you!"
He spurred his horse forward, clearly intending to storm the keep itself.
But MacDonald guards closed ranks, blocking his path. Langley fought them, his sword flashing. His personal guard joined the fray.
"I need tae end this," David said quietly. "If I dinnae, he'll keep comin'. Keep tryin'. He'll never stop."
"Then go." Elinor released his hand. "Finish this. But be careful. Please."
David kissed her hard and fast, then turned and ran for the stairs.
By the time he reached the courtyard, Langley had cut through three of his guards and was advancing on the keep entrance. His men formed a protective circle around him, fighting desperately against overwhelming numbers.
"Langley!" David's voice cut through the chaos. "Enough! Ye want a fight? Fight me! Leave me men out of it!"
Langley turned, his face twisted with rage. "MacDonald. Finally. I was beginning to think you were a coward."
"Says the man who sent assassins in the night." David raised his sword. "Says the man who hid behind infiltrators instead of fightin' honorably."
"Honor?" Langley laughed. "You talk to me about honor? You stole my bride! You disrupted a lawful gathering! You've been living a lie this entire time!"
"The only lie here is the one ye tell yerself." David moved forward, and MacDonald guards cleared a space, creating a circle. "That Elinor was ever yers. That she wanted ye. That any of this was justified."
"She doesn't know what she wants! She's been deceived by your Highland tricks!" Langley advanced, his sword raised. "But I'll free her. And I'll start by removing you from the equation."
They clashed in the center of the courtyard, steel ringing against steel. Langley was good—better than David had expected. His strikes were precise, controlled, the product of years of training.
But David had something Langley didn't.
Desperation. The memory of Elinor's bruised throat. The knowledge that if he failed, Langley would keep coming. Would never stop until he had her or they were both dead.
David pressed the attack, ignoring the fire in his wounded shoulder. Each strike jarred his injury, sent fresh blood seeping through his shoulder. But he didn't care.
Langley blocked, countered, tried to use David's wound against him. He aimed strikes at David's left side, forcing him to defend with his injured shoulder.
"You're weakening," Langley taunted. "How long can you keep this up? You're already wounded. Already exhausted from defending these walls. Just surrender, MacDonald. Make this easy."
"Never." David's blade caught Langley's, twisted, sent the English knight's sword wide. "I'll never surrender. Nae while I draw breath. Nae while she needs protectin' from ye."
"She doesn't need protection from me! I love her!"
"Ye dinnae love her." David blocked another strike. "Ye love the idea of her. The possession of her. But ye dinnae love her as a person. Ye never have."
"What do you know about it?" Langley's control was slipping, his strikes becoming wilder. "I've loved her since the moment I saw her! I offered for her properly! I would have given her everything!"
"Except freedom. Except choice. Except the one thing she actually wanted." David saw his opening—Langley's guard dropping as emotion overwhelmed technique. "Ye would have made her miserable. And ye knew it. Ye just didnae care."
"I care more than you ever could!" Langley lunged, overextending.
David sidestepped, brought his blade around in a controlled arc.
It caught Langley in the side, sliding between ribs.
Langley gasped, his sword falling from his fingers. He staggered back, his hand going to the wound. Blood welled between his fingers.
"No," he whispered. "No, this isn't what was supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to die."
He collapsed to his knees.
David stood over him, his sword still raised. Around them, the fighting had stopped. Langley's men were seeing their leader fall, were realizing their cause was lost.
"It's over," David said quietly. "Let it be over."
Langley looked up at him, and David saw the madness clearing from his eyes. Saw him finally understanding what he'd become. What his obsession had driven him to.
"She was meant to be mine," he said, his voice weak. "I was supposed to save her."
"She saved herself." David lowered his sword. "She never needed ye."
Langley's eyes went distant. His breathing rattled. Then stopped.
The courtyard was silent except for the sound of David's ragged breathing. He looked around at Langley's men—two dozen of them, still armed, still capable of fighting.
"Yer commander is dead," he called out. "Ye've lost. Lay down yer weapons and I'll let ye leave with yer lives. Continue fightin', and ye'll die here."
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, one by one, swords clattered to the ground. Langley's men surrendered.
It was over.
David looked up at the balcony where Elinor stood watching. Even from this distance, he could see the tears on her cheeks. The relief in her posture.
He raised his sword in salute to her. Then he collapsed, his wounded shoulder finally giving out, the exhaustion and blood loss catching up with him all at once.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Elinor running, her voice screaming his name.
But he was smiling. Because it was over. She was safe.
Finally, truly safe.