Chapter 22
Magnus was already moving when the alarm bells began to ring.
Every instinct he possessed screamed danger, and his body reacted before his mind could catch up.
Ada.
"The kitchens," someone shouted from down the corridor. "Fire in the kitchens!"
Fire. Inside the keep. Where Ada was sleeping. Where he'd left her safe behind a bolted door.
Magnus ran.
His boots pounded stone, the sound lost beneath the clamor of bells and shouting men. Behind him, Torvald was calling something—orders, questions, Magnus didn't know and didn't care. All that mattered was reaching their chamber. Reaching Ada.
He took the stairs three at a time, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Smoke drifted through the corridor now, thin wisps that stung his eyes and caught in his throat.
The acrid smell of burning wood mixed with something else.
Oil, maybe. Something that made the flames spread faster than they should.
Their chamber door came into view. Still closed. Still—
Magnus hit it at a dead run, nearly tearing it from its hinges as he burst through.
Empty.
The bed unmade, blankets thrown back. Her cloak gone from its peg. The bolt drawn.
She'd left. Despite his orders to stay put, to lock the door, to wait for him—she'd left.
"Ada!" Magnus roared her name, spinning back toward the corridor. "ADA!"
No answer. Just smoke and distant shouting and the relentless clanging of those damn bells.
Think. Where would she go? The kitchens, maybe—if there was fire, if people were hurt, she'd want to help. She was a healer. She wouldn't hide while others suffered.
Magnus ran again, back down the stairs, following the thickening smoke toward its source. Men rushed past him carrying buckets of water, their faces grim with determination. Someone shouted that the fire was in the storage rooms off the kitchens. Spreading fast.
But Magnus barely heard them. His entire focus had narrowed to a single, desperate need—find Ada. Make sure she was safe. Everything else could burn for all he cared.
He burst through the kitchen door into chaos.
Flames consumed the storage room, orange and hungry, sending smoke billowing into the larger space. Men fought the blaze with buckets and blankets, shouting orders over the roar of fire. The heat hit Magnus like a physical force, driving him back a step.
"Ada!" He scanned the room frantically. "Has anyone seen Lady Ada?"
"Nay, me lord," a servant called back, coughing through the smoke. "Havenae seen her since—"
A shout from outside. From the courtyard.
Magnus's blood went cold.
He shoved past the men fighting the fire, crashed through the outer door into the night air. The courtyard spread before him, lit by torchlight and the orange glow from the burning storage room.
And there—near the postern gate—
Ada.
She was pinned against the stone wall, fighting like a wildcat. Her nightgown was torn at the shoulder, her hair wild around her face. Two men held her—one with his hand clamped around her wrist, trying to drag her toward the gate, while another fought to subdue her thrashing.
Magnus didn't think. Didn't plan. Just moved.
"ADA!"
His roar carried across the courtyard, raw and primal. The sound of a man seeing everything he cared about being ripped away.
The men holding Ada jerked around, startled and that moment of distraction was all Magnus needed.
He charged forward, his sword already drawn. The first man—the one dragging Ada toward the gate—barely had time to release her before Magnus was on him. His blade caught the man across the shoulder, not deep enough to kill but enough to send him staggering backward with a cry of pain.
"Get away from her!" Magnus's voice was barely human, more growl than words.
The second man—darker, his face half-hidden by a hood—shoved Ada away and drew his own weapon. Steel rang as their blades met, the impact jarring up Magnus's arm.
Ada stumbled, nearly fell. She caught herself against the wall, her eyes wide with terror and something else. Relief, maybe. Or shock.
"Run!" Magnus shouted at her, parrying another strike. "Get inside! Now!"
But Ada didn't run. Just stood there, frozen, watching as Magnus drove the hooded man back with a series of brutal strikes. No finesse. No technique. Just raw fury channeled through steel.
The man was good—trained, clearly—but Magnus was beyond caring about defense. He pressed forward relentlessly, each blow harder than the last, forcing his opponent to give ground.
Behind him, the first man had regained his feet. Blood soaked his shoulder, but he was moving, circling around to flank Magnus.
Torvald appeared from nowhere, his own sword drawn. "I've got this one!"
Steel clashed as Torvald engaged the wounded man. Magnus kept his focus on the hooded attacker, on the bastard who'd dared to touch Ada. Who'd torn her gown and terrified her and tried to drag her away into the night.
"Who sent ye?" Magnus snarled, his blade catching his opponent's in a bind. "Was it MacTavish? Was it—"
The hooded man twisted, broke the bind, and kicked out hard. His boot caught Magnus in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Magnus staggered back, and the man took his chance.
He ran.
Not toward the gate—that way was blocked now by guards responding to the alarm. Instead, he darted toward the wall, toward the shadows where the torchlight didn't reach.
"Stop him!" Magnus shouted, starting to give chase.
But the man was fast, and he knew the keep's layout. By the time Magnus reached the wall, the hooded figure had vanished into the darkness like smoke.
Gone.
Magnus spun back toward the courtyard. Torvald had disarmed the wounded man, had him on his knees with a blade at his throat. Guards surrounded them, weapons drawn.
And Ada—
Ada stood exactly where he'd left her, her back pressed against the stone wall. Her torn nightgown hung off one shoulder. Her face was pale as death, her eyes too wide, too bright.
But she was alive. She was there. She was—
Magnus crossed the distance between them in three strides. His hands found her face, tilted it up so he could see her properly in the torchlight. Searching for injuries, for blood, for any sign they'd hurt her.
"Are ye all right?" His voice came out rough, shaking with the remnants of that terrible fury. "Ada, answer me. Did they hurt ye?"
She stared up at him, and for a long moment she didn't speak. Just looked at him like she couldn't quite believe he was real. That he was here.
Then she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest.
Magnus held her. Wrapped his arms around her trembling body and held her like she was the only solid thing left in a world gone mad. His heart still thundered. His hands still shook with rage and fear and the awful knowledge of how close he'd come to losing her.
"I've got ye," he murmured into her hair. "Ye're safe now. I've got ye."
Ada's fingers clutched his shirt, holding on like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go. "Magnus—they were—I dinnae ken what they wanted but they—"
"I ken. I saw." Magnus pulled back just enough to look at her face again. A bruise was already forming along her jaw. Dark and ugly against her pale skin. "Who hit ye?"
"I—" Ada's hand went to her face, touching the bruise gingerly. "One of them. When I tried tae fight. I didnae—I didnae see his face clearly. It was dark, and they had hoods—but one of them looked like one of me faither’s guards…"
The guards had arrived now, surrounding the wounded man Torvald still held at sword point. The man's shoulder bled freely, soaking through his cloak. His face was twisted with pain, but his eyes held defiance.
"Take him," Magnus said, his voice cold as winter iron. "Throw him in the dungeon. I'll deal with him when I'm ready."
"Aye, me laird." Two guards hauled the man to his feet, dragged him away despite his curses and protests.
Magnus watched them go, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every instinct screamed at him to follow, to drag answers from that bastard with his own hands. To find out who sent them, what they wanted, how they got inside his walls—
But Ada was trembling in his arms.
He turned back to her, his expression softening from ice to something gentler. His hands were shaking when he placed them on her shoulders—carefully, so carefully, as though she might shatter if he held too tight.
"Ada." His voice dropped low, steady, the voice he'd use to calm a spooked horse. "I need ye tae breathe fer me. Can ye dae that?"
She stared at him, her eyes too wide, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that spoke of shock setting in. "I—I am breathin'—"
"Slow. Deep breaths. With me." Magnus demonstrated, drawing air in slowly through his nose, releasing it through his mouth. "Like this. Follow me."
Ada tried. He watched her chest hitch, watched her struggle to control the panic still flooding her system. On the second attempt, she managed it—a deeper breath that seemed to steady her slightly.
"Good. Again."
They breathed together, standing in the torchlit courtyard while chaos swirled around them. Guards shouting orders. Men still fighting the fire. Torvald organizing patrols to search for the escaped attacker.
But Magnus's world had narrowed to Ada. To the woman in front of him who'd been attacked in his keep, under his protection, while he sat in a war room discussing theoretical threats.
After a moment, Ada's breathing evened out. Some of the wild panic faded from her eyes, replaced by exhaustion and lingering fear.
"Better?" Magnus asked.
"Aye. I—" Ada swayed suddenly, her knees buckling.
Magnus caught her before she could fall, swept her up into his arms in one smooth motion. She made a small sound of surprise, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
He started toward the keep, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
"Ye're in shock, and ye're hurt, and I'll nae have ye collapsin' in the middle of the courtyard.
Ye're trembling." Magnus glanced down at her, his expression firm.
"And yer lip is bleedin'. And there's a bruise on yer face the size of me fist. Ye're nae fine. "
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She seemed to realize that fighting him was pointless. Instead, she let her head rest against his shoulder, her body finally releasing some of the rigid tension that had held it locked.
Magnus carried her through the kitchen—the fire mostly contained now, though smoke still hung thick in the air—and up the stairs toward their chamber. Men stepped aside as he passed, their faces grim. Word had clearly spread about what happened.
About their lady being attacked and nearly taken.
"Me laird," Torvald called from behind them. "Should I send fer the healer?"
"Aye. Have Mairi come tae our chamber." Magnus didn't slow his stride. "And double the guard on all entrances. I want every man accounted fer. If there are more of them inside these walls, I want them found."
"Already done, me laird."
Magnus reached their chamber, kicked the door open since his hands were occupied with Ada. The room looked exactly as he'd left it—bed unmade, candles still burning, the bolt drawn back.
Evidence of Ada's departure. Evidence that she'd left safety because—
Why had she left? What had drawn her from their chamber in the middle of the night?
Those questions could wait. Right now, she needed tending.
Magnus carried her to the bed and set her down gently on the edge. She immediately tried to stand.
"I should help with the wounded," Ada said, already reaching for her cloak. "If there was a fire, there might be burns, and I have supplies—"
"Ada." Magnus caught her hands, held them still. "Sit. Please."
"But—"
"Sit."
The command in his voice finally broke through her determination. Ada sat, her shoulders slumping slightly as exhaustion caught up with fear.
Magnus knelt in front of her, bringing himself to her eye level. Now that they were in proper light, he could see the full extent of the damage. The split lip. The darkening bruise along her jaw. Her torn nightgown revealing a shoulder that would likely be black and blue by morning.
Rage threatened to overwhelm him again. Cold and terrible and demanding blood for what had been done to her.
But Ada needed him calm. Needed him steady.
So Magnus pushed the fury down, locked it away to deal with later. When he had that bastard in the dungeon alone. When he could make him answer for every mark on Ada's skin.
"Let me see," he said quietly, his fingers gentle as they tilted her chin up. Examining the bruise, the split lip, checking for other injuries he might not have noticed yet.
Ada sat perfectly still under his inspection, her eyes never leaving his face. Watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read.
"Daes it hurt?" Magnus asked, his thumb barely grazing the bruise.
"Aye." Her voice was small. "But I've had worse."
Those four words made something crack in Magnus's chest. She'd had worse. Of course, she had. Her father's cruelty. The years spent running, hiding, being hunted.
And now this. In his keep. Where she should have been safe.