Chapter 27 #2
Her heart drumming in her ears, she dropped to her knees beside him. "Brodie?" she whispered, touching his bloody face. 'Twas warm, thank the saints. But his eyes remained closed.
When she placed her hand above his mouth, his heated breath wafted across her skin. "Thank God. Brodie?" She shook him, but he was knocked out cold. He was not well enough to fight. What had he been thinking?
Shadows moved in the distant torchlight, and the sounds of battle continued. She must hide him before an enemy discovered him.
She took the basket-hilt broadsword from his slack hand and slid it into his scabbard. She would need it if the knaves discovered them.
She prayed she wouldn't injure him further, but she had to move him out of sight. Taking his hands, she pulled at him with all her might.
"Bollocks, you're heavy," she whispered, lugging him with much effort across the slippery, snow-covered cobblestones toward the dungeon door. His thick warrior muscles were a leaden weight.
Summoning all her strength, she dragged him down the steps. At the bottom, he sucked in a sharp breath, groaned, and mumbled a curse.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she said. "Are you awake?"
He dropped silent and still again. Blast! How much blood had he lost this time? Turning the corner, she tugged him farther along the corridor between the cells. 'Twas so dark here. She needed the torch to see to his injuries. He might even now be bleeding badly.
On shaky legs, she rushed up the steps again and sent a quick glance outside. Seeing no one, she snatched the torch from the wall bracket and descended the stairs again. Brodie's head bled horribly, and she must stop it.
"Wench!" a man yelled from outside.
"'Slud." He'd seen her grab the torch. Her pulse quickened. After laying the flaming torch several feet away from Brodie on the stone floor, she drew his broadsword from the scabbard. 'Twas longer and heavier than her own, but she had practiced with one of this size many times.
"How did you escape your cell, crafty wench? I ken I locked the door." His boots clunked as he descended the steps. "What say we have some fun before his lairdship comes down here to retrieve you?" he said with a dark chuckle.
Bastard. Elsea ground her teeth. Knowing both her and Brodie's lives were on the line, she waited, hidden around the corner. Her heart thumped so hard he must have heard it.
Her brothers had always trained her to go for the throat, regardless of the weapon. Her hands shook, and she inhaled a silent, deep breath. You can do this, Elsea. She'd been training for battle more than half her life, and now she must protect the man she loved.
When the knave stepped into view, she sliced the sword high with all her strength and connected.
Clearly, he hadn't expected it and had no time to block the strike.
He shrieked and fell back onto the stone steps, struggling, gasping, cursing.
She waited, breath held, for him to make a countermove.
But he didn't. After a long moment, he grew silent and still.
She retrieved the torch in her shaking hands and held it over him.
Saints! She'd stuck his throat, and the gash bled profusely.
"May God forgive me," she whispered, horrified.
'Twas the first man she'd killed... unless she'd slain that earlier guard she'd stabbed and kicked down the embankment.
Her own violence and accuracy shocked her, but she would do anything to defend Brodie... and herself.
Her legs weak, she climbed the steps past the fallen enemy, closed the exterior door, then dragged his hulking body in front of it to block any more invaders. Saints, but he was as heavy as a large stone.
Returning to Brodie, still passed out, she examined his head. It appeared a lead ball had grazed his scalp deeply, ripping away a furrow of his thick black hair. She recalled the earlier blast of the gunshot.
Thank God it hadn't penetrated his skull, but it still bled. After his blood loss several days ago, he couldn't withstand much more. With her sgian dubh, she cut off his shirt and pressed the linen against his scalp to staunch the blood flow.
A moment later he hissed in a breath and opened his eyes, scowling up at her.
***
brODIE COULDN'T BELIEVE his eyes when he clawed his way past the pain and darkness. An apparition that appeared to be Elsea, kneeling over him, doing something to the burning wound on his head. Was he dead? Was she an angel come to claim his soul?
"Thank God you're awake," she said, exhaling a sigh.
"Elsea?"
"How do you feel?" she asked. 'Twas truly her. He wasn't dead yet.
"Like hell." He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain bounding through his skull. Naught made sense. He tried to remember. "What happened?"
"You were hurt in the skirmish here at Glenhaish. Looks like a lead ball grazed your head."
He recalled now—Talnaroch had been holding the pistol the lead ball had blasted from, the battle raging between them.
"Talnaroch shot me in the head," Brodie growled.
"That bastard," she hissed. "I'll kill him for that."
Warmth spread through him that she would defend him so. "Nay, wee warrior. Leave it to me."
"You're nay able at the moment. Anyway, I'm glad 'twas only a graze, but you're still bleeding."
"What the devil are you doing here? How did you get here so quickly from Farspag?"
"My brothers came for me not long after Gavin and Torr left to retrieve you from the island. We rode the rest of the day. Then, tonight, I slipped out of Kincreag."
"The females told me you released them earlier."
"Aye," Elsea said, pressing the cloth firmly against his head.
"Why do you continue to put yourself in so much danger? Have you gone mad?"
"I told you I want to help the selkie women," she snapped. "And you cannot stop me!"
He released an exasperated breath and muttered a curse. She was far more willful than she used to be. "Did you see another group of females, the ones you met on the island?" he asked. "Wilona captured them."
"Nay, I've seen no others. How did she capture them?"
"With her wicked magic. Where the hell did she take them? We were near certain she brought them here."
"Mayhap upstairs in the keep," Elsea suggested.
"Is this the dungeon?"
"Aye. 'Twill be hard for the others to get to us. I blocked the door with the... dead man."
He hadn't thought she could shock him any further. "Which dead man?"
"He was coming after us. I used your sword. I had nay choice. 'Twas life or death."
"Saints," Brodie hissed. "You truly are a wee warrior. Are you alright?"
"Aye. I might have killed another guard earlier, too." Her throat sounded constricted, as if she might cry. "'Twas self-defense. He grabbed me, and I stabbed him to free myself. I did nay wait around to see if he died."
"You did what you had to. Thank God your brothers trained you well. What else happened?"
"I rode away on Freya, but four guards chased me. They caught me. When I stabbed his calf, he flung me to the ground. I passed out, then woke up here. I picked the lock and freed myself. You ken the rest."
Stunned by her words, he stared at her in astonishment. She could've easily been killed by the bastards, thrice over. He'd known she'd trained in knife fighting for years, but had no idea she was so capable. "You're a survivor. How did you get me down here?"
"I dragged you, of course."
"'Slud! You're stronger than I realized. I had nay inkling you were such a force of nature."
The corners of her lips tilted up as she looked into his eyes. "Well, mayhap this is what I've been training for most of my life." She shrugged. "To help you and the selkies."
"Maybe so." Hearing sounds of battle in the distance, he thought of Torr, Gavin, Kenneth, and the others. "I need to be out there, helping the men!" He sat up but became so dizzy he almost blacked out again.
"Nay! You're going nowhere." She pressed him back gently. "Lie down."
He did, for he knew he would black out and bash his head. "Torr and Gavin could be hurt," he gritted out, teeth clenched, devastated that he wasn't well enough to help them.
"You're already hurt, and you've suffered enough blood loss," she grumbled. "You're lucky that bullet only grazed your scalp."
She was right, he knew. He would only be a liability out there.
He shook his head in disappointment, but this only caused his head to hurt worse. His thoughts were foggy, but one thing was obvious—he trusted her in this moment. She had saved his life by dragging him away from the fighting while he was knocked out.
But would he survive? Had he lost too much blood?
If he didn't make it out of here alive, he needed to get some things off his chest. He didn't want to die as a cursed selkie but as a man. 'Twas time he threw off the witch's control.
"Elsea, I need to tell you something."
"Aye?" Anxiety haunted her eyes.
"No matter what happens, I want you to know... I trust you."
"You do?" Tears glistened in her wide eyes in the torchlight.
"Aye, I trust you now for the first time in a long time. And... the truth is... I never stopped loving you."
"Oh, Brodie," she breathed and leaned over him, pressing her lips to his gently. "I've loved you since the moment I met you." Lying beside him, she wept against the side of his chest. "I trust you, and I thank God for you, Brodie."