Chapter Twenty-Four
Elise stood at the rail of the king’s flagship with the wind tearing at her hair and the salt spray stinging her face. There were ships everywhere now—dark hulls cutting through the steel-gray water, sails straining, oars biting.
Phillip was a constant presence at her shoulder, sharp and insistent, but his voice faded whenever she reached for her power.
When she wove her spells, everything retreated: the noise of battle, the boom of waves, the shouts and screams that carried over the water.
Everything became still. Everything became right.
She lifted her hands and her power answered instantly.
It surged from somewhere deep inside, a living thing fighting to get out but it finally, finally, obeyed her commands.
Threads of force spun outwards, bright and terrible, and slammed into the nearest attacking vessel.
The ship shuddered, its mast splintering as though struck by a giant’s fist. Sailors and warriors alike were thrown to the deck like dolls.
A laugh tore from her throat. It was half triumphant, half hysterical.
A sensation was stealing through her, a feeling she remembered all too well.
It was the same rush she’d felt that day she first unleashed her War Weaving, the day she’d defended Jamie’s ship as they’d gone to salvage the Sea Star.
She felt the same sense of euphoria flowing through her as she had then, as though she were merely a conduit for something vast and inevitable. Her heart raced, her skin prickled.
She felt invincible.
Another ship surged forward and she turned towards it, the weaving coming more easily now, smoother, stronger.
The sea bucked beneath her power, waves rising at her unspoken command. A wall of water reared up and crashed across the deck of a galley, sweeping people aside like sticks.
Elise’s breath came fast, her cheeks flushed despite the chill. A terrible joy burned in her chest, a fierce exhilaration that made her feel as though she was the center of the storm, the commander of the storm.
But somewhere, distantly, a warning bell rang in her mind.
This is wrong.
The thought flickered and she clung to it, just for a heartbeat. But then she again saw Bryn and Martin huddling terrified behind her and felt the cold certainty that if she stopped—if she faltered—they would die, along with countless others on the Isles when Ulster landed their force.
She had to save them. It was her purpose, the reason for her existence.
With a cry, she struck again, splintering an oar bank, tearing canvas from rigging. The power sang in her blood, drowning out doubt, drowning out fear. For a moment, she understood how men like Phillip were made—how easy it was to mistake this feeling for righteousness.
But then a flurry of movement among the attacking ships made her pause. Sailors were working at the halyards, sails flapping wildly as flags were hauled down. New banners rose in their place, catching the wind.
Her breath caught. Gone were the red hands of Ulster. In their place bloomed the familiar colors of the Isles. The black galley of Islay. The green of Barra. The blue and gold of Skye, sharp against the sky.
Her weaving stuttered, the threads trembling in her grasp as her focus wavered. What was going on?
“Again!” Phillip barked beside her. “Dinna slow now—finish it!”
The sight of his triumph sent a jolt right through her. His eyes were alight, his mouth curved in a savage grin as he watched the enemy ships founder under her assault. This was what he’d wanted all along.
“But they are flying colors of the Isles!”
“It’s a trick,” Phillip snapped. “They’re trying to confuse ye, to break yer concentration. Those ships are crowded with Ulster warriors! What do ye think will happen when they land on Islay?”
“I—” Elise swallowed hard, trying to clear her tangled thoughts.
“Listen to me,” Phillip growled. “They’re cutthroats, Elise. All of them. The people of the Isles will die if ye falter now! It is yer duty to defend them!”
Duty.
The word sliced through her like a blade. She was a MacFinnan War Weaver and it was her duty to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. Not just Bryn and Martin and others she cared about, but all who needed her, all the people of the Isles who would suffer if she failed in her duty now.
For a heartbeat, she teetered. Her gaze fixed on the ships, on the men crowding their decks.
She couldn’t make out faces at this distance and she was grateful for that.
Did these men have families waiting for them back home?
Were they really the blood-thirsty thugs Phillip made them out to be?
Or were they just people like any other, trying their best to live their lives with the hand they’d been dealt?
Her chest tightened painfully and the magic bucked, straining against her control.
“Do it,” Phillip hissed.
It is your duty.
Elise closed her eyes. She could feel the magic raging inside her, a roaring flood demanding release. The euphoria it promised was seductive and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist its lure.
She felt tears gathering behind her closed lids. Where are you, Jamie? she thought. I need you.
But Jamie wasn’t here and his absence left a hollow inside her that nothing could fill. Nothing but her magic.
She opened her eyes and released her power.
*
From the deck of his ship, the world seemed to tilt around Jamie as Elise lifted her hands.
His heart broke as he saw the sea respond, heaving and snarling beneath the force of her will.
Another blast tore free of her, slammed into Skye’s fleet with a thunderous collision that sent spray exploding skyward.
“No,” he breathed hoarsely. “Elise…no.”
Around him, his captains were shouting orders, warriors scrambling to adjust sails as the waves grew wild beneath them. But all Jamie could see was her—small but incandescent with power.
“Lord Donald!” Roger Beaufort shouted. “We can’t hold if she keeps this up!”
“I know,” Jamie whispered.
Something suddenly lashed out from Skye’s ships, a wave of force that slammed into the king’s flagship, pushing it back.
Rose and Jenna, Jamie realized, desperately trying to protect their people.
But it only seemed to make Elise more frantic. Her power surged higher, wilder, the sea responding with ever more violent fury.
Jamie’s jaw clenched until it ached. He couldn’t fight this power. But maybe…maybe he could reach her.
“Lower the launch,” he said abruptly.
His captain stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “My lord—no. Look at the sea! You will be swamped before you are halfway there.”
“I said lower the launch!”
There was no time to explain, and no words that could make his captain understand what Jamie knew in his bones: that he had to reach Elise.
“Do it,” he ordered. “That isnae a request.”
Reluctantly, Roger obeyed.
The launch hit the water with a bone-jarring thud and Jamie climbed down quickly, ignoring the shouted protests behind him. He thumped onto the seat, took the oars, and began rowing.
The moment he cleared the lee of his ship, the sea reared up to meet him.
The water was chaos—waves rising and collapsing without rhythm, whipped into a frenzy by Elise’s weaving and Rose and Jenna’s desperate attempts to counter her.
The small boat pitched violently, spray drenching him to the skin.
Jamie gritted his teeth and pulled on the oars with everything he had, muscles burning as he fought to keep the bow pointed towards the king’s flagship.
“Come on,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Come on…”
A wall of water surged up to his left, crashing down so close it nearly capsized him.
He hauled on the oars, barely correcting in time, heart hammering as the launch skidded sideways across the waves.
Above him, another blast of magic flared and he saw Elise throw her head back and scream at the heavens.
Hold on, Elise, he thought. Please hold on.
The launch slammed against the flagship’s hull with a sickening crack, almost sending him to the deeps.
But the little boat stayed afloat and using an oar as a staff to support him, he clambered to his feet and braced his feet wide in the bucking, heaving boat.
He looked up at the ship looming above him.
“Elise!”
His voice was ripped away by wind, swallowed whole. He sucked in a breath and tried again, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Elise! Look at me!”
She didn’t seem to hear him. She stood at the rail above, hair whipping wildly, eyes alight with terrible brilliance. Phillip hovered near her, his hand on her arm, muttering poison into her ear.
“Listen to me!” Jamie bellowed. “Do ye remember when ye first came to Islay? The first night ye rode out with me? Ye said the stars there felt close enough to touch!”
Her shoulders slumped, just a fraction.
“Do ye remember the kitchens at Dun Arach? Tabitha scolding us for taking muffins before they were cooled?”
Another heartbeat of hesitation.
“Elise, I love ye!” he shouted, his voice breaking now. “I loved ye before any of this—before contracts and kings and war. I love the woman who argues with me, who challenges me, who stands between danger and the people she cares about even when she’s terrified!”
Her power wavered. The sea shuddered, then stilled slightly.
“I know ye are afraid,” Jamie went on, tears stinging his eyes, salt and emotion blurring his vision. “I know they’re forcing ye to do this. But ye are not alone. Ye have never been alone—not since the moment ye rode into my life and turned it upside down. Elise, look at me!”
Slowly—achingly slowly—she turned.
For a terrifying instant, her gaze slid past him, unfocused, still caught in the blaze of her power. Then something shifted. The light in her eyes dimmed, confusion breaking through the maelstrom.
“Jamie…?” she whispered.
The word was barely audible, but it struck him like a blow.