Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Yes,” he said fiercely, fighting to keep his footing in the surging launch. “It’s me. I’m here.”
She sagged, reaching out to grip the rail. The power unraveled, collapsing with a rush of displaced air that left the sea strangely calm. Elise stared down at him as though waking from a nightmare, her face pale, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Jamie?” she said again. Then her hands flew to her mouth in horror. “Oh my God! What have I done?”
*
Elise’s hands were shaking. She tore her gaze away from Jamie’s, still trying to figure out why he was standing in a tiny rowing boat below her.
The sea around the flagship had calmed a little, the sudden stillness ringing in her ears after the chaos she’d unleashed. Flotsam drifted in the water from damaged sails and snapped rigging, and through it all she could see the ships reeling from what she had done.
If Jamie hadn’t stopped her…
Her stomach lurched. She doubled over, suddenly nauseous. She stared at her hands as though they belonged to someone else, half expecting them to be stained with blood.
Phillip grabbed her arm. “What are ye doing?” he snapped, spittle flying from his lips. “Finish it. Destroy them!”
Elise wrenched her arm free. “Get your hands off me! I’m not doing anything you say!”
His gaze flicked past her—to the confusion rippling through the Isles ships in the wake of her attacks and something calculating flared in his eyes.
“Then we’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way, willnae we? Archers! Fire!”
His warriors sprang to obey. On every ship of the king’s fleet, men armed with bows hurried to the rail.
They dipped arrowheads coated with pitch into braziers brought for this purpose and the arrowheads burst into flame.
Bows were raised and aimed squarely at the ships facing them—ships that belonged not to Ulster at all, but to Skye and Barra.
“No!” Elise screamed.
But too late. The twang of bowstrings sounded all along the deck and a deadly arc of fire flew across the waves, speeding towards the helpless ships.
Instinct surged—not wild this time, not euphoric, but focused. Controlled. Elise reached with her magic, not outward, but around.
Power rushed out of her faster than conscious thought, shaped by a single, burning demand: protect them.
And her magic obeyed.
The defensive shields she’d been unable to master on Barra erupted into being without effort—vast, translucent domes of shimmering energy that wrapped around every ship of the Isles.
The fire arrows struck the shields in a rain of sparks and flame—and fell harmlessly into the sea.
Phillip whirled on her, face twisted with fury. “Ye traitorous witch!”
Pain exploded across Elise’s face as Phillip’s fist crashed into her cheek, sending her sprawling across the deck. She hit hard, the breath punched from her lungs, the world spinning.
Before she could scramble away, Phillip was on her. His hand closed around her throat, fingers digging into her skin. Elise clawed at his wrist, panic roaring as her vision began to darken.
“Ye think ye can defy me?” he raged. “I will have yer power!”
She tried to summon her magic but nothing happened. Of course. Her magic would answer to save someone else’s life. But not her own.
Phillip’s lips began to move, words spilling from him in a harsh, rhythmic chant. In response, Elise felt a wrenching sensation, like something being torn loose inside her chest.
Her magic.
It was being dragged from her, thread by thread, ripped away by the dark spells Phillip had learned at his master’s behest. Lethargy flooded her limbs, leaving her dizzy and helpless.
She tried to fight, tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
But her limbs would not respond and her sight began to darken against the edges.
I’m going to die, she thought. He’s going to kill me.
But even as she finished the thought, the pressure around her throat eased and the awful tearing sensation disappeared.
Air rushed back into her lungs as Phillip went tumbling away from her, staggering across the deck. Elise rolled onto her side, coughing violently and looked up through blurred vision.
Jamie stood over her. His eyes blazed with fury and his big hands were wrapped around his claymore in a two-handed grip.
“Get away from her,” he growled.
Phillip laughed, scrambling to regain his balance. “Ah! Jamie! So glad ye could join us. Ye are a little late but at least ye are here for the finale, eh?”
He muttered some arcane words, wove a symbol with one hand, and hurled a spell, a jagged, vicious spear of energy.
“Jamie!” Elise screamed in warning.
Jamie ducked, rolled, and the sizzling energy smashed into the ship’s rail, making it smolder and hiss. Jamie’s roll brought him within reach of Phillip and with a hate-filled cry, he swung his sword at his old advisor with enough strength to cleave him in half.
But Phillip threw up a hand and Jamie’s blade crashed against an unseen barrier—and stuck there. With a snarl, Jamie released his sword—leaving it hanging in the air where the spell had trapped it—and drew a dagger from his boot instead.
But now the king’s warriors were recovering from their initial shock at Jamie’s appearance aboard their flagship. Sir Ewan Bruce began bellowing orders and warriors advanced on Jamie, swords drawn.
Then suddenly two figures came running along the deck, skidding to a halt between Jamie and the oncoming warriors.
Martin and Bryn. Both had gotten swords from somewhere and they gripped them fiercely, dropping into fighting crouches as they faced down the heavily armed king’s men.
Both lads looked terrified, eyes wide, skin pale, but they looked determined too.
“Get back!” Martin shouted, swinging his sword to keep them at bay.
“Ye’ll not take our chief!” Bryn cried, his bravado belied by the quaver in his voice.
For a second, the line of king’s men faltered. But only for a second. Realizing there were only two lads opposing them, they grinned and began advancing once more.
“Give it up,” one of the men growled. “And we’ll let ye live. King’s honor.”
The stable hands were outnumbered and outmatched, but they didn’t back down. They stood their ground as their death inched towards them across the smooth deck.
No, Elise thought. No.
Then louder. “No,” she whispered. “No.” Then louder still. Summoning every reserve of strength she had left, she shouted one deafening cry.
“No!”
She thumped her fist into the planks and a shockwave went racing across the deck, slamming into Sir Ewan Bruce and the king’s men. They were picked up like sticks and tossed across the deck where they landed hard, knocked unconscious.
Martin and Bryn looked around, stunned. Then they ran to Elise, skidding onto their knees at her side.
“Are ye all right?” Martin demanded. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head, struggling to speak. “J…J…Jamie…”
He and Phillip were still battling amidships, Jamie driving Phillip across the deck with a series of lightning lunges. But Phillip was already beginning to utter another spell.
She had to help Jamie. She tried to rise but her limbs were as shaky as a newborn colt’s and even with Martin and Bryn’s aid, she was only able to rise to her knees.
Heart pounding, she watched as Phillip and Jamie fought.
Phillip spat words that sizzled in the air and raised his hand, a cold blue glow enveloping his fist. But Jamie head-butted him hard enough to send him staggering backwards before he could finish the spell, slamming into the rail, a line of bloody drool hanging from his lips.
Jamie followed him, his face a mask of rage and pain. “I trusted ye!” he bellowed. “I thought ye were my friend!”
“I am yer friend!” Phillip countered. “Everything I’ve done I’ve done for ye and the Isles!”
“This is what ye call friendship?” Jamie replied incredulously. “Betraying every man, woman, and child of the Isles?”
“Ye dinna understand,” Phillip said, leaning heavily against the railing and wiping bloody drool from his chin.
“Ye havenae seen what I’ve seen. Ye have no idea the perils that lie out there, waiting to devour us.
” His expression softened, sorrow shining in his eyes.
“If ye believe nothing else, at least believe that what I did I did out of love for my homeland.” He raised his eyes, met Jamie’s gaze. “And for love of ye, my boy.”
Jamie faltered. His shoulders dropped and Elise knew that he wasn’t seeing Phillip MacClelland, betrayer of the Isles anymore, but Phillip MacClelland, his old friend and mentor, a man he’d known his entire life. Jamie’s arm dropped to his side, his grip on his dagger going slack.
And in that instant, Phillip struck.
His arm whipped around and a razor-sharp dagger of energy flashed out—straight at Jamie’s heart.
The world seemed to stop. Blood roared in Elise’s ears. And with a cry, she flung everything she had left towards the man she loved.
For a second, her vision went black and she thought she might pass out, but when it cleared, she saw a shimmering shield hanging in the air between Jamie and Phillip—with Phillip’s dagger stuck through it.
For the length of a heartbeat Jamie stared at the barrier, the dagger, Phillip. Then, with a cry of rage, he ducked around the shield, grabbed Phillip MacClelland by the shirt and heaved him onto the rail.
“Jamie, wait!” Phillip cried. “I can explain—”
Jamie didn’t let him finish. With a howl full of fury and hurt he threw Phillip over the side of the ship. For a fraction of a second, Phillip seemed to hang suspended in the air, his eyes going wide as he realized his fate.
Then he plummeted downwards and was gone.
Jamie leaned over the rail, staring at the spot where Phillip had disappeared, shoulders heaving, hair whipping around his head.
Then he ran a shaky hand across his forehead and turned, crossing the deck to Elise in three long strides.
He fell to his knees in front of her, nudging Martin and Bryn aside.