Hagen looked at Brynja, and she must have seen the devastation in his eyes.
“I don’t know what to do.” The admission felt like failure, like betrayal.
His father’s eyes opened again, and for a moment the old Connor Grant was there—the teacher, the warrior, the man who’d trained Hagen since he could first hold a wooden sword.
“Push hard. Brenna’s teachings. Stop the bleeding.” Each word cost him, but his voice was clear.
Hagen set both hands on his father’s wound and pushed down with all his strength. In his heart, he knew this wasn’t going to work. The wound was too wide, too deep, he could feel the edges of torn flesh beneath the blood-soaked fabric. This was a killing blow, and they both knew it.
His father bellowed in pain when he pressed down, his back arching, his hand clawing at the ground.
“Da, I’m sorry, but you can’t die on me. I haven’t married yet. I want my bairns to have a grandda like I had, like you were to me. You taught me everything. You can’t leave now. You cannot die.” The words tumbled out, desperate, pleading.
“I was foolish, Hagen.” His father’s voice was growing weaker, thready. “I let my emotions control me. I should not have…”
His eyes drifted closed again.
“Da!” Hagen shook him gently, terrified that if he closed his eyes this time, they wouldn’t open again.
Brynja knelt beside them, her hands hovering uselessly over Connor’s body.
“What can I do to help? There must be something. Tell me what to do.”
Her voice was thick with anguish—this man was dying because of her vengeance, her need to return to Tiree.
“Alaric will be back soon,” Hagen said, forcing himself to think, to plan, even as his heart was breaking. “And we can get him in the boat. Mayhap they’ll bring the boat around to this bay, and we can put him in it quickly. Get him to Brenna faster.”
But even as he said it, he could see the truth. His father’s color was not good—ashen gray where it should be ruddy. His breathing had gone shallow and rapid, each breath a labored wheeze. Blood continued to seep between Hagen’s fingers despite the pressure, pooling dark beneath his father’s body.
Tears ran down Hagen’s cheeks, hot and unchecked.
“Nay, Da. You’re invincible. No one can hurt you. You’re the strongest warrior I’ve ever known—the strongest warrior who ever lived.”
A small voice startled him from behind, but he heard her loud and clear.
“Your father is dying, Hagen.”
Chapter Thirty
Dyna
Dyna strolled toward the hearth where the bairns played with their fabric puppies, her mother nearby. A sharp pain caught her in the belly, so strong her knees buckled. Then a headache struck unlike any other. “Da!” She crumpled to the floor.
Tora began to run in circles. “Gwandda. Gwandda. I need Gwandda. Where is Gwandda?” Her mother ran over to Tora and shouted to Derric above stairs, “Derric, help Dyna. Something’s wrong.”
The door burst open and Logan stepped inside. “What the hell is happening? You should see the cloud formations outside, something strange.” His gaze swept the hall. “What the hell? This cannot be good.”
Gwyneth, in a chair by the hearth, said, “Sit down and shut up, Logan. Somethingishappening, and you don’t need to make it worse.”
Sylvi sat on the floor and cried, “Grandda. Bad man stabbed Grandda. Someone save him. Help Grandda. Help him.” She lay back flat and cried and kicked her feet. “Grandda!”
Avelina entered from the kitchens. “Dyna, my head. Drew? Where are you? Find my potion.” She collapsed into a chair.
Maitland and Maeve entered with Grant tied to Maitland’s chest, now crying and kicking furiously. “Bwia, Wia, Bwia, Wia.”
Maeve reached for Grant. “Here, help your mother. I’ll take him, Maitland.” She held him on her hip so he could look out over the hall, shock covering her face as she stared at the chaos unfolding in front of her. “What is happening?”
“Wia, Wia, Bwia.” Wee Grant’s hands were both in tight fists. “Wia!”
