Michael’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He looked around, growling as he punched a man in the jaw to keep him away. But just as the blood and the sweat dripped down his skin, just as his eyes widened as more men rushed in, just as he thought all hope was lost, Daemon’s familiar voice cut through the chaos, and Michael turned to see him rush in with reinforcements.
Our men! He’s brought our men!
The forest behind them erupted with motion—Daemon charging at the head of a column of their men, faces set with grim determination. Torches swung wildly as they poured into the clearing, the ground trembling under their arrival.
Daemon shouted over the noise, “MacDonalds! With me!”
Their men hit the Campbell line like a hammer. They fought, their swords catching the enemy again and again, soldiers from both sides cut down within moments. Behind him, Isabeau had fallen quiet, disturbingly so.
“Look at me,” he told her, and after a moment of hesitation, she did. “Dinnae look at the bodies. Look at me.”
Around them, after Daemon’s arrival, the tide shifted instantly—Campbells stumbling back, losing formation, shouts turning to confusion. But when a Campbell soldier charged at him, forcinghim to engage in another fight, his hand slipped from Isabeau as he tried to parry the man’s blow.
Half his mind was on her and half on the fight, but that was no way for him to win. The man got close—too close, his blade cutting through Michael’s arm. With a grunt, Michael ran towards the man, slamming right into him and knocking him out of balance, before he brought his sword down, cutting him through the shoulder.
It was all it took to end the fight, but it was long enough for him to lose Isabeau in the chaos. He scanned the clearing for her, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see through the men and the smoke, only to see Cody slipping along the outskirts of the fighting, circling like a wolf, his gaze fixed on her, his intent unmistakable.
“Nay!”
Michael lunged toward her, but Cody was quick, bursting from the shadows with a snarl, reaching out to grab her. Though he was not as large as Michael, he was swift and strong, and he couldn’t help but think Cody would reach Isabeau before he had the chance.
Michael crashed into him, blocking the path, forcing Cody back a step—just long enough. The other man grunted at the impact, furious, stumbling to steady himself.
“Daemon!” he shouted over the shouts of the men, searching for his brother.
Daemon turned sharply, his eyes widening as he took in the situation. He rushed toward them, and within moments, he was there, grabbing Isabeau by the arm.
“Take her!” Michael barked, shoving Isabeau toward him.
“Got her!”
Isabeau struggled, reaching for Michael even as Daemon pulled her away. “Michael!”
“Go!” he yelled, voice breaking with urgency. “Now!”
Daemon obeyed, dragging her back into the deeper shadows, racing toward where Alyson waited with the two remaining guards. Michael watched Isabeau disappear into the dark, safe for now, before turning back to face Cody, Laird Campbell, and the chaos still swarming the clearing.
His lungs burned and his body throbbed; but he was not done, not while any threat still stood between him and those he loved. He barely had time to catch his breath before another motion in the corner of his vision set every nerve on edge.
Cody.
He had not fled. He had followed—slipping between shadows, weaving behind the fighting men, angling not toward Isabeau anymore but toward?—
“Alyson!”
Michael’s blood turned to ice.
Cody slowed, his gaze fixed on her with a strange, determined hunger, as though he had suddenly realized a new way to wound them. Alyson, already shaken, backed away instinctively, her face draining of color.
Daemon saw it the same instant Michael did.
“Nae her,” Daemon growled, stepping in front of their sister.
“Never her,” Michael snarled, moving to flank him.
Cody hesitated when the two brothers closed ranks around Alyson, the determination on his face flickering with uncertainty. He was neither a fighter nor a fool. The former was obvious by his dress—the shining armor he bore that had never seen battle, unscratched and unblemished. And now, two MacDonalds at full fury stood between him and whatever madness had driven him toward Alyson.
He took one step back, then another. Herman appeared at his side, grabbing his sleeve with a force that surprised even Michael.
