She turned toward the main doors, just in time to see them burst open. The force sent one of the hinges flying. Men stumbled back as the great panels swung inward, and through the flood of smoke and torchlight, a figure stepped into the hall.
Edwin.
His face was streaked with grime, his eyes wild, his mouth twisted into something that was half snarl, half smile. Behind him, two of his men cut down the guards who had tried to bar the way. The sound of steel against steel rang in her ears, sharp as lightning.
“Catherine!”
Her heart stopped.
He saw her instantly and started moving through the chaos as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Soldiers lunged to stop him, but he struck one across the face with the pommel of his sword and shoved another aside.
She froze where she stood, one hand still pressed to the wounded man’s shoulder.
“Stay back,” she managed, her voice unsteady but loud enough to carry. “Ye’ve nay right here!”
He laughed—a hoarse, broken sound. “Nay right? Ye were mine long before he stole ye away.”
The words made her blood run cold. “I was never yers.”
She tried to move, but he was already on her. His hand shot out, catching her arm in a grip so hard she cried out. He yanked her forward, spinning her toward the door.
“Let go!” she screamed, twisting against him. “Edwin, let me go!”
He didn’t. His fingers dug into her wrist until she felt the bone grind beneath the pressure. The hall blurred, all of it folding into noise.
She struggled, kicking, her free hand clawing at his arm, but he was stronger, fueled by madness. He dragged her past the overturned tables, through the chaos, toward the arch that led to the outer yard.
Someone shouted her name somewhere behind her, but Catherine could barely hear. The rush of blood in her ears was too loud. Her shoulder slammed against the doorframe as he pulled her through it. The cold air hit her like a slap.
“Edwin—please?—”
“Quiet!” he barked, jerking her forward again. “Ye’ll thank me once we’re gone from this cursed place.”
She twisted, managed to dig her heel into the ground, wrenching herself halfway free. Her hand flew to the dagger at her belt — a small one she had kept for protection. She didn’t think, only acted.
The blade flashed. Edwin cursed and knocked it aside. His other hand caught her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His breath was hot and foul. “Ye think ye can fight me? Ye’ve forgotten who ye are.”
“Nay,” she hissed. “I remember well enough.”
For an instant his grip loosened, just enough for her to slam her knee up, catching his thigh. He staggered, and she tore free, stumbling backward through the mud. Her lungs burned, the air thick with smoke.
She turned toward the courtyard, and through the haze she saw him.
Aidan.
He was a blur of movement—his sword cutting through the dark like lightning, his hair soaked, his face streaked with blood and fury. The sight of him broke something open inside her, something she’d been holding too tight.
He saw her. Even through the chaos, she knew he saw her.
Edwin followed her gaze and swore. “Of course he’s here.”
He lunged again, catching her by the waist this time, pulling her roughly against him. She fought, twisting, striking at his chest, her nails catching skin, but his hold was rigid.
Aidan was coming closer. She could see the way his sword rose and fell, the way men scattered before him. He looked like vengeance given form, and for the first time, she wasn’t afraid.
“Catherine!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the storm.
She met his eyes. In that moment, even as Edwin dragged her backward toward the horses, she felt the world tilt around them. He would reach her, she knew that.
