A cold shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the spray misting her face and dampening her cloak.
“Henry—”
“Sail ahoy!” The shout cracked down from the crow’s nest, sharp with alarm that made her pulse spike. “Approachin’ fast!”
Claricia’s head whipped toward the sound. There—emerging from behind a craggy outcrop like a predator from its den—came another vessel. Smaller than theirs. Faster. And flying no colors whatsoever from its mast.
Nay clan markers. Nay identification. Naethin’.
“That’s nae right.” Henry’s hand dropped to his sword hilt with the practiced ease of a man who’d drawn that blade in anger more times than he could count. “Every ship flies colors in these waters. Laws of the Pact demand it.”
The approaching vessel adjusted its course, turning toward them with the kind of predatory speed that made Claricia’s mouth go dry. More figures appeared on its deck—armed men gathering at the rails, their weapons catching what little light broke through the clouds.
“Me lady, we need tae get ye safe. Now.” All the warmth had drained from Henry’s voice, leaving only iron command. “Royal Guard! Defensive positions!”
“I’ll nae cower while?—”
“Now!” His grip closed around her arm, already pulling her toward the cabin entrance even as chaos erupted across the deck. The crew scrambled into formation, boots thundering onwood, steel singing as swords cleared their scabbards, shields rising in a defensive wall.
But the attacking ship was already too close, cutting through the water like a knife through butter.
Grappling hooks flew through the air with vicious accuracy, iron claws biting deep into the galley’s rail with sounds like breaking bones. The ships collided with a grinding, splintering crash that sent Claricia stumbling hard into Henry’s chest, his armor cold even through her cloak.
Then they came.
Armored men vaulted over the rails like demons from a nightmare, their faces hidden behind dark scarves, their blades already wet and singing. The first guard to meet them went down before he could even raise his shield, his throat opened in a spray of hot crimson that painted the deck and splattered warm across Claricia’s cheek.
She tasted copper. Smelled iron and salt and fear.
“Keep her alive!” someone roared over the clash of steel and screaming.
Her mind reeled even as Henry shoved her behind him.
Alive?Why would raiders want me alive?
CHAPTER TWO
Three attackers rushed them in a coordinated strike. Henry met them with the kind of brutal efficiency that came from thirty years of violence. Steel met steel with sounds like thunder breaking, sparks flying as blades scraped and shrieked. Blood sprayed. A man’s scream cut short as Henry’s sword found the gap between helmet and gorge, severing a vital artery.
The man dropped like a sack of grain.
Claricia’s heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought they might crack. She pressed her back flat against the mast, eyes darting desperately for anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a belaying pin—solid oak, heavy as a small club—just as one of the masked attackers broke through Henry’s defense and lunged straight for her.
She swung with everything she had.
The pin cracked across his jaw with a sound like splitting wood. Bone crunched. He staggered, spitting blood and what might have been a tooth, cursing in guttural Gaelic. She didn’t give him time to recover. The second swing caught him across the temple. His eyes rolled white and he dropped like a stone at her feet.
If I’m goin’ tae die on this wretched boat, I’m takin’ at least three of these bastards with me!
But even as the fierce thought burned through her, Claricia’s stomach dropped. There were too many. The royal guards fought with desperate, doomed courage—she could see it in their faces, in the way they pressed together, trying to form a defensive circle around her even as they fell. Bodies littered the deck, blood running between the boards in dark rivulets that made her boots slip.
Henry still fought like a demon, his sword a blur of deadly motion, but crimson soaked his side where a blade had found the gap in his mail. His movements were slowing. Weakening.
We’re all goin’ tae die here.
One of the attackers grabbed her arm with bruising force. “Got ye, ye wee?—”
Claricia drove her elbow into his throat with every ounce of strength and rage she possessed. Cartilage crunched. He released her, gagging, but another set of arms locked around her waist from behind, lifting her clear off her feet.
