“My Cluaran,” he advised somberly, “I will take point; you stay by my side or to my back and if possible, keep your eyes lowered; I do not wish for you to see the deaths twofold.”
“Twofold?” Sir Brayden murmured, confused, before he darted his eyes between them, disbelief echoing in his question: “My lady, you still harbor the gift of fate-seer?”
“Aye,” she answered. “This storm will wound King Håkonsson’s fleet beyond redemption.” She turned her attention back toward Aonghus.
The chain swung in his clutched fist. “Before our ascent to the main deck, there is one matter in need of tending,” Aonghus declared, his nose flared as if smelling blood on the horizon.
Her eyes widened more. “MacCade, leave him; let his ship take him with Svørn and Torsten,” she pleaded.
He ran his finger over her delicate furrowed brow. “Nae, my lady, not this time. He dies at my hand.”Right now.
“The guards Sir James…”
“Will already see us from the passage even if Torsten or Svørn do not call us out in reveal,” he interrupted her softly while a cask rolled by after the floor pitched sideways. “Stay directly behind me, agreed?”
For a second, she held silent. Would she protest? Finally, a tiny nod was her reply. Leaning in, he stole a severe kiss. Sir Brayden gave anahem; it brought him back to the present. The promise their first night after handfasting, that he would protect her with everything he was then trench deeper into his soul for more, came to pass right now.She will walk away from this no matter what it takes.
A dagger was in Sir Brayden’s hand, along with an oar he retrieved off the planks in the other. The pair of Scottish knights stood as a shield wall before her, navigating the passageway, which was growing more treacherous by the moment from swinging debris being tossed side to side like dried leaves in a fall gust at the storm’s fury.Watch the rolling cask!He paused a step.
His lashes narrowed.Strange. Crimson was running over the floor planks. Had a wine cask broken? Blood. There was a bloody river which gushed across the rough wood, mixed with seawater. What was the source? The source caused a gasp from Keirah, who was peeking around his shoulder. Torsten’s throat had been slit while he was still tied onto the post, alongside the two slain guards on the ground outside the entrance to Kollungr’s empty cabin. The gaping door was swinging wildly as if announcing a demon had escaped.
Fuk.
Hairs on his neck prickled; his muscles coiled like a wolf as his eyes searched the shadowy corners encircling them. There were infinite places to hide outside the murky lantern’s light in this hold. Where? Where was the Northern falcon? Kollungr would never have left her behind in his disturbing quest.
“Hold steady,” Aonghus ordered Sir Brayden, who lowered his stance. The friend may give airs regarding mirth, but in battle he was trained to slay; it was the main purpose he belonged to King Alexander’s personal guard.
“Why does he not charge if he is present?” Sir Brayden murmured about the tactic.
“’Tis his way,” she whispered, haunted. “Fálki savors the hunt and torments his prey. I am certain he sees us this very moment.”
His eyes darted again about the hold while Keirah’s weight slumped against his spine slightly. Shite! A shadow-glance! Kollungr had to be near and about to attack, and she was exposed within her ‘glanced’ state.
She came back to the present when her fist gripped his tunic’s hem under his chainmail. “Hear me, Lord KarlsonKollungr!” Her scream vented the air. “I am nae longer afraid of you! HEAR ME! I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!”
Keirah’s voice turned a whisper on a breath for the knights’ ears alone. “At the far wall with Svørn, Kollungr is set to attack from behind; they are armed with the swords taken from the guards and he has crewmen flanking him.”
“How many total?” Sir Brayden questioned.
“Four,” she answered, his friend gave a hissing breath at the dire odds.
“We must lead them onto the main deck,” Aonghus instructed. “We do not hold a chance in hand-to-hand battle tight as we are. The waves will aid and distract. Be ready to bolt for the stairs before us.”
As soon as the words left his lips, a deafening battlewailechoed from the falcon and his warriors when they emerged out of the shadows with glinting steel in their grips.
Sir Brayden cleared the way, throwing open the passageway door onto the main deck.Don’t risk Keirah tripping on her gown’s hem.Aonghus wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her before him. Her feet clear off the ground, he flew up the stairs three at a time with a massive lunge to outrun the trap. Slamming the passageway doors shut, Sir Brayden pressed the oar through the handles, locking the horde inside.
As they turned, the chaos which greeted them called to mind that if hell were made from water,thiswould be the sight. Where was everyone? It was a ghost ship.Snap, snap!The single square sail viciously billowed back and forth, sounding like the devil snapping his fingers. The handful of crewmen left were battling the anchor’s line near the bow.
Get her secure first.Where?! Charging for the ship’s core, he set her feet near the mast to yell over the roaring surf, “Cluaran, hold onto the mast!” He snatched a rope dangling to spin it over her wrists, tying her onto the mast. Before he snagged the rope’s final knot, she leaned heavily against the once mighty tree. Another shadow-glance?
Aonghus brushed his fingers gently over Keirah’s soaked brow.You will be safe here, Cluaran. Her eyes were still closed while his ears caught movement approaching behind her. That had to be the origins of the shadow-glance. The crewmen.
“Sir Brayden!” Aonghus motioned toward the crewmen having spotted them.
Sir Brayden warned, facing the opposite way toward the passageway they had escaped from, “Aonghus, ’tis not only the enemy charging!”
Aonghus glanced over his shoulder. Oh shite! The oar holding the doors had snapped! “Take the anchor crewmen,” Aonghus declared. “I claim Kollungr directly!” Sir Brayden nodded before sailing across the deck with the dagger while he also grabbed a broken board washing over the planks.
