Shouts and movement to the side caught her attention, and she turned her head to see riders in the familiar tartan of her clan pounding toward them. Even in the dim light and the distance,she recognized her brother and her father in the lead. Heart filling with relief, she started toward them.
Some motion toward her startled her, and she whipped around to see the recognizable form of Blake’s former friend Preston racing toward her. She gasped and broke into a run, aiming for the closer safety of her clan, rather than risking an attempt to run back into the swirling melee between her and the sturdy bulk of Sinclair Castle’s walls.
She didn’t make it. Before she was even halfway there, Preston’s arm closed around her. Reyna let out a wild cry and grabbed for her blade.
“Calm down.” The hoarse command made her stop for a moment, long enough for Preston to whisper in her ear. “Struggle if ye like, lass, but listen. I’m trying tae find Blake. He’s in danger from both Laird Murray and his right-hand-man Luke. Both want him dead, and I dinnae want tae see them succeed. He’s me friend, and tae be honest, he’s the better man. But it’s hard tae get tae him in all this chaos, and I ken he’s avoiding me tae avoid fighting me. So let me get ye on me horse, help me get tae his side.”
“Ye’d betray yer clan?”
Preston snorted. “I’d betray a man who’s nae worthy o’ leading me clan. That’s all.”
She recalled how Preston had helped them escape and found the strength to nod. She let the man pull her to a waiting horse and toss her into the saddle.
It took a moment, but when she spotted Blake, her heart leaped into her throat. He was fighting with a small band of Sinclair soldiers nearby, but he had been somewhat isolated. Worse... a familiar, weaselly man was coming in from his side, at an angle she wasn’t sure he’d noticed. “There!”
Preston flung himself into the saddle and kicked his horse in the direction she’d indicated.
They weren’t going to make it in time. She could see Luke raising his sword for a killing stroke. Without a moment to waste, Reyna took the deepest breath she could and screamed loud enough to make it feel as if her throat was torn with the force of it. “BLAKE! Watch on yer left!”
His head whipped up, eyes meeting hers for a moment with shocked anger before he whirled in the direction she’d screamed from.
He was just in time to catch Luke’s blade with his own. Even from where she was, she saw the sneer curl his lip. The two men disengaged for a moment, before Luke launched himself forward with a banshee screech of fury.
Blake parried the blade with an almost careless ease, knocked aside the knife that Luke tried to stab him with offhand, then spun and snapped his blade sideways in one smooth movement.
Luke fell with a gurgling sound, his neck severed, just as Reyna and Preston rode up.
Blake looked at Reyna with fury in his eyes. “What are ye doing out here? Get back tae the castle where it’s safe!”
Reyna snapped back. “Dinnae scold me! I was helping yer wounded, and ye should be thanking me fer ensuring ye’ll have fewer dead at the end! And in any case, if it werenae fer me, he’d have stabbed ye in the back!”
“I’ve armor on fer that. And this is nae time tae argue the matter.” Blake kicked aside a foot soldier who tried to unhorse him and glared at Preston. “If ye’re on me side, then keep her safe and take her back tae the castle, or tae her kinsman…” He pointed at where the riders of the Gregor clan had joined the fighting. “...if ye’re nae, ye’ve two seconds tae let her go or wish ye had. I dinnae care if ye were me friend afore, I’ll nae let ye hurt her now.”
“I’m nae an idiot lad.” Preston started to say more when a shout made all of them turn.
“Blake Sinclair! Come here and fight like a man, ye coward!” A roar came from the back lines. Reyna looked around.
In the brief time it had taken for Blake to deal with Luke, the tide had shifted in favor of Clan Sinclair. Backed by the might of Clan Gregor, they had turned the battle into a rout for Clan Murray.
She would have expected Oran Murray to retreat, but the enemy laird’s face was twisted in a rictus of madness, of rage turned into a violent, twisted obsession. Reyna shivered as he drove forward, flanked by his guards. “Will ye face me, cowardly son o’ Sinclair Clan! Or will ye run, and show yer clan what sort o’ weakling ye are?”
He laughed, ugliness infusing his voice with cold disdain. “Mayhap, if ye bow, I’ll let ye live long enough tae see me clan annihilate yers, while I wed yer woman by force and get me heir in her.”
“That will never happen.” Ewan Gregor and Finlay broke free of the fighting and rode up beside Blake. “Ye’ll never take me daughter as yer bride, by force or otherwise.”
Blake took a riderless horse from nearby, and Preston gently set Reyna to the ground safely behind them, where she was quickly surrounded by Laird Ewan Gregor’s guards. Then the four warriors faced Oran Murray.
Blake calmly flung the blood from his sword. “Ye’re the one who will be begging or fleeing. Though if it comes tae me preference... ye’ll be dying here!”
He kicked his horse forward. The guards surged to intercept him. Then Ewan, Finlay and Preston charged in beside him.
It took only seconds for the guards to be overwhelmed. Oran began to back away, horror filling his expression and washingaway the cruelty as he realized his predicament. He wasn’t facing one overwhelmed warrior.
Blake was strong, sitting straight-backed in the saddle, and he looked tireless, as if the Morrigan’s blessing lay upon him, giving him the energy and strength to match his well-known skill. Beside him, Preston looked grim, shoulder to shoulder in a way that made it clear who he was supporting, and that it wasn’t the man whose colors he’d worn all his life. And flanking them, Ewan Gregor and Reyna’s brother Finlay, fresh for battle and stone-faced. Finlay’s face still bore bruises and cuts from his mistreatment at Oran Murray’s hands, but it made him look more dangerous, not less.
Oran flung his hands up as terror filled his posture and expression. His voice was more like a bleating goat than a roar of confidence as he shrieked out words. “Nay! Wait! Wait! Truce! Truce!”
“Dinnae take it lad. He’ll only break it.” Ewan’s voice was soft and resolute. “He’ll only stab ye in the back the first chance he gets.”
