She glanced at the fight happening behind her, spotting Finlay and Caden parrying with a few of the enemy guards. She scanned the faces of the other men, but she did not see where Harrison had gone. Shaking her head, she turned back to the task at hand.
“We need to stop the bleeding. Quickly,” she said.
“Ye’ll need hedge woundwort,” Olivia advised, coming forward with more cloth and a leather flask. She sat beside Thalia, pressing the mouth of the flask to Archibald’s lips. “This will help with the pain.”
He drank the liquid, coughing as he swallowed it.
“This is brandy,” he complained.
“Aye,” Olivia said. “It’s to dull yer senses before I do this.”
Without waiting for him to ask what she meant, she removed the blood-soaked fabric that Thalia had pressed against the wound and poured the remainder of the brandy across the cut.
Archibald gasped, grunting in pain as she quickly covered the wound again with the cloth she had brought.
“I’ve seen a lot of battle wounds in me time,” she told Thalia. “He should be fine, but we’ll need woundwort. Fetch it for me, will ye? It’s in the kitchens.”
“Aye, Ma.” Thalia stared at her mother, feeling prouder than ever at that moment.
Olivia looked up, meeting her eyes. “What are ye gawkin’ at? Get a move on!”
Thalia chuckled, getting to her feet and making a run back to the castle.
The fighting continued, and she saw Finlay again, with two presumably dead guards by his feet. Worry spiked in her heart, but she knew she needed to focus on her uncle first. She kept her distance from the slashing swords, moving around the edges as she made her way back into the castle.
The halls were mercifully empty, either because everyone had made a run for it or because they were all too busy fighting outside. Either way, it helped her to move faster. She followed the route she remembered from childhood back to the kitchens.
She yanked open the cabinet doors and rummaged for her mother’s herbs. Inside lay three shelves, laden with plants and flowers placed inside glass jars. Thalia scanned the jars, grabbing one that contained wide dried leaves. She opened the lid and sniffed its contents. The stench made her gag. It was reminiscent of mouse urine, and she knew she had found the right one.
“There ye are.”
Thalia whirled, nearly dropping the jar in her shock.
Harrison stood in the doorway, blocking it. He had a gash across his forehead, coating the right half of his face in blood. His tartan was torn, hanging limply across his shoulders, and his sword was either gone or lost since he did not have it. His chapped lips pulled back into a snarl as he stepped towards her.
Thalia held the jar closer to her chest, moving away from him as he walked forward. He blocked the only exit, and there was nowhere else to go as she backed into the counter. He grinned, knowing that he had her trapped.
“Did ye think ye could get away so easily? After all the effort I made to get here?” His voice was low, dangerously so.
“Help!” Thalia shrieked in vain. “Someone help me!”
Harrison laughed. “Nay one is comin’ for ye, lass. I have waited years for this, and finally I will make ye mine.”
Thalia shook her head, voice cracking as she tried again, “Please! Someone help! Please?—”
Harrison curled his large hand around her throat, cutting off her scream. She dropped the jar, the glass shattering on the wooden floor. She choked, scratching at his hand as his fingers tightened around her windpipe.
“Let her go!”
He turned, taking Thalia with him as his hand remained around her throat. Finlay stood in the doorway, panting heavily as he looked between the two of them. Thalia was glad to see him looking mostly unscathed. He appeared to have a few cuts across his arms, but otherwise, he was unharmed.
He raised his sword, angling it towards Harrison as he took a cautious step forward. “Ye will let her go,” he hissed.
“Nay, I daenae think I will.”
With his free hand, Harrison reached behind his back and pulled a dagger. He adjusted his grip on Thalia, pulling her to him so that her back was pressed against his chest, and replaced his hand with the blade.
Finlay’s nostrils flared. “Ye would kill her after everythin’ ye’ve done to have her?”
