Tor might have erred in this pairing, underestimating Boyd’s hatred of the English. The feuding clansmen—Boyd and Lamont—might have been a better choice. Discord was not difficult to find in this group.
Another wave dragged him under. Enough. Time to head back. He gave the order and sensed the relief, but the men were too drained and cold to cheer.
He was proud of them. He usually saved this test for later in training, but the storm had proved too tempting.
This time the waves and current were with them, and they swam in to shore with considerably more ease than when they’d swum out.
By time the men dragged themselves out of the water, Tor was ready to collapse naked on the rocky shore. Bending over to catch his breath, he noticed that a handful of the men were doing just that.
“Good work,” he said when he had caught his breath, giving his rare praise.
The wind and sleet had let up just enough for him to be able to make out the forms in the dark. The hairs on the back of his neck rose on end—and not from the cold. Thenineforms. He’d done the tally without thought—it was something he did instinctively. He needed to know that all of his men were accounted for.
He swore. His gaze shot to Boyd. “Where is Seton?”
Boyd startled, looking around. “He was right behind me—”
Tor didn’t wait another instant. He jumped back in the water, rage giving him a fresh burst of strength.
He was going to kill Boyd with his own hands, strongest man or not. Tor hated losing a man for any reason. But not looking out for your partner was inexcusable. He had no intention of explaining to Bruce how he’d managed to allow his young brother-in-law to drown.
MacSorley swam up beside him. “Do you see him?”
“Nay,” Tor replied. It was as dark as the bowels of Hades out here. He turned around and saw the rest of the men behind them. “Fan out. Keep your eyes straight ahead and wait for the waves to—”
“There!” MacRuairi pointed about twenty feet ahead of him. His ability to see in the dark was uncanny. Tor could just make out the flash of light breaking above the surface. Luckily for Seton, he had fair hair.
Tor just hoped to hell they were in time.
MacSorley reached him first. His speed in the water had not been exaggerated; Tor had never seen anyone swim so fast.
With Tor’s help, MacSorley dragged Seton back to shore and pulled his limp body up the rocky beach.
They bent over the younger man’s body. “He’s not breathing,” MacSorley said.
Tor swore. Without hesitation, he flipped the lad over and slammed the heel of his hand on his back. Nothing happened. He swore again and repeated the thump, harder this time.
It worked. Water spewed from his lungs. Seton made a choking sound as his body convulsed in a fit of watery coughs and spasms.
Tor felt the tension ease from his back and shoulders.
After a few minutes, Seton’s body had purged itself of the seawater, and he tried to sit up. But MacSorley held him down. “I think you’d better lie flat. You’ve had a wee bit too much to drink tonight.”
Seton managed a smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace. “Did I finish the challenge?” he asked, looking at Tor.
Tor nodded. “Aye, lad, you finished.” His anger returned full force. Boyd hadn’t said a word, standing aside as the other men had attempted to revive his partner. From his grim expression Tor knew he realized his mistake, but it was too bloody late.
He wrapped a hand around Boyd’s thick neck, ice-cold fury running through him. “What is the one rule I gave you?”
Boyd met his gaze unflinchingly. “Stay with your partner.”
Tor squeezed, bringing the other man closer to him. Face to face, he bit out each word. “These men are counting on you to stand by them, to do your part, to be part of this team, and you just let every one of us down. If you have to carry a man through the pits of hell you’ll do it because they’ll do it for you. Do you understand?”
Shame washed over the steely warrior. He nodded. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
Tor pushed him away. “Damn right it won’t.” Only because it was partly his fault as well did he not send Boyd packing right away. It wasn’t that Tor thought he’d pushed the men too far—pushing past the point of where you thought you could go was what it took to be an elite warrior. You either had what it took or you didn’t. Harsh, perhaps, but Tor’s duty was to the group, not one man. He knew exactly how far to push, which was one of the things that made him a good leader.
But darkness or not, ultimately these men were his responsibility. He should have known Seton was missing. “Do something like that again and you’re out. I don’t care how strong or extraordinary you are. This is a team. If you want to fight alone, go home.”
