Keir gave a snort. “Touching. Anything else?”
She met his eye and gave a cool smile. “Nothing.”
Struan took a step forward, sword raised. Una heard her name called, a weak shout that barely made it above the roar of noise. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the dizzying drop justbehind her. If she were stabbed or struck now, she’d fall to her death.
Kai stood far below, gasping for breath, soaked in blood, his sword clutched loosely in his hand. Horror was written clearly on his face. He could see it all; Keir, holding his sword menacingly, and Struan slowly but surely advancing.
“Ye made one mistake, ye know,” Struan murmured, not specifying who he was speaking to. By the way Keir’s gaze rested on Una, she knew that he thought it washerStruan was speaking to.
“Ye see,” Struan continued, lifting his sword and catching Una’s eye, “I know that my father never loved me at all. He never did, not truly. My father does not love me, butshe does.”
Keir’s eyes widened, but it was too late. Struan’s sword whizzed through the air towards him. The older man lifted his sword, but it was a little too late. Struan’s blade struck his head neatly off his shoulders. Keir’s body jerked grotesquely, then crumbled, his head rolling away into the shadows. Una was glad she couldn’t see it.
Struan seized her hand and dragged her away from the edge. Una glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t spot Kai. Had he seen what had happened? Had he been struck down, killed? She prayed not.
“It’s not over,” Struan whispered urgently, snatching up Keir’s sword and pressing it into her palm. “The Dicksons are retreating, but the fight isn’t over yet.”
Una gave a sharp nod. She felt giddy, like she’d been spun round and round in circles without letup.
Did I think that Struan was going to kill me?
Her answer presented itself at once.
No. I never did.
Together, they turned grimly to face the column of Dickson soldiers, swords raised.
Una reached out, blindly searching for Struan’s hand. It was warm and slick with blood, but he squeezed back.
“I love ye,” Struan said bluntly, his gaze fixed on the enemies ahead of them. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”
She gave a snort. “Pretty words, but now isn’t the time.”
“Later, then?”
She caught his eye and grinned. “Later.”
It was daybreak,or just before, by the time the Dickson army finally collected itself enough to retreat, separating into two distinct groups and fleeing in opposite directions. The advancing army sent troops after them, although the Dicksons were moving fast, and it was considered likely that many of them would escape.
Una tried not to think about that. She and Struan trudged, hand in hand, through the bloodied courtyard. Already, the bodies were being hauled out to be buried or burnt, Grahame and Dickson alike.
What was the death count? Nobody had said yet, but Una hated to imagine it. She thought of all the nervous young men, Keep sentries who’d never expected to fight. She thought of the determined women of all ages, leaving children and aged parents safe in the Keep itself, picking up weapons that they'd never used to defend their home.
How many of them had fallen? How many had fallen before they knew that the Kenneth and Grahame armies were returning, coming to save them? Her heart ached to think about it. Glancing up at Struan, she saw that his expression was still and pensive.
I know that my father never loved me at all.That was what he had said, and she’d read the truth of it in his face. It was something that Kyla had accepted years ago—the reality that their father, the monstrous Laird Dickson, could never love anybody, not truly.
She suspected that Struan had clung to the hope that his father loved him for longer than he should.
My father does not love me, but she does.
Her heart warmed with every memory of that. Love was a funny thing, after all. It crept up when you weren't expecting it and left no room at all for hatred.
Freya stood at the doorway of the Keep, watching the carnage. Her face was ashen. Her eyes lit up when she saw Una, but her smile faded when she saw that Una was holding Struan’s hand.
Una found herself with the urge to whisk her hand away, like a child caught stealing sweets, but she pushed past it.
Let them see.
