He heard an eerie, unnatural sound, and a coldness passed over him. God, no. Don’t let her be dead! Ian slashed his blade across Angus’s throat and ran up the stairs.
When he reached the next floor, the open door from the stairs led into a large bedchamber. Through it, he saw a man leaning over the bed, a woman’s bare knee, and a bit of bright blue fabric hanging over the side of the bed. The blue was the same shade as the gown Sìleas was wearing when last he saw her.
White hot rage pounded through him. With a roar, he burst into the bedchamber swinging his claymore.
CHAPTER 39
Murdoc clamped his hand over Sìleas’s mouth as she fought to get out from under him. She could not hear the Green Lady’s weeping over his harsh breathing.
Even the castle’s ghost had deserted her.
“Your mother was a weak vessel,” Murdoc said. “Poking her was dull work. But a lively lass like you will surely give me a strong son.”
Murdoc suddenly released her as a murderous war cry rolled through the room like a thunderclap. Relief washed over her.
Ian had come for her.
Murdoc spun and drew his sword with lightning quickness. Although he blocked Ian’s thrust from reaching his heart, blood seeped down his arm, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. The clank of swords filled the room as the two men moved back and forth.
Sìleas hugged her knees to her chest as she watched and prayed.
Ian looked glorious, with his dark hair flying, and his blue eyes as piercing as a hawk dropping from the sky for a kill. The muscles of his body clenched and released as he swung the heavy two-handed sword in deadly, rhythmic arcs.
Behind the controlled violence, she felt Ian’s pulsing rage. Time and again, he attacked, his blade slicing through the air with lethal force. Another slash and blood ran from the top of Murdoc’s thigh, near his groin. Another, and his shoulder bled. Yet Murdoc fought his way back each time. He was a strong man and an experienced warrior, and he was fighting for his life. The men grunted with the effort of their swings.
Blood sprayed the bed as the fight moved closer. When Murdoc fell backward against the bed, she scrambled to get out of his way. But Murdoc’s arm shot out, and she shrieked as he caught her ankle in an iron grip.
“Arrgh!” Murdoc screamed as Ian’s sword went through his belly, pinning him to the bed. In quick successive moves, Ian grabbed Murdoc by the hair, drew his dirk across Murdoc’s throat, and pulled his sword from Murdoc’s gut with a great sucking sound.
Ian stepped over Murdoc’s body and lifted Sìleas off the bed into his arms. She held onto him with all her strength.
“Hush, hush. I’m here now.” He soothed her with soft murmurs as he rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “I’ll keep ye safe.”
“Ian! We must go.”
At the sound of a man’s deep voice, she turned and saw Father Brian in the doorway. Smoke was billowing out of the stairwell behind him.
“Hurry,” the priest shouted. “The castle is burning.”
Ian lifted her in his arms. As he carried her out, she looked over his shoulder at the bedchamber that had been the place of so much of her mother’s suffering. Smoke was filling the room so rapidly she could barely make out Murdoc’s body on the floor. The last thing she saw gliding through swells of gray was the flash of a pale green gown.
The smoke was so thick in the stairwell that she could not see Father Brian ahead of them, but she heard him coughing. Her eyes watered and her throat burned. When they reached the bottom, Niall and Payton were waiting for them just inside the hall.
The two were surrounded by the bodies of dead men.
As soon as Ian set her on her feet, the four of them ran along the wall toward the front door of the keep. The smoke was not as thick in the hall, because the fire was hot here. Everything that could burn—rushes, tables, overturned benches—was ablaze. As she watched, flames shot up from the high table and ignited the wooden ceiling.
She prayed that Dina had escaped, for there was no one else in the hall but the dead.
“I’ll go first. They may have men just outside, ready to cut us down as we come out,” Ian warned before he opened the door.
That was what he would have done, but when he stepped outside, it appeared that the MacKinnons had abandoned the castle altogether. The bailey yard was empty save for Dina, a goat, and a few squawking chickens.
“Ye should have seen Niall,” his father said, as he came down the steps of the keep one at a time. He was covered in blood and leaning on Niall for support, but he was grinning as if he’d never been happier. “We stood together, with him covering my weak side, and cut down every MacKinnon who dared come near the stairs.”
Ian tightened his arm around Sìleas. He couldn’t join in their good humor over their success. The vision of his wife held down on a bed with a man standing between her legs was still with him—and would likely haunt his dreams for a long, long time to come.
“Father Brian was a sight to behold,” Niall said, laughing. “He didn’t want to use a sword or dirk, so he went ’round hitting MacKinnons on the head with a silver candlestick holder.”