Chapter 17

I zzy stood by the arrow-slit window and stared out at the scene below. She couldn’t see much, but from the flurry of activity—the saddling of horses and the readying of some kind of carriage—she knew something was going on. Dawn was breaking on the horizon and the eastern sky was beginning to turn yellow and pink, promising a sunlit day ahead.

Where was Magnus? Was he all right? What were they doing to him?

She drew a shaky breath and tried to still the wild thumping of her heart. Everything had gone wrong. What had been the best night of her life had turned into a nightmare. Magnus had been torn from her. And Snaffles...

She swallowed thickly, fighting back tears. Oh, Snaffles. The last image she had of him slumping to the floor in the boarding house was enough to tie her stomach into knots. Please let Snaffles be all right , she prayed to any deity that might be listening. Please let Magnus be all right.

If she lost either of them she didn’t know what she’d do.

She scrubbed at her face and looked around. Mrs Dunbar and the guards had brought her to this room, provided her with hot water for washing and a bowl of warm porridge for breakfast, and then left, telling her to speak to the guard outside her room if she needed anything—a guard placed there for her own safety.

As if! she thought. A guard placed there to keep me prisoner .

There was a knock on the door. Izzy hesitated, not sure if she should answer it. But it came again, hard and insistent, and so she crossed to the door and opened it a crack. Her guard stood on the other side. He couldn’t be more than sixteen and still had that gangly look of youth about him, but he carried a sword across his back all the same. He gave Izzy a respectful nod.

“Lord McRae requests yer presence, my lady. We are ready to move out.”

“Move out? Move out where?”

“Lord McRae says to tell ye that he is going to escort ye to Dun Saith today.”

Izzy stared. Dun Saith? McRae was going to take her to Dun Saith? To the very place she’d been trying to get to ever since she’d arrived in this time?

“I...um...what?” Izzy stammered.

The lad cleared his throat. “Lord McRae says to tell ye—”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Right. Well then, if ye are ready, his lordship and his retinue are ready to depart.”

For an instant, Izzy considered slamming the door in the lad’s face and locking it. But if McRae really was taking her to Dun Saith...

“Alright,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. “I’ll come.”

The courtyard was a flurry of activity as she stepped outside. Men were readying horses, adjusting girths and checking stirrups on saddles laden with travel gear. A large cart sat waiting off to the side, two sturdy horses hitched up front. The cart was open-topped with large wheels—not quite a farm cart and not quite a carriage—but something in between.

Servants rushed about, fetching spare boots and blankets, stuffing food into leather saddlebags. Izzy ignored all of it, looking around frantically for Magnus. She couldn’t see him.

“Where’s Magnus?” she demanded of her guard.

Before the lad could answer, the doors to the keep swung open and Lord McRae came hobbling out, leaning heavily on a cane. He made his way over to Izzy.

“Ah! Ready to get going? Ye will ride in the carriage with me. Much more comfortable for a lady.”

Izzy crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere without Magnus.”

McRae sighed heavily but signaled to one of his men. A few moments later, Magnus was led out from one of the side entrances. His hands were bound by coarse rope and two of McRae’s men flanked him, swords at their sides. He was led over to a large carthorse, so tall that its back was level with Magnus’s chest.

Izzy took a step towards him, but her guard’s hand on her arm held her back.

“Magnus!” she called, her voice echoing around the courtyard. “Magnus!”

He looked up at the sound of her voice. His eyes met hers across the distance. His complexion was pallid underneath a sheen of sweat and his hair was disheveled, hanging in battered curls around his face. But it was his eyes—empty and desolate—that made Izzy’s insides ache with dread .

She watched as one of McRae’s men helped Magnus onto the horse, his bound hands making it difficult.

On McRae’s signal, two pages hurried forward with a stool carved from dark oak and the guards pushed her towards the carriage. One of them offered his arm and in a daze, Izzy climbed onto the seat, then twisted around to look at Magnus.

He did not look at her, instead staring straight ahead and acknowledging nobody. Using the stool, McRae clambered painfully up beside her and settled himself onto the seat. One of his men brought a cushion which the lord put behind his back and a blanket which went across his knees.

McRae smiled at Izzy. “Ready, my dear? Then on to Dun Saith!”

The convoy began moving, rumbling out of the gates and onto the dirt track that passed for a road. Izzy lost sight of Magnus in the press and craned her neck over the heads of the riders, trying to catch sight of him.

“My, my, he really has tied ye into knots, hasnae he?” McRae observed.

The lord seemed to be in a good mood, in stark contrast to last night. There was a sparkle in his eyes and a quirk to his mouth.

“What do you mean by that?”

McRae leaned back into his plush seat, chin resting on the head of his cane. “I think ye know what I mean.”

Izzy stared at him, refusing to be cowed. “He’s a good man. ”

McRae chuckled softly. He adjusted himself on the seat, pulling the blanket closer around his legs. “Aye. It’s easy to believe a story when ye have only heard one side of it.”

She scowled at him. She didn’t like sitting this close to McRae. There was something about the man that made her skin crawl. “Oh, and you’re going to put me right on that I suppose?”

He shrugged. “What ye think or dinna think isnae my concern,” he said. “But yer safety is. And the longer ye continue to think that Magnus is some sort of hero, the less safe ye will be.” He sighed. “Magnus was always a troubled boy. The death of his parents broke something inside him that hasnae ever healed. The monks at Saint Bartholomew’s didnae know what to do with him. He was angry and violent and prone to fits of rage. I offered to take him in, straighten him out, and they were only too happy for me to take him off their hands. So I gave him a home, treated him like my own son. But I couldnae straighten him out either.” He sighed again, as though all this pained him greatly. “One day, he lost his temper completely and attacked me.” He gestured to the scars that ran across his head and disappeared into the neck of his tunic. “This was the result. Magnus’s rage is a terrifying thing to behold.”

Izzy said nothing, but something cold slid down her spine. She remembered how Magnus had been with that blacksmith in Hodwell. She remembered how his face had been twisted with fury, how he’d seemed out of control as he’d beaten the man. That had not been the Magnus she’d come to know. But then she remembered the Magnus who’d taken that beating from the villagers in the ruins of Morwenna and Able’s village. He’d not retaliated, despite being punched and kicked enough to bruise his ribs.

How could she reconcile the two? Which was the real Magnus?

Ye see the true hearts of people, no matter what they may show on the outside. Irene MacAskill had spoken those words to her. Was she right? Or was Izzy merely kidding herself? Was she seeing Magnus how she wanted him to be?

“Magnus is dangerous,” Lord McRae continued. “He is the one behind the attacks on the villages, not I.”

“You expect me to believe that? You’re lying,” Izzy snapped, turning to him with eyes blazing.

“I wish I was.” McRae’s voice was sincere, his face etched with sorrow. He reached down and pulled a ledger from a leather satchel at his feet. Flicking to a page, he offered it to Izzy. “I didnae wish for ye to find out this way, but if ye willnae believe me, see the truth in Magnus’s own hand.”

“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Magnus’s confession.”

Confession? She accepted the ledger with trembling hands, flicking it open. The writing was neat and ordered. It spoke of guilt and remorse, of raids on innocent villages and lives lost for no reason other than misplaced rage and vengeance.

And at the bottom was Magnus’s signature.

The ledger slipped from her fingers, falling onto the floor of the carriage. McRae made no move to pick it up, just watched her impassively.

“I...I don’ t...” she began.

“Now ye ken why I had to have him arrested,” McRae said. “And why it isnae safe for ye to be with him.”

Izzy felt a piece of herself splinter off and drift away.

McRae patted her knee like a kind uncle. “I’m sorry ye had to discover the truth this way, lass, but yer ordeal will soon be over. We’ll reach Dun Saith by this afternoon and then ye can be free of him.”

Izzy did not reply. She said nothing as they continued on their journey. She only felt the dull ache blossoming in her chest, growing more bitter with every mile they traveled. This was beyond her. This world she found herself in was too much. How was she expected to deal with all this?

Will ye be the woman who let fear hold her back, or will ye be the woman who saw through the fog and dared to journey to her destiny?

Whatever had been Irene’s reasons for bringing her here, she was sadly misguided. She was no hero. She was just Isabelle Ross, bank clerk, lover of crochet and cozy nights in. She was not cut out for any of this, this intrigue, danger, shifting loyalties and accusations of betrayal. The sooner they got to Dun Saith, and she found a way home, the better. Then she could escape this madness and go back to where she belonged.

And yet. Whenever she thought of Magnus, she found her questioning where that was. Yes, her life at home was predictable. Safe. But it was also sterile, empty. Since she’d met Magnus... She barely had words to express what she’d felt since then. He made her feel strong, fearless, willing to take risks. Was she supposed to believe that the man who made her feel all that was really a violent monster who’d been tricking her from the start?

She would not. Not now. Not ever. So when McRae called a watering stop and got down from the carriage to speak with his men, Izzy seized her chance.

She moved quickly, slipping quietly between trees and bushes towards where a tent had been erected in which Magnus was being held captive.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she neared the guards standing outside. They were talking quietly amongst themselves and, choosing her moment, she darted forward when the guards were distracted by a passing horse. Her feet barely made a sound on the soft grass as she slipped behind the tent, panting softly. There was a tiny rip in the canvas and Izzy dropped to her knees, peering through.

Magnus was there, his body slumped against the wooden pole that held up the tent. His eyes were closed, his face bruised and beaten, but still achingly familiar. A rush of affection flooded her chest, so potent it brought tears to her eyes.

With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the guards were still engaged in their conversation, she crawled around to the entrance flap. She eased the flap open, just enough to slip through, and immediately closed it behind her. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight weakly filtering through the canvas. She swallowed hard as she approached Magnus.

“Magnus,” she whispered, her voice shaking a little. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice, confusion etching his features as he focused on her .

“Isabelle?” he rasped, his voice hoarse from what she assumed was dehydration. “What are ye doing here, lass?”

“I came to see you,” Izzy said, sinking onto her knees before him. “Magnus, McRae said...he said things about you.”

“Ye shouldnae be here.”

“I had to come! I saw that confession you wrote, but I don’t believe it. I don’t believe a word of it.”

She longed to throw her arms around him, to feel his strength and reassurance, but she held herself back. He shifted uncomfortably in his stance and when he spoke, they were not the words she’d expected to hear.

“Ye should believe it, lass,” he said. “Because it’s true. It’s all true.”

Izzy recoiled. In the tent’s gloomy interior, she couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were unblinking as they fixed on her.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t believe you and I don’t believe a word McRae says. He’s a twisted, evil bastard.”

“Aye, he is,” Magnus agreed. “But that’s because I made him that way.”

Izzy sat back on her heels. Her chest ached, her heart beating a painful staccato in her chest. She had not expected him to agree with McRae.

“What...what are you saying?”

Magnus pressed his lips together, staring down at his bound hands as if he could see through them to the past. Silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, as Izzy waited for him to answer.

“McRae wasnae always like this,” he began in a low voice, almost whispering. “I knew him before. He was kind once, generous even. He gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go. He fed me, clothed me, gave me purpose.”

Magnus took a deep breath, his gaze straying away from her and landing on the canvas walls of the tent. “But one day...we argued,” Magnus continued, his voice a hushed whisper. “It was fierce. Aye, so fierce that neither of us remembered it was just an argument.”

His gaze dropped to his hands again, fingers flexing against the coarse bindings. “I...” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before continuing.

“I struck him so hard he fell against the barn wall.” Magnus’s voice trembled slightly, his fingers digging into his bound hands as he relived the memory. “The structure was weak from years of weathering and neglect. It collapsed and buried him.”

He fell silent for a moment. “He was crippled,” Magnus continued, his gaze returning to her but not really seeing her, his mind clearly trapped in the memory. “His body was crushed by fallen stone, but it was the injury to his head that changed him. He was never the same after that...and neither was I. I didnae lie to ye when I told ye that my mentor, Eamon, was dead. He did die that day. I didnae recognize the man he became.” Magnus’s eyes, watery and pained, met Izzy’s. “His mind twisted and he became someone else entirely. He blamed me for everything. And he was right to do so. It was my fault. I killed Eamon McRae as surely as if I’d taken a knife to his throat.”

Izzy swallowed hard, the silence in the tent deafening. Her mind raced, trying to piece together this new information. She had come here expecting reassurances, a plan for escape, and perhaps a bit of warmth from Magnus. Instead, she was met with a confession that left her reeling.

She moved slightly, the rustle of fabric breaking the silence as she shifted to sit more comfortably on her knees. But even as she tried to digest his words, there was something in Magnus’s confession that didn’t fit.

“So...” Izzy began, her voice wavering slightly. “You’re saying that you... you made him this way?”

Magnus’s face hardened, his gaze darkening with self-loathing. “Aye,” he said stiffly. “I’m the reason for McRae’s hatred and bitterness. I’m the reason for everything he’s done since.”

“That’s why you didn’t fight back when that villager attacked you isn’t it?” Izzy said. “Because you thought you deserved it because you think you caused McRae to do what he did!” She shook her head, refusing to believe it. “No. No way. I don’t buy it. Whatever happened between you and McRae, everything he’s done since is his choice. His , Magnus. You can’t take responsibility for other people’s actions.” She fixed him with a hard gaze. “What did McRae threaten you with to make you sign that confession?”

MAGNUS STARED AT ISABELLE . Ye , he thought. He threatened me with ye. Threatened to hurt the thing that matters to me most and I would do anything to avoid that.

He strained against the ropes that bound his hands. Given more time, he might be able to snap them, but they didn’t have more time .

“It doesnae matter now,” he said softly. “What matters is that ye get to Dun Saith and find a way home. What happens to me is unimportant.”

“It’s important to me!” Isabelle snapped. “We have to find a way—”

She cut off abruptly as a sudden noise intruded on the tent. Magnus cocked his head, listening. There it was again, distant, but coming closer. It took a moment for Magnus to make out what it was.

Barking.

Isabelle gasped, eyes going wide. Then she leapt up and ran to the tent flap, throwing it open. Morning sunlight poured inside, making Magnus squint. Through the gap he could see McRae’s men rushing about, grabbing weapons and shouting. The sound of barking grew louder. And then he heard something else—the thunder of hooves.

“I don’t believe it!” Isabelle cried.

She ran outside, letting the tent flap close, and Magnus cursed as his view was cut off. The thunder of horses grew louder and the shouting more frantic. Other voices joined those of McRae’s men, voices he thought he knew...

With all his might, he strained against the ropes around his wrists, his lips pulling back into a snarl, the veins in his neck and biceps bulging with the effort. The man who’d tied the knots had known what he was doing and rather than breaking, the coarse rope just began to bite into Magnus’s skin, cutting deep and leaving red welts.

Still, he didn’t relent. He had to get free. He had to protect Isabelle. He howled in pain and frustration, his face going red and sweat dripping down his forehead as he pulled, pulled, pulled...

The ropes snapped.

Magnus sagged, giving himself one, two, three heartbeats to recover before he reached down to untie his ankles, then leapt to his feet and ran outside.

He was met by a scene of chaos.

Men on horseback swarmed the camp, hooves kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt. Magnus squinted into the sun as he tried to identify the mounted warriors. Their shields bore an emblem of a bird, its wings spread in flight. Recognition hit him like a punch in the gut. The Order of the Osprey. He spotted Emeric amongst them, his sandy hair flying as he laid about him with his sword.

Isabelle was nowhere in sight, and Magnus’s heart pounded fearfully in his chest. “Isabelle!” he roared, his voice barely audible above the pandemonium. His gaze darted across the battlefield, desperate for a sight of her amongst the melee.

Suddenly, a flash of sable caught his eye, darting this way and that. Snaffles!

The huge dog was pelting through the camp, weaving between the legs of horses and warriors alike, barking in a frenzy. His eyes followed Snaffles’ path until they landed on Isabelle who was sprinting towards the dog with a look of unbridled joy on her face.

As they came together, Isabelle went onto her knees and threw her arms around the beast, burying her face in his fur. Snaffles was an excited, wriggling worm, barely able to keep still in his joy at being reunited with his mistress. There was a bandage around Snaffles’ middle and he seemed to be favoring one of his back legs but this did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm.

But any joy Magnus took in the scene was quickly replaced by a surge of fear as he saw a group of McRae’s men running towards Isabelle.

Snaffles seemed to sense the danger and positioned himself between Isabelle and the men, his lips curling back in a growl. Isabelle rose to her feet and grabbed a stick, prepared to defend herself and her dog.

Magnus’s gut clenched. Snaffles’ bravery, though commendable, would not be enough to protect her. He surged towards them, his hands instinctively balling into fists.

A man lunged at him but Magnus disarmed him with a swift kick and continued his race. Around him, the world blurred into streaks of color and noise. He heard snippets of battle cries, the clang of steel on steel, the terrified shrieks of horses. He smelled dust, blood and sweat. But none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Isabelle’s frightened expression and the protective snarl of Snaffles as he faced down their attackers.

The first man reached them. Snaffles lunged, sinking his teeth into the man’s thigh. The man howled in pain and surprise, trying to beat the dog off with a fist. But Snaffles was like a bear trap, unyielding and relentless. The man crumpled under Snaffles’ weight, falling to the ground with a cry.

But three more of McRae’s men were already closing in, their faces twisted into masks of rage and determination. Isabelle swung her stick at them, but it was like a matchstick against their swords .

Magnus reached them just as one of the men made a grab for Isabelle. With a roar, he tackled him, a burly man with a tattooed face. The man cursed, caught off guard, and they tumbled to the ground. Magnus pummeled him with unyielding fists, knocking him unconscious. He looked up just in time to see another attacker brandishing his sword at Isabelle.

With a bellow, Magnus launched himself at the attacker, ramming into him from the side and sending him sprawling in the dirt. He managed to wrestle the sword away and stun the man with a swift blow to the temple.

Snaffles was holding his ground admirably against another assailant, sinking his teeth into the man’s calf and causing him to howl in pain. But it was not enough. McRae had brought plenty of men with him, too many for one man, one woman, and a giant dog to hold off. They kept coming.

Taking a brief glance at the battle site, Magnus saw that Emeric and the Order were also hopelessly outnumbered. There were only a handful of Order warriors—no doubt the group that Kai had sent with Emeric to track him down and drag him back to Dun Saith. They were fighting desperately to reach him and Isabelle, but McRae’s men had formed a line and were pressing them from all sides. McRae himself, surrounded by a ring of bodyguards, was standing at the edge of the site, shouting orders.

“Get her to safety!” Magnus roared, locking eyes with Emeric across the battlefield. Their gazes held for a brief moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Emeric nodded and he and the other members of the Order forced their way through the throng of McRae’s men .

Magnus turned back to Isabelle, taking out two more men who had gotten too close. But for each one he took down, it seemed like two more took his place. His arms were growing tired and his breath was coming in harsh gasps, but he couldn’t afford to slow down, not when Isabelle’s safety was on the line.

Finally, Emeric broke through the line of men that had surrounded Magnus and Isabelle, his horse snorting and stamping.

“Get her away!” Magnus bellowed.

“We’re getting both of ye away!” Emeric shouted back. “I willnae leave ye!”

“There’s too many of them!” Magnus yelled, his voice hoarse with strain. “Remember yer promise! Ye gave me yer word!”

Emeric stilled, his gaze fixed on Magnus. He could see the conflict in his sword-brother’s gaze. Members of the Order of the Osprey did not leave a comrade behind, but neither did they break their word. There were too many of McRae’s men for them all to get safely away and their only hope was to flee whilst Magnus did his best to slow the pursuers. Emeric knew it.

Finally, his sword-brother nodded. Magnus strode over to Isabelle, grabbed her around the waist and unceremoniously hoisted her into the saddle in front of Emeric.

She squirmed and struggled. “What are you doing? Get off me!”

He didn’t let go until she was safely on the horse, Emeric’s arm around her to keep her steady. “Go with Emeric, lass,” he said, meeting her eyes .

“What? No! I’m not leaving you!” She began squirming again, trying to get down.

“Emeric! Promise me!” Magnus growled.

“I promise,” Emeric said tightly.

He spun his horse in a tight circle and spurred the beast away from the melee. Isabelle screamed Magnus’s name, reaching for him even as the horse bore her away, Snaffles racing along behind them.

Magnus watched, heart in his mouth, as they sped away. Some of McRae’s men tried to intercept them but Magnus charged them, fists swinging and knocked them down before they could reach their horses. In a frenzy, he punched and kicked, wrestled and fought, desperately trying to buy Emeric and Isabelle time. It worked. In only seconds, they had disappeared into the distance, the rest of the Order following behind.

Magnus took a deep, steadying breath. Isabelle was safe. He turned around to face the chaos that was coming for him.

Eamon McRae’s face was twisted with fury as he hobbled up to Magnus. “I should kill ye here and now!”

“Then why dinna ye?” Magnus replied. “Or try, at least.” He was beyond fear or even anger now. Isabelle was safe and that was all that mattered.

McRae glared at him and Magnus saw the fury fade from his eyes to be replaced by that coldness that had overtaken him since the accident, that ruthlessness that had turned him into the man before him today, a man Magnus no longer recognized.

“Oh, I dinna think so,” McRae whispered. “That would be too easy. ”

“It’s over, McRae,” Magnus growled. “The only leverage ye had over me was Isabelle and now she’s gone. When ye present that confession as evidence against me I’ll only deny it and Isabelle will back up everything I say. I understand that ye hate me. To be honest, I dinna blame ye. But I was the cause of yer accident, not the innocent villagers ye have been attacking. If it’s revenge ye seek, then take it now. I willnae stop ye.”

He lifted his arms out to either side and waited. He had no wish to die. There was still so much he wanted to do and in truth, he couldn’t help harboring the hope that he might see Isabelle again. But if trading his life stopped McRae’s attacks against innocent people like those in Morwenna and Able’s village, it was a trade worth making.

“Well?” he asked when McRae didn’t move. “What are ye waiting for?”

McRae stared at him a moment longer, then turned and snapped to his men. “Tie him up and get him in the cart. We’ve a journey to make.”

McRae’s men grabbed Magnus’s arms and tied his wrists behind him.

“What journey?” Magnus demanded.

McRae cocked his head to one side. “Ye offer yer life to me as though that would repay everything ye did to me. It wouldnae. A life for a life, is it? There’s only one problem. I didnae die that day but was forced to live a half-life instead. A life of pain and degradation. A life that was a shadow of what it had been. Ye took everything from me that day, Magnus.” He tapped the side of his head where the scar ran through his skin. “It took me a long time before I could even remember who I was. It took even longer before I remembered who did this to me. And when I did, I swore to myself I would have justice. I would take everything from ye, the way ye took everything from me. Ye think this is over? It is far from over. I will destroy ye Magnus, and that precious Order of the Osprey of yers.”

He turned and hobbled away, leaving Magnus staring after. “McRae!” he bellowed, taking a step to follow the old man. Two of McRae’s men grabbed him and held him back. “This is between us!”

But the old man carried on walking and Magnus was dragged over to the cart and bundled unceremoniously into the bed of it, where he was tied to a heavy iron ring fixed into the floor.

As the cart began to move, Magnus was jostled roughly. His wrists burned where the ropes bit into his skin and he could feel the hard ridges of the wooden planks against his back. He fought his way into a sitting position, pressing his back against the cart’s rough side. They were moving south, away from Dun Saith and Dun Crogan both.

He frowned. Where were they going?

McRae’s words echoed in his head, instilling a dread he had not felt even when he had faced down the man. What could be worse than death?

As they traveled, Magnus noticed that the terrain was growing steeper, more treacherous. Ridges rose up in the distance, jagged against the midday sky. Recognition dawned on him and his stomach churned.

He knew exactly where they were going.