Chapter 20

O ’Connell was not gentle as he herded Magnus away from the camp. The bastard was strong, he had to give him that, but not as strong as Magnus himself. Even with his wrists bound together, he could have laid O’Connell out with one double-handed blow or snapped his arm with a well-aimed kick, except that the blade of the man’s dagger lay against his jugular and one wrong move would have his lifeblood spurting into the dirt.

So he didn’t retaliate as O’Connell pushed further into the ravine, around a corner of granite, away from where his sword-brothers were fighting. How Emeric and the others had found him he had no idea, but his heart had soared with hope as they’d materialized out of the darkness and began attacking the camp. Yet that had quickly turned to dismay when he’d seen how outnumbered they were. They could not hope to win and yet they’d come for him anyway.

Guilt chewed at his insides like a starving rat. They should not have risked themselves for him. He wasn’t worth it.

Still, at least Isabelle was safe. He’d seen no sign of her with Emeric’s band and for this he was profoundly grateful.

The outlaw leader shoved Magnus roughly into a small clearing bounded on all sides by thorny trees. McRae, along with a good number of his men, was waiting for him in the clearing, sitting on his carry-chair. His eyes, cold and calculating, landed on Magnus .

“I’m so glad yer friends could join us,” he said. “Killing a few members of the Order of the Osprey only makes things sweeter.”

“It’s over, McRae. Give yerself up to the Order and I promise ye will get a fair trial.”

McRae laughed incredulously. “Can ye believe the nerve of this man?” he asked O’Connell. “He’s in my power and he still thinks he has the right to give orders! The arrogance!” He focussed on Magnus. “Yer friends will die, Magnus. They’re outnumbered and outmatched. They’ve thrown their lives away for ye. How does it feel to be the cause of their deaths?”

Magnus knew he was right. Emeric hadn’t brought enough men to be able to take the camp. He must have known the odds of their success were slim and yet he’d come all the same. How many more deaths would be on his conscience?

Magnus swallowed thickly. He couldn’t bear it anymore. “What if we strike a deal?”

McRae’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of deal?”

“Tell yer men to stand down. Spare my sword-brothers and I’ll do whatever ye want.”

“Ye know what I want!” McRae retorted. “I want yer name smeared across the kingdom as an outlaw. I want ye to live the life I’ve been forced to live! Besmirched. Reviled. I want every memory of Magnus Kerr the noble warrior destroyed!”

Magnus took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking again. “Fine. I will do what ye want. I will pretend to be an outlaw, I will live among ye—just let Emeric and the others go.”

He knew what he was agreeing to. If he did this, everything he’d ever sought to be would be destroyed. Magnus Kerr, the decent man, would be no more, and Magnus Kerr the ruthless thug would take his place. He would become the man that Eamon McRae had always sought to make him.

But Isabelle, Emeric, and his friends in the Order of the Osprey would be alive. He’d pay any price for that.

He met McRae’s gaze. “I give ye my word. I will do yer bidding. I will become what ye wish me to. Just let them go.”

McRae stared at him for a long time. Then a slow smile spread across his face and his eyes flashed with triumph. “Oh, my boy! How I’ve missed ye. This is an auspicious moment! This is the moment the old Magnus Kerr dies. This is the moment ye are reborn!”

The words struck Magnus like a blow, and for a second, he felt as if he were falling into an abyss. He saw his life before him, the trials and difficulties, the victories and losses, all of it dissolving in the dark, gaping maw of despair. And yet, even as he stood there, on the precipice of his own destruction, he felt an odd sense of calm.

Choices weave our fate, Magnus Kerr. And ye are at a crossroads.

He doubted that this was the crossroads that Irene had meant but it didn’t matter now. The decision was made and there was no going back.

Yet fate, or destiny, or Irene MacAskill, weren’t quite yet done with him, it seemed .

Even as he felt himself sinking into a dark pit of despair, a strange sound broke into his thoughts. A sound that brought a chink of light in the darkness, a spark of hope in the gloom.

Barking.

He spun just in time to see a sable blur come streaking around the bend into the clearing. Snaffles! The giant dog leapt, slammed into O’Connell, and sent him sprawling to the ground. And just like that, everything changed. With O’Connell’s knife gone from his throat, Magnus was suddenly free. In a flash, he knelt and ran his bonds back and forth along O’Connell’s dropped dagger, sawing them through.

McRae’s shock swiftly turned into seething rage. “Restrain him! Get that damned dog off O’Connell!”

Magnus grabbed O’Connell’s dagger, jumped to his feet, and spun to face the oncoming tide. He took a fighting stance, but a voice suddenly cut through the hubbub.

“Stop right where you are or your lord dies!”

He knew that voice.

He turned to see Isabelle standing behind Eamon McRae. She’d got a knife from somewhere and was pressing the point against the back of McRae’s neck. What? Where had she come from? He should have guessed that where Snaffles was, Isabelle wouldn’t be far behind. But here? Now? In the middle of all this?

Somehow, as they’d all been distracted by Snaffles, she’d managed to sneak around the outside of the clearing and come up behind Lord McRae.

“I mean it!” she yelled, her eyes flashing. “Stop or he dies! ”

For a moment, everything was still. Every eye was on Isabelle, the delicate maiden who had suddenly become a fierce warrior.

Magnus drank in the sight of her, hardly daring to believe that she was really here. Her chestnut hair was a wild halo around her face, her cheeks were flushed with determination and her hazel eyes blazed. His chest filled with pride. She was here, his Isabelle. She was like some warrior goddess of old.

“Ye heard her,” Magnus growled, breaking the silence. “Drop yer weapons.”

“Ye dinna have it in ye, lass,” McRae taunted her. “Ye are too soft-hearted to kill.”

Isabelle’s eyes flashed dangerously as she pressed the blade deeper against McRae’s neck. “Try me.”

McRae’s lips curled in a sneer. “Look around ye, lass. How do ye expect this will turn out?”

McRae’s men were beginning to creep closer, weapons drawn. Magnus brandished his knife, Snaffles at his side, but he knew the two of them wouldn’t be enough to defend Isabelle against so many.

McRae laughed harshly. “Ye are outnumbered and if ye dinna put down that knife, neither of ye will get out of this alive. We had a deal, Magnus. Reneg on it now and I swear by all that’s holy that each and every one of yer Order brothers who came here today will die. Along with this woman ye seem to care so much about. Ye canna win. Do the smart thing and give it up.”

Magnus’s chest tightened. McRae was right. There were at least twenty of McRae’s men gathered around them. Far too many for Magnus to face alone. If he wanted Isabelle and his sword-brothers to live, he had to agree to McRae’s terms.

“All right,” he breathed, throwing down the knife and raising his hands in surrender. “Give me yer word that Isabelle and my Order brothers will live, and I’ll stick to our bargain.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened as she looked at him. “What are you doing? You can’t give up!”

“Look around, lass,” Magnus replied. “There are too many. I willnae let them hurt ye or Snaffles or my brothers. This is the only way.”

Slowly, he saw despair seep into her eyes. The arm that held the knife began to shake. “But...but...”

Snaffle’s head suddenly came up, his ears pricked, and he gave a low ‘uff’ of warning. Magnus stilled, wondering what had caught the dog’s attention. Then he heard it: a low sound like thunder which Magnus recognized instantly.

The tramp of boots. Many boots moving quickly, coming closer. And then another sound, louder, drowning out the thunder of feet. An almighty roar, as from many throats, and the sudden clash of steel on steel coming from around the bend.

“What the blazes?” McRae snapped. “Somebody go and see what’s going on!”

But before any of his men could obey, a host of people suddenly burst around the corner, flooding into the clearing in an unstoppable wave.

Magnus’s eyes widened. These were not warriors. They were villagers, men and women both, brandishing anything they could get their hands on—pitchforks, axes, even old muskets. Amongst their number he made out Morwenna and Able, and at the head of the group strode another man he recognized. It was the same man who had blamed Magnus for the death of his father and brother and vented his grief through fists and bitter words in the ruined village. What was his name? Drew? Now he’d become the villagers’ focus, leading them against the men who had truly caused their suffering.

“Yes!” Izzy whooped in delight. “I knew they’d come!”

“Throw down yer weapons!” Drew shouted at McRae’s men. “Or it will go ill for ye!”

The villagers formed an angry, bristling line facing McRae’s men. They might not be trained warriors, but they outnumbered McRae’s forces three to one and even villagers armed with pitchforks and rusty blades could do a lot of damage with such odds in their favor.

“What are ye waiting for?” McRae bellowed at O’Connell. “Destroy this rabble!”

But O’Connell and his outlaws hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. They knew when they were outmatched. O’Connell spat into the dirt and then tossed aside his sword, the other outlaws following suit. Seeing their allies deserting them and not willing to die for such a cruel lord, McRae’s men did the same.

“Good,” Isabelle said with a nod, her voice steady. “Now back away from my man and my dog.”

Magnus’s heart nearly burst at her words. His Isabelle, his warrior queen, had just claimed him as hers in front of everyone .

As the men backed away from Magnus and Snaffles, Isabelle kept her blade pressed against McRae’s neck. Her eyes were still hard, her features set with an iron resolve that Magnus found intoxicatingly beautiful.

From around the bend, Emeric and the Order suddenly came running. Emeric had a cut above his eyebrow but other than that, appeared unhurt. Seeing how the villagers had taken control of the situation, he nodded.

“Take McRae and his people into custody,” he ordered his men.

The Order members moved swiftly, tying the hands of McRae’s warriors behind their backs. The villagers cheered as the criminals who had brought fear and destruction to their homes were now subdued.

But McRae, seeing his empire crumbling before him, did not go so easily. He looked around wildly, his eyes blazing with fury and something like madness. “No! I will have justice!”

In a sudden movement he jerked free from Isabelle’s grasp, and, with a primal scream that echoed through the clearing, launched himself at Magnus.

Magnus stood his ground as McRae came at him like a bull, his rage giving unexpected strength to his twisted frame. He struck Magnus hard across the jaw and then again in the stomach. Magnus grunted and they both tumbled to the ground, McRae on top, pummeling him with blow after blow. Magnus took it, making no move to defend himself.

“Why willnae ye fight back?” McRae roared, his voice ragged with desperation. “Fight me! ”

Magnus coughed, tasting blood. He could see the madness in McRae’s eyes, the desperation of a man who has lost everything. And he took no satisfaction from it.

“Nay,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I willnae fight ye. I’m sorry, Eamon. I’m sorry for what happened to ye. I’m sorry for what ye became. But I’m done taking responsibility for yer actions.”

McRae drew back, surprise flashing in his eyes, followed by something else—a raw, desolate recognition. The fist he’d raised to strike Magnus again faltered and dropped to his side. He studied Magnus for a long moment, his breath ragged and heavy. Then, slowly, he sat back on his heels.

“I did what I had to do,” he said finally, his voice a hollow echo.

“But it cost ye everything,” Magnus replied, looking up at the man who had once taught him so much about life and duty.

McRae was silent, staring at his hands as though seeing them for the first time. Then, without a word, he crumpled inwards like a puppet with its strings cut. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Despite all this man had done, despite all the pain he’d caused, the sight of him broken and defeated made Magnus’s heart clench. He climbed onto his knees and gently squeezed McRae’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s over now.”

“It will never be over,” McRae whispered. “Not for me.”

Two of Emeric’s men approached and McRae didn’t resist as they grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet. Tying his hands behind his back, they led Lord Eamon McRae away like the common criminal he’d become.

Magnus sighed, surprised at the hollow feeling inside. Seeing McRae like this did not bring the satisfaction he’d expected. Only sadness. Only regret for what might have been. He climbed painfully to his feet, wincing and groaning. For a man with such physical limitations, McRae could still pack a punch.

He strode over to Isabelle who’d been staring wide-eyed and frozen as the fight unfolded. He put his hand over hers where it still gripped the knife.

“Ye can let that go now, love. It’s over.”

She blinked and looked up at him, her face pale with fright.

“Easy, lass,” he said, gently taking the knife from her grip and tossing it away. “Ye are safe now. We are all safe now.”

Isabelle let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably, all the fear and tension she’d locked away suddenly flooding out. Magnus folded her into his arms and held her tight.

With a cry, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you,” she murmured. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Ye’ll never lose me,” he replied, stroking her hair. He pushed her to arm’s length and looked her up and down. She seemed unharmed, just shaken. “Did ye mean what ye said just now? When ye said ‘my man and my dog’?”

Snaffles, who’d trotted over with Magnus and had been sitting patiently by Isabelle’s side, now whined and wagged his tail. Isabelle sank onto her haunches and hugged the dog, letting out a long, heartfelt sigh of relief.

“I meant it,” she said, looking up at Magnus. “I realized it with Snaffles when I thought he’d been killed. I realized it with you the moment I had to ride off with Emeric and leave you behind. I love both of you. You’re my man, and he’s my dog. I think you’ve always been. It just took me a while to realize it.”

Magnus felt the warmth of her words seep into his heart. He felt suddenly as if a destination he’d been searching for all his life had suddenly appeared ahead, as if heavy drapes had been pulled back and the sun had burst through.

I love both of you. You’re my man, and he’s my dog.

He extended a hand to her, which she took, allowing him to pull her back onto her feet.

“Isabelle,” he breathed, pulling her close. “I think I’ve loved ye my whole life. Every step I took, every fight I fought, was to bring me closer to ye.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Stay with me, Isabelle. Will ye marry me?”

Isabelle blinked, surprise lighting up her face. She looked down at their linked hands, then up into his eyes. The sight of her like this—flushed, wild-eyed and beautiful—filled him with an emotion so strong he thought he would burst.

“Marry you?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Magnus, I...”

Magnus held his breath, suddenly unsure. His entire world seemed to hang in the balance, waiting for her answer.

But then, she smiled—a slow, radiant smile that spread across her face and made her eyes shine brighter. It was a smile that said more than words ever could .

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, Magnus. I will marry you.”

The relief that washed over him was so great it nearly floored him. He laughed—a deep, joyous sound that echoed around the ravine.

He pulled her into a fierce embrace, holding her as if he could meld their bodies into one. He felt every curve of hers against his own hard lines and it was heaven and earth and everything in between.

Behind them, the villagers cheered and Snaffles gave an excited bark. Then, as if to seal his approval, the giant dog shook himself from head to tail, ears flapping and jowls wobbling.

Isabelle let out a cry of disgust and wiped a gobbet of slobber from the side of her face. She glared at the dog and planted her hands on her hips.

“Snaffles!”