Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A s Magnus grabbed his sword and ran toward the sound of battle, his heart thundered in his chest as a thousand images flashed through his mind. Thora and Enya had been right. When he’d kissed Ciara, he’d seen her thoughts. He’d heard her worries, her fears as well as her desires. He’d gotten an intimate look inside her mind and it told him, without a doubt, she was not a spy or an agent for Fairfax—a notion he’d long since discarded. But at least now, he could convince Domhnall of the truth of things once and for all.

None of that mattered though. All that mattered was that somebody had infiltrated their castle and was making war upon them. As he ran, Magnus gave himself a shake as he readied to fight. He needed to have his head on straight, without thoughts of Ciara and the kiss they’d just shared clouding his mind or judgment. If he didn’t push all those thoughts aside by the time he reached the fighting, he would most assuredly be dead before it was over.

Magnus rounded the corner and gaped at the sight before him. Half a dozen of their men lay dead on the ground and another half dozen were locked in a fierce battle with intruders in dark clothing that bore no sigil. He knew it was Fairfax’s men. He’d been wrong about the English lord waiting for warmer weather to launch an attack. They all had been, and he knew with just as much certainty they were there for Ciara.

But the fight was going to be had one way or another. Part of him was glad to get on with it—and get it over with. The sooner they dispatched Fairfax and his men, the sooner they could get on with their lives. And without the threat of an English army invading their lands hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles, perhaps he could convince Ciara to stay with him. Magnus shook his head. This was not the time to think about the future. All he had was the moment.

As he struggled to push the thoughts of Ciara and his emotions aside, a pair of men in black rushed at him. He deflected the first thrust and had to spin awkwardly, barely managing to avoid the second. The brush with steel focused him instantly though and he concentrated on the task at hand. Magnus waded in, his movements as fluid and graceful he had been taught as he parried their thrusts and swatted aside their slashes.

Taking the offensive, Magnus spun, and the edge of his blade sliced through the boiled leather of the man on his right. Blood sprayed into the air and the man’s screams echoed off the stone walls around him. In one fluid motion, Magnus unsheathed his dagger with his left hand and buried it into the throat of the man he’d just slashed. His scream turned into a wet gurgle and he fell, hitting the ground with a thud, a crimson pool spreading out beneath him.

Magnus turned swiftly and deflected the blow his second attacker had leveled, the steel of his sword ringing loudly in his ears. It had been close. The man had almost cut through Magnus’ neck so he retreated a few steps and braced himself, knowing the attacker would press what he thought was his advantage. Just as Magnus had thought, the man rushed forward, his blade up, ready to strike a killing blow.

Magnus waited until the last possible moment and spun to the right, slashing out with his sword. The edge of his blade slid along the man’s ribs, opening a gash in his side that Magnus knew would hurt but wasn’t fatal. Spinning back the other way, Magnus brought his dagger down, burying it in the back of the man’s neck, just above the vest of his leathers and just below the skull. The sharp ring of steel filled his ears as the soldier’s sword clattered to the floor. His body tensed up and when Magnus yanked the blade out, the man fell, dead before he hit the ground.

The fighting had moved out of the castle’s entryway, the clashing of swords and screaming of the wounded and dying filling the air around him. As the chaos raged through the castle all around him, Magnus only had one thought.

“Ciara,” he murmured.

Taking off at a sprint, Magnus ran through the castle, catching glimpses of the fighting going on in the corridors. He saw Domhnall and Kai wading into a knot of men in dark clothing, blades flashing, movements swift and deadly.

Magnus’s heart dropped into his belly when he reached Ciara’s bedchamber. The door was standing wide open, and it was empty. Fear rippled through his heart. The men in black had come for her and it seemed they’d achieved their objective. His head clouded with fear and rage, Magnus turned and sprinted back the way he’d come. He fended off attacks, putting a couple more men down as he searched for Ciara.

His heart racing, out of breath from his exertions, Magnus stopped and leaned against the wall to catch his wind. It was then he heard Ciara’s scream. Standing upright, his grip on his sword tightening, he turned and ran toward the kitchens, where it sounded like her scream had come from. Magnus rounded the corner and found Ciara behind the long tables in the center of the room, keeping them between her and five of Fairfax’s men. She held a dagger up and looked ready to fight, but the odds she was facing were dire.

A rage darker than anything he’d felt before seized control of Magnus’ mind and he plunged in heedlessly. With a cry of fury bursting from his mouth, he quickly dispatched the two men nearest to him, plunging his sword straight through their backs. They fell screaming. The other three quickly recovered, spinning around to face him, blades at the ready. Magnus circled around the table and put himself between the armed men and Ciara.

“I can fight,” she growled.

“I ken ye can,” he replied. “But ye’re nae goin’ tae face them all alone.”

The three men rushed as one. Magnus stepped forward, his sword flashing like lightning as he parried thrusts and turned aside slices. The men were good. Well trained. But in such close quarters, they were not able to spread out to maximize their numbers, giving Magnus the advantage. He pressed forward, his blade spinning and darting, scoring hits as the men in front of him tripped over themselves as they tried to defend themselves while staying out of each other’s way.

Magnus squared off with the final man in the kitchens, his blade up and at the ready when Ciara screamed behind him. He turned to find three more men had hold of her arms and were dragging her out the back door. Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention and Magnus just managed to get his blade up to block the blow that would have taken his head clean off his shoulders. But it wasn’t clean, and the tip of the man’s blade scored a line across his neck.

Magnus winced and felt the trickle of warm, thick blood spill down his neck. The rage in him bloomed ever brighter and he waded in, thrusting and slashing, working through a dizzying array of forms that kept the man in black back on his heels. Images of Ciara kept flashing through his mind and he knew with every second that passed, she was getting further away from him.

A low growl issuing from his throat, Magnus delivered an uppercut with his sword that knocked the man’s blade upward, leaving his torso open. He drove his dagger forward, punching through the invader’s leathers and straight into his midsection. The man’s eyes widened and bloody spittle burst from his mouth. Giving the blade a vicious twist, Magnus yanked his dagger free then slashed with his sword, opening a thick gash across the man’s neck. As blood cascaded from his wounds, the man fell forward into the crimson pool forming beneath him.

His breathing ragged and his heart racing so hard he feared it might burst inside of him, Magnus turned and ran, giving chase to the men who had taken Ciara. Thankfully, she was a fighter and had slowed their progress enough that he caught them fairly quickly. There were seven of them in the corridor surrounding her, but they’d caught sight of Magnus and turned to face him.

“Let go of her or ye’ll all die here,” he said, his voice low and tight.

“Ye’re outnumbered, lad. Badly,” said the man who seemed to be in charge of the small group of invaders. “If anybody’s goin’ tae die here, tis goin’ tae be ye.”

“Magnus, dinnae,” Ciara called, her voice thick with fear.

Magnus cleared his mind and focused. He quickly found his center and listened to the voices of the men in the corridor and as two held onto Ciara, the other five rushed him as one. Moving fluidly as he’d been taught, flowing like water, Magnus parried every thrust almost before it was delivered, turning aside blades, and blocking punches. His own blade found the weaknesses in their defenses, biting into flesh, and sending man after man toppling to the floor, grasping their wounds as they bled out on the stone floor beneath them.

After he’d dispatched the five, he looked to the two men holding Ciara’s arms. He raised his sword, the blade red with the blood of their companions. Rivulets of the crimson gore ran down his hand and arm and enough had sprayed onto his face, that Magnus knew his visage was that of a nightmarish creature direct from the bowels of hell. The two men shared a look then moving as one, dropped their hold on Ciara and sprinted the other way.

Magnus rushed to her, catching her before she fell. He brushed her golden locks back from her face and gazed into her sparkling emerald eyes. For a moment, he just stared at her, the relief flowing through his body so thick, he couldn’t speak. After a long pause, he was finally able to swallow down the lump in his throat though and found his voice.

“Are ye all right,” he asked.

“How did ye dae that?” she asked. “Ye… ye kent what they were goin’ tae dae before the actually did it.”

“’Tis just trainin’. I was taught well.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it before. Ye cut through all five of them like they were paper targets… how?”

“Like I said, I am well trained,” he replied. “Are ye all right?”

She nodded. “Aye. I’m fine,” she whispered, but she continued to stare at him with a mixture of fear and awe on her face. He couldn’t tell her why he’d been able to anticipate their moves so well. He wanted to, wanted her to understand and not fear him, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t for her to know.

She reached up and gingerly touched the shallow wound on his neck, making him wince. It wasn’t a bad wound at all, but it stung. She grimaced and Magnus could see how scared she was that the wound could have been worse. Any deeper and it might have killed him.

“Ye’re wounded,” she said softly.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “’Tis just a scratch.”

She frowned. “Come. We should see about gettin’ ye fixed up all the same.”

Magnus nodded. “Aye. We should see tae the wounded as well.”

The sounds of battle that had been raging through the castle had dimmed. It seemed that the worst of the fighting was over. Magnus assumed they had repelled the attack. Ciara looked at the carnage on the corridor floor, horror and sorrow on her face.

“Fairfax’s men,” she said.

“Aye. It’d be me guess as well.”

She looked at him with a dry expression on her face. “I dinnae want tae say I told ye so?—”

“Then ye shouldnae,” he cut her off with a grin. “Come. Let’s go find everybody else.”

Hand in hand, they walked down the corridor and Magnus let out a breath of relief. He’d come so close to losing Ciara that pain and fear continued to echo through his heart. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t. In that moment, Magnus silently vowed that he would do anything, even lay down his own life, to keep her safe.

She was all that mattered to him.