25 SIDE BY SIDE

GLANCING AROUND, AS panic mounted in her breast, Astrid saw that the arrival of the Macleod birlinns hadn't gone unnoticed.

As they glided in, covering the last stretch of water to the cog, other ships that had been engaged in the fighting broke away, their oarsmen plowing through the foaming, bloody water to reach them. Feral cries split the air, and Astrid's bladder tingled.

The sound was animalistic.

This close, she could see the clan banners. The banner that fluttered from the bow of the nearest approaching galley wasn't Maclean but Mackinnon.

A heartbeat later, as the bow of their birlinn nudged the Revenge Tide's high clinkered sides, the Mackinnon boat intercepted them.

Steel flashed, and two huge men launched themselves across the foot of water separating the boats, landing with surprising lightness on their feet on the Macleod vessel.

Still clutching her dirk in a death grip, Astrid shrank back against the mast as a fast and violent skirmish ensued.

Malcolm and Finn were in the thick of it, fighting back-to-back, as they cut down their attackers. Splashes followed as men fell into the sea.

All the while, the birlinn rocked dangerously, water sloshing over the sides. Astrid's skirts were soon soaking.

She'd lost sight of her brother above.

God's blood, the Revenge Tide now crawled with men wearing Mackinnon sashes. She hoped that Loch had Logan Black fighting alongside him up there.

Her attention shifted then to where Finn now gripped the rigging with his left hand while he slashed at the next warrior to come at him with his right. His attacker wore a bright-red MacGregor sash across his broad chest, his face a savage rictus as he ducked Finn's glinting blade and stabbed at him.

Finn handled himself well, yet the warrior had him right up against the edge of the birlinn. There was nowhere for Finn to go.

Astrid's gut clenched.

This would end badly; she had to help him.

Pushing her cloak aside, she resheathed her dirk. Her fingertips then slid across the worn knife belt at her hip. For years, she'd practiced knife-throwing in secret, her aim steadily improving to the point where she wished she could have competed with her father's men.

But she'd never been truly tested.

Meanwhile, the MacGregor warrior still slashed at Finn with single-minded brutality. A line of red had bloomed upon the side of Finn's lèine. If he hadn't continued clinging to the rigging, he'd have fallen into the churning water.

The sight of Finn's injury shocked Astrid into action. Rising to her feet and bracing herself against the mast with her left hand, she whipped the first of her knives out of her belt with her right.

And then, with a flick of her wrist, she sent the blade hurtling toward Finn's opponent.

It embedded with a meaty thud where the man's shaven head met the back of his nape.

Astrid's breathing stilled, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs as the MacGregor warrior froze. An instant later, the dirk in his fist clattered to the deck and his big body crumpled face down.

Finn pushed himself off the rigging, his gaze cutting from the twitching dead man at his feet to where Astrid clung to the mast.

Their gazes fused, and his hazel eyes glinted.

Bending over the fallen warrior, he yanked the throwing knife out of the man's neck and launched himself down the birlinn, reaching Astrid amidships as two more warriors leaped onboard.

"Astrid," he gasped, still out of breath from the fight. "Ye saved my life, lass … I—"

"Later," she cut him off. "There's no time now."

He nodded, handing back the knife. "Here … ye're going to need this. "

Their fingers brushed as Astrid took the weapon, and the feel of his skin, warm and alive against hers, calmed the furious beating of her heart.

The moment between them shattered then, for two men, both bellowing, "Cuimhnich bàs Alpein,"—the Mackinnon war cry—clambered onto the birlinn, dirk-blades flashing.

"I'll take the one on the left," Finn grunted, turning to face them. "Ye kill his friend."

He didn't need to ask twice. Astrid's already blooded blade sank into the man's throat. Grasping at the embedded knife, his eyes wide and shocked, the warrior staggered back and disappeared overboard, taking Astrid's precious blade with him.

Fortunately, she had others.

Meanwhile, Finn ducked under his attacker's guard and shoved his dirk into his ribs, twisting hard, bringing him to his knees.

Panting, Astrid had just yanked the second knife from her belt when others still onboard their galley, Malcolm included, leaped from the railing. They climbed the rigging to reach the deck above.

Relief washed over her at the sight. Finally, her brother was getting the reinforcements he desperately needed.

Astrid expected Finn to go with them, yet he didn't. Instead, he moved back to her side, his gaze ensnaring hers once more. "We fight side by side, lass," he said, out of breath from the violent skirmish he'd just survived.

"Aye," Astrid gasped back, warmth spreading across her chest. "Side by side."

She was about to say something else when a large birlinn hove into view from behind the bulk of the cog.

Astrid caught sight of the Mackinnon banner flying from its mast, and her heart lodged in her throat. It was easily a forty-oar vessel with a red-and-white-checkered sail—one she'd seen before. A galley this size could carry a huge host of warriors.

She whispered an oath, her fingers tightening around the slender hilt of her throwing knife. Next to her, Finn ground out a curse of his own.

Kendric Mackinnon himself was bearing down upon them.

As the birlinn drew near, Astrid noted that it bore the scars of the days of battle it had endured. Chunks were missing out of the sides, and there were scorch marks all over its broad hull. There weren't as many warriors propelling it through the bloody water as she'd expected. As Astrid's gaze swept the deck, she counted no more than twenty.

Still, they were vastly outnumbered.

Yells rang down from above, and craning her neck, Astrid caught sight of men now descending the rigging toward them.

Her heart lurched.

Mother Mary, she hoped those warriors were Macleans or Macleods. If not, they were truly done for.

She caught a flash of auburn hair then and realized Malcolm was among them.

A moment later, the Mackinnon birlinn was alongside, and men lurched over the side. Some misjudged the distance between the two galleys and ended up in the water. Most of them bridged the gap easily though, catching hold of the rigging and hauling themselves aboard the Macleod birlinn.

What followed was a frenzied blur of violence that pushed any conscious thought from Astrid's mind.

All that mattered was that she and Finn now fought as a team—him with his dirk, and her with her throwing knives. Back-to-back amidships, they let their attackers come to them.

Knife after knife flew from Astrid's belt until it was empty. After that, she drew her dirk once more, moving forward with Finn protecting her to yank her throwing knives from those men she'd felled. Retrieving her precious blades, she slid them back into the belt at her hip with practiced ease.

Another Mackinnon lurched over the railing then, his gaze piercing hers. Astrid let her next blade fly. It caught him in the throat. Clutching at the hilt, he staggered backward and toppled into the churning sea.

Malcolm and a few of his men were with them now, yet they couldn't hold the tide back. It didn't matter how many men they brought down, more appeared.

Desperation clawed its way up Astrid's throat as she fought.

Aye, she'd dueled with the darkness and won, but she wasn't blind to their situation. The odds were against them.

And then, onboard the Mackinnon birlinn, she spied a big man with red hair threaded with silver. Her breathing caught as she recognized him. Dressed in chainmail and leather, Kendric Mackinnon cut an intimidating figure.

The last time Astrid had seen him, they'd been seated opposite each other in the great hall of Duart Castle. Loch had just promised the Mackinnon clan-chief her hand, and Kendric had worn a gloating expression as he swept his gaze over her in a proprietary fashion that made her hackles rise. Worse still, she'd seen lust spark in those cold silver eyes—a reaction that had terrified her.

But Mackinnon wasn't gloating or lustful now.

He was furious, his face twisted in savagery.

Feeling someone staring at him, the Mackinnon twisted then, his gaze seizing upon Astrid.

For a moment, his face slackened, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. However, he rallied quickly and rushed forward to the railing, bellowing at the men who now clambered aboard the Macleod birlinn, "Get the woman! I need her alive!"

A chill washed over Astrid at these words.

Aye, Kendric Mackinnon had wanted her. And now that he'd recovered from the shock of seeing the woman he'd planned to wed standing just a few yards from him, wielding throwing knives, a hungry look rippled over his face.

He thought he could capture her, could steal her away.

Astrid's belly hardened, rage quickening.

He wouldn't. She'd drive one of her knives through his heart first.

Curse it though, they were outnumbered. Malcolm and his men had moved amidships now, fighting with their backs to Finn and Astrid. Together, they were formidable, yet they were cut off, surrounded. Even though the likes of Malcolm Macleod fought with a skill and savagery that was breathtaking to behold, he couldn't stem the flow of Mackinnons who came at him.

Sweat and blood streaked their faces, exhaustion dragging at their limbs as they fought. Meanwhile, standing on the deck of his galley, Mackinnon watched, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

He knew they were beaten.

Shouts rang through the air then—not cries of pain or anger, but jubilation. At first, Astrid thought the roar was coming from the Mackinnons as they closed in for the final push. Three of Malcolm's men had fallen, and those still alive slipped on the blood and gore that smeared the deck.

But no, the shouting wasn't coming from the Mackinnons, but from the men aboard the Revenge Tide . Some of them were pointing out to sea.

Her breathing coming in ragged bursts now, as she flung her last knife into the throat of a Mackinnon warrior who came at her, Astrid cut her attention east, beyond the bulk of the Mackinnon birlinn.

And for a heartbeat, Astrid just stared, unable to believe her eyes.

A large cog was sailing toward them, its emerald sail billowing, and a deep-red flag fluttering from its mast.