26 TOWARD THE LIGHT

A SOB CAUGHT in Astrid's throat. " The Blood Reiver !" she shouted, grasping at Finn's sleeve. "Look!"

Yanking his dirk out of the warrior who'd just tried to gut him, and shoving the man's corpse back so he slammed into the Mackinnon warrior trying to climb over the railing onto the ship, Finn did as bid.

He too stared for a moment before a grin split his face. "That canny bastard!"

Like Astrid, he hadn't believed Alec Rankin and his crew would ever come to their aid. Aye, Astrid had offered the pirate a considerable amount of coin, but he'd dismissed her offer.

He didn't involve himself in clan conflicts, he'd said.

And yet, here he was.

"Aye," Astrid gasped. "He must really want that kiss."

That comment earned a swift glare from Finn, although Astrid ignored his reaction. He couldn't have it both ways. Having made it clear that he didn't want her, he had no right to be jealous of other men.

Meanwhile, Kendric Mackinnon had also seen the pirate ship, its bloody flag snapping in the wind.

Bellowing orders, he turned from the Macleod birlinn to face the new threat.

Meanwhile, those aboard the Revenge Tide , clustered around the railing, to watch the approaching cog.

Relief weakened Astrid's knees when she spied her brother among them.

Loch's face was blood-splattered, and he was breathing hard, but he was alive.

Moments later, The Blood Reiver was upon the Mackinnon galley, and men, howling as they went, spilled over the sides of the cog, clambering down the rigging to meet the men defending their clan-chief.

The Macleods, Finn, and Astrid were all forgotten now.

The Mackinnon and his men were locked in a struggle for survival.

Glancing over her shoulder, Astrid looked, for the first time since being thrown into the midst of the battle, at Dounarwyse. Her breathing caught. The gates had been breached, and a melee was unfolding before them.

Astrid's heart started to hammer. God's teeth, the enemy was close to gaining entry to the broch. Was Jack, her cousin, amongst the men fighting before the walls, or had he already fallen?

Dread clutched at her chest at the thought. However, a roar from where Rankin's men had engaged the Mackinnons made Astrid jerk her attention back to the clan-chief's birlinn.

The pirates had broken through the ranks of men surrounding Kendric Mackinnon, and Alec Rankin himself, his blond hair tangling in the wind, battled the clan-chief. Both men fought with equal skill and savagery, although, right from the beginning, Rankin had the advantage, for he was younger, and the clan-chief was already tired after days of battle.

And as Astrid watched, hardly daring to breathe, Rankin pushed Mackinnon back toward the stern.

The clan-chief slipped then, losing his footing on the blood that now slicked the deck of his galley. An instant later, Rankin was on him, driving his dirk through the clan-chief's throat.

But the Mackinnon was strong, and even as he died, he grappled with his assailant, attempting to gouge Rankin's eyes out.

Eventually though, he choked on his blood, his big body twitching upon the deck of his birlinn.

Astrid gasped, a blend of horror and relief washing over her.

She couldn't believe it. The Butcher of Dùn Ara—the man who'd prevented peace from ever settling upon the Isle of Mull, was dead.

Slipping past Finn, she moved to the railing, her gaze sliding over the clan-chief's corpse. Around him, chaos reigned. With the Mackinnon dead, his men lost their focus. Some tried to fight the pirates, desperation and despair twisting their faces, while others panicked and dove overboard.

Astrid let out a howl of victory, shaking her fist at them. The Mackinnons wouldn't prevail this time. Their clan-chief had fallen and now—

Something punched into her chest then, severing her jubilation.

Gasping, she staggered.

"Astrid!" Finn's voice sliced through the din of battle.

Time slowed as she looked down, cold washing over her when she spied a knife embedded to the hilt in the side of her chest. It had punctured her leather vest as if it were made of linen.

Where had that come from?

Pain hit her, flowering across her ribs. She fell backward, her arms wheeling as she tried to grab on to something. But her hands grasped nothing but air.

Finn was rushing toward her, his face stricken, his eyes wild, yet it was too late.

He was too far away.

Astrid hit the water with a slap, and it embraced her, pulling her under with breathtaking swiftness. The cold drove the breath from her lungs, and when Astrid opened her eyes, she was sinking.

It was quiet down here, below the churning surface of the sea, where bodies floated amongst a slick of dark blood. She could see the hulls of the four vessels that had been locked together in the final struggle.

The fighting was still going on, but in the deep, peace reigned. The water was turquoise, and schools of tiny fish swam by, oblivious to her plight.

Astrid's clothing, and the heavy cloak she wore, pulled her down.

Fight! Her mind screamed at her, railed at her. Kick upward, toward the light. However, she couldn't seem to move. The pain in her chest consumed her, and the strength had left her body.

The water was taking Astrid, and her vision narrowed, turning the watery underworld into a glimmering tunnel.

Yet, dimly, she was aware that something had pierced the surface of the sea high above her. A lean figure dove, his arms parting the water as he kicked down. The man's face was twisted with determination, his wide eyes looking around frantically.

Astrid's burning chest heaved. Finn! He was trying to save her.

She reached out, her numb fingers grasping.

His gaze seized upon her then, and he dove deeper still, his body arrowing toward Astrid. But the water slowed him down, pressing in at them both, thwarting him.

Astrid's vision dimmed now, weakness flooding over her. She could no longer fight it.

She sobbed, cold water rushing into her mouth, and a veil dropped over her sight.

A weighty silence settled outside the bedchamber.

"What the devil is the healer doing in there?" Jack demanded.

"Helping my sister," Loch replied wearily. "Donn's the best there is … we just have to give him time."

Finn ground his teeth at these words and dragged his gaze from the closed door. He then glanced over at where the clan-chief stood a few feet away. Tension vibrated through Loch's muscular form. His face, smeared with blood and soot, was grimmer than Finn had ever seen it. Meanwhile, Jack fidgeted nearby; his expression was strained, his eyes hollowed.

They were all worried for Astrid.

She hadn't been in a good state when Finn carried her up here earlier.

After retrieving her from the water's chill embrace, he'd towed her to the pebbly shore. When she'd fallen in the water, he was transported back to another day—another lass. He hadn't been able to save Maggie, but he wouldn't let the sea take Astrid.

Fearing the worst as he lay her down on the beach, he'd been relieved to see she was, indeed, breathing, albeit shallowly. However, the sight of that knife protruding from her chest had quelled his jubilation. Knowing that it would be foolish to try and remove the blade, he'd carried her up to the castle, to where the battle had just ended. He'd been in pain as he climbed, the cut to his side stinging, but he just gritted his teeth and plowed on.

The slope beneath the broch was littered with bodies, the ground stained dark with blood.

But fortunately for both Finn and Astrid, the Macleans had emerged victors. Those Mackinnon, MacGregor, and MacNab warriors who'd survived the battle, and who hadn't fled for their lives, were now being rounded up.

Finn barely noticed the activity around him though. Instead, he'd picked his way over the fallen and stumbled into the barmkin, where he'd met Rae, the chieftain of Dounarwyse.

Rae's exhausted face had turned even more severe when he spied Astrid, insensible in Finn's arms. Without delay, he'd taken them straight into the tower house, to the healer. Luckily, Donn, the healer who hailed from Duart village, was already in residence. Loch had brought him with his force on the day they'd departed Duart, knowing that Donn's skills would be needed.

Finn had been relieved when the healer locked himself away with Astrid—with the Lady of Dounarwyse, Donalda, and Jack's wife, Tara, assisting him. But as an hour slid into two, and none of them reappeared, his thoughts took a bleak turn.

Such a lengthy wait boded ill.

"I was too slow," he spoke his fears aloud then. "I should have gotten to her sooner."

"Ye did all ye could," Jack replied roughly. Like Loch, he was filthy and still wore the chainmail and leather armor he'd been fighting in. Thanks to the assistance of the Macleods and the pirates, they'd managed to gain the advantage they needed on the water. And when the Mackinnon force on land got wind of their clan-chief's demise, their morale unraveled. It was said that the clan-chief's son, who'd led the attack on the castle, couldn't keep them together.

Outdoors, the folk of Dounarwyse were beginning the lengthy clean-up, tired yet thrilled voices filtering through the broch. But Finn couldn't feel the same joy, not while Astrid's life hung in the balance .

One of Loch's men arrived then, chain-mail clinking. "We've captured the last of the Mackinnons and their allies," he announced.

Loch favored the warrior with a brusque nod. "Good … is the clan-chief's son among them?"

"Aye."

Something dark and violent moved in Loch's eyes. "Gather them outside the walls," he said after a pause. "I shall join ye shortly."

"Aye, Maclean."

Turning on his heel, the warrior departed.

Silence followed, and then Finn glanced over at Jack once more. His friend had started to pace the floor, his gaze shadowed.

"Satan's cods," Finn muttered. Jack's behavior was stretching his already frayed nerves taut. "Just calm yerself, man."

"I can't," Jack ground out. "I keep thinking about the Headless Horseman."

A chill washed over Finn at these words, yet Jack continued. "Ever since I saw the specter, I told myself that it likely had Loch, Rae … or me … in its sights. But what if it wasn't foretelling our deaths … but Astrid's?"

"Stop it, Jack," Loch cut in, his peat-dark eyes, so like his sister's, guttering. "It's just superstition … and has no power over ye unless ye believe it. Astrid is stronger than even she knows. She'll fight."

Finn's heart lurched. "Aye," he murmured. "She will." His mouth curved then into a brittle smile. "Ye should have seen her out there during the sea battle … she was magnificent."

"Perhaps." A nerve flickered in Loch's cheek. "But she shouldn't have been there at all." He advanced on Finn then. "What were ye thinking, man, letting her fight?"

"Loch," Jack murmured, stepping forward and catching his cousin by the arm. "Let's not—"

However, Loch shook him off. Anger kindled in the clan-chief's eyes. "Ye threw my sister into the midst of carnage."

"I tried to insist that we drop her off farther south," Finn answered, holding his ground. "But ye know what Astrid is like. She refused. The only way I'd have gotten her back to Duart would have been by force."

"Well then, ye should have forced her. "

Finn's fingers curled against his palms, his hands fisting. "I think not. Ye have already demonstrated what happens when ye try to bully Astrid into doing anything she doesn't want to."

Loch flinched at these words—yet he knew they were the truth. However, a moment later, his mouth pursed. "Don't try and twist this around to make it my fault."

"I'm just pointing out that yer sister has free will, and she exercised it."

Loch stared back at him, his gaze roaming over Finn's face now. A strange expression flickered over his features then, and he inclined his head.

"What?" Finn growled. He didn't appreciate the probing, assessing look the clan-chief was now giving him.

A few feet away, the door to the bedchamber opened and Tara Mackinnon stepped out. The woman, as lovely as she was, looked utterly drained. Blood splattered her steel-grey kirtle. Tara's flame-red hair had been tied back into a tight braid. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was ghostly pale.

Finn's heart kicked hard at the sight of the blood, and at the grief he witnessed on her face.

Had they lost Astrid?