Chapter 2

Flynn popped his head out of the room and glanced down the hallway. Several men rushed by the room without saying a word, but the determination on their faces and the fear that rolled off them caused him to straighten up.

“Report,” he demanded as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Never did he expect that Archibald would deliver so swiftly on his promise, yet there was no doubt in Flynn’s mind that it was Archibald and his men who were storming his castle. The warning horn’s cry had carved a path of icy dread through the still air and his thoughts.

“Men, report!” he commanded, his gravelly voice slicing through the tension-wrought air as he snagged the shoulder of a passing warrior and pulled him closer. “Where is the threat?”

“Me Laird, men are breachin’ the southside of the castle.”

“How many?” Flynn demanded as his grip tightened on the soldier’s thin muslin shirt.

“I dinnae ken, Me Laird. Ye ken as much as I do,” the soldier answered.

Suddenly, Flynn felt warm hands on his back. He glared over his shoulder at Elizabeth, who had come out of the room, thus disobeying his orders.

“If it is my father’s men who have come, you can bet they’ll be a formidable threat,” she said. “You’ll not be able to stop them for long.”

“Back inside,” Flynn ordered as he released the soldier to focus on wrangling her back into her room.

Her words fell like a death knell, stirring a turbulent sea within his chest. His heart, already a fortress of conflicting emotions, now waged a new battle—a fight not just for survival, but for all that he held dear in the world.

In a flurry of motion, Flynn watched as his guards ran down the dimly lit hallway, their shadows dancing frantically on the walls as if possessed by the very spirits of turmoil themselves. A cacophony of armor and urgency, they dashed towards the beckoning maw of the front door, grappling with an unseen adversary that laid siege to their sanctuary.

“What’s this?” Elizabeth taunted. “Has Laird O’Kane lost his nerve?”

“Enough of ye,” Flynn growled, pushing her back as her eyes sparkled with delight at his torment.

There was no way he was going to walk away from a fight, especially not one that would give him the chance to slay Archibald once and for all.

“If you cannot handle me, how are you going to handle my father? Or his men? I’m guessing you won’t lay a single finger on any of them and would rather have your men take the blows,” Elizabeth continued.

Each word that slipped from her lips was like a lash to Flynn’s pride. He knew he would have to charge into the fray sooner rather than later.

Fumbling with the keys in his sporran, Flynn tried to keep her at arm’s length. But her never-ceasing attempts to run for the door made it difficult for him to get a grip on the iron hoop.

“Stay still, ye banshee,” he growled as he finally managed to slip the key into the lock and push her back inside. He then closed the door and locked it, trapping her in her room once again.

“If you let me go, you can spare your men,” Elizabeth shouted from behind the closed door.

Flynn knew all too well that the moment he let her back into her father’s embrace, it would be the nail in his coffin.

“Never.”

In the dimly lit corridor, the air was thick with an impending sense of doom. Flynn drew a long, deep breath as his fingers fumbled feverishly with the keys. Their metallic jingle was a stark contrast to the dread that settled in his heart. He let out a heavy sigh as he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he spotted a ghostly silhouette staggering through the corridor, as if it had no business with the living but was drawn to the chaos of the battle that ensued.

“Erin?” he called out as he stared at his sister, who moved through the shadows as if ensnared by a dream from which she couldn’t wake up.

Instantly, Flynn’s instincts propelled him towards her, his steps a mix of urgency and dread. His hands clasped her shaking shoulders as he tried to snap her out of her daze.

“Sister? What plagues ye? Speak to me,” he implored. His voice was a beacon in the tumultuous storm of their reality.

Yet, before him, Erin stood frozen. She was like a statue carved out of fear and confusion. Her eyes were wide orbs, reflecting a terror that clung to her like a suffocating veil. She trembled under his touch like a fragile leaf caught in the howling wind. Her slight form bore the immense weight of unspeakable horror.

With every shudder that racked her frame, Flynn felt a corresponding pang in his heart. Studying his sister, he couldn’t help but notice the emptiness in her gaze, as if she were lost in her own labyrinth of fear and was on the verge of collapsing.

“Has he come for me?” Erin’s voice, a whisper born of shadows, sliced through the heavy air. “Tell me and dinnae spare me feelings. Answer me.”

Her question, laden with an ominous weight, didn’t need the clarification of who ‘he’ referred to. Flynn was all too aware that it was Archibald’s name haunting his sister’s thoughts.

And at that, a spark of anger ignited within him, fueled by the very mention of the architect of their nightmarish reality.

Flynn pulled Erin into an embrace, a fortress built of resolve and desperation. “I pray he has come,” his voice rumbled as he held her ever closer, “so that I might end his reign of terror over you.”

Erin’s gaze, a turbulent sea of fear and defiance, met his. “Dinnae underestimate Archibald,” she warned, her voice a tremulous melody of caution. “He is a man forged in the fires of malice, his heart a vault of vicious designs.”

“I will take care of it, Sister. Go to yer room, lock yourself in, and wait for me. I will come for ye when this is all over.”

Terror fanned the embers of doubt in Erin’s eyes. It was enough to give Flynn pause as she clasped his arms, trying to hold him back.

“But what if ye dinnae come for me?”

“Ye must be brave, Erin. For both our sakes, hold onto the promise of dawn. I will come.”

At that moment, amidst the storm of uncertainty and fear, their shared resolve became his lighthouse and a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness.

“Let me out. I can stop this madness.” Elizabeth’s voice was muffled, but there was no ignoring her.

“Maybe she’s right,” Erin said, glancing over Flynn’s shoulder to stare at the wooden door that separated Elizabeth from the rest of the world. “Maybe she can help.”

“I dinnae need an English woman to help wit’ matters of me estate,” Flynn growled, insulted by both Erin’s and Elizabeth’s suggestions. “And I’ll nae have her leave this place. Do ye nae see, dearest sister, that it is her faither who fuels the terror that rattles yer soul.”

“It wasnae her doin’,” Erin protested.

Flynn pounded on the door in frustration. There was only one thing he knew he had to do.

“Ye would defend her?” he snapped, his words like arrows dipped in poison and aimed at Elizabeth’s heart.

“Flynn, it’s nae her doin’. Elizabeth isnae her faither. Ye cannae blame her for any of this,” Erin insisted as she tugged on his arm to stop him from pounding down the door.

But Flynn, ensnared by his tumultuous sea of emotions, pursed his lips and whipped around to direct his venom at Erin. Seeing his sister so distraught, he paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

“If Archibald dares step into this storm he has conjured, and should I slay him,” he vowed with a darkness clouding his judgment, “then Elizabeth will languish in the dungeons, for I’ll have nay further use for a detestable Englishwoman.”

“Braither, please, ye cannae be serious,” Erin pleaded as he jerked his arm out of her grasp.

“Aye, that I am,” Flynn snarled.

“Ye cannae! She’s innocent. Braither, please, see reason here. Did our clansmen blame ye for Faither’s doin’? Or for me doin’? Nay, because we are different than those we call family.”

“Enough,” Flynn snapped as he squared his shoulders and tuned out his sister’s pleas. “If her faither is indeed here, and me blade finds its mark, the better off we’ll all be. Ye think I want to endure her company at dinner or extract from her the secrets that her family guards? I’d rather see this done and over wit’ and move on from this cursed moment.”

Erin stood with her mouth agape, but Flynn no longer had the patience for her nor wished to hear any more pleas coming from Elizabeth’s room.

“Now, Sister, ye shall leave now and head back to yer room,” he said, taking the key to Elizabeth’s room and sliding it into the depth of his sporran.

His eyes, stormy seas of unresolved anger and warning, locked onto Erin’s, as if daring her to defy his orders. With a final, threatening glance that spoke volumes, he pivoted on his heel, the echo of his departure reverberating through the stone-clad hallway like the aftermath of a tempest.

“Ashton, where are ye, man?” Flynn barked as he rushed down the hallway toward the south side of the castle. Other guards and soldiers ran past him, each scrambling to reach the battle and defend the keep.

“Adams, have ye seen Ashton?” Flynn asked as he slipped into the armory, only to find about fifteen men gathering the weapons they needed to face the threat looming outside.

“Aye, Me Laird.”

Flynn glanced around to find his man-at-arms passing out the swords and shields to the other men. He moved to Ashton and clasped his shoulder.

“Who dares attack us?” he asked.

“It’s Archibald’s men,” Ashton declared, his voice a somber harbinger of the strife unfurling at their doorstep.

“Have ye seen Archibald?” Flynn asked.

“No sign of him,” Ashton replied grimly.

With a ferocity that mirrored the tumultuous feelings within, Flynn selected twin blades and tested their weight before turning his attention to the door.

“He’s out there, I ken it,” he growled, and without another word, he burst into the courtyard, a specter of vengeance as his blades danced a deadly ballet.

Each foe that fell before him was a silent testament to his prowess, yet with the final adversary vanquished, the shadow of disappointment crept upon him. Archibald remained a phantom with his presence absent from the battlefield.

“Perhaps it was but a feint, a test of your mettle,” Ashton said as Flynn scanned the area, only to find no further foes remained standing.

“Such a costly gambit, squanderin’ lives for mere insight,” Flynn said as he shook his head. Killing was never something he enjoyed, but it was a necessity to survive. “We should all head back inside before another volley is started.”

“This could be just a ploy to keep us distracted,” Ashton pointed out.

Flynn turned his attention back to the castle. His heart pounded in his ears as his gaze darted up to the second-story window—Elizabeth’s window. To his dismay, only darkness greeted him, and for a split second, Ashton’s words rang in his ears like a bell.

“See that the men are well cared for,” Flynn ordered over his shoulder while he charged for the castle.

“Shall I come wit’ ye?” Ashton asked.

But Flynn was already halfway inside, making a beeline for Elizabeth’s room. The thought of her escaping rattled him, and there was only one way he’d be able to quash the dread that snaked through his veins.

“Nay,” he called over his shoulder.

A realization dawned on him, a spark amidst the encroaching despair, that there existed one mind that could unravel Archibald’s machinations as effectively as the man himself.

“There’s only one who wields the key to his labyrinthine mind, and by dawn, her secrets shall be ours.”