The thought flickered and she clung to it, just for a heartbeat. But then she again saw Bryn and Martin huddling terrified behind her and felt the cold certainty that if she stopped—if she faltered—they would die, along with countless others on the Isles when Ulster landed their force.
She had to save them. It was her purpose, the reason for her existence.
With a cry, she struck again, splintering an oar bank, tearing canvas from rigging. The power sang in her blood, drowning out doubt, drowning out fear. For a moment, she understood how men like Phillip were made—how easy it was to mistake this feeling for righteousness.
But then a flurry of movement among the attacking ships made her pause. Sailors were working at the halyards, sails flapping wildly as flags were hauled down. New banners rose in their place, catching the wind.
Her breath caught. Gone were the red hands of Ulster. In their place bloomed the familiar colors of the Isles. The black galley of Islay. The green of Barra. The blue and gold of Skye, sharp against the sky.
Her weaving stuttered, the threads trembling in her grasp as her focus wavered. What was going on?
“Again!” Phillip barked beside her. “Dinna slow now—finish it!”
The sight of his triumph sent a jolt right through her. His eyes were alight, his mouth curved in a savage grin as he watched the enemy ships founder under her assault. This was what he’d wanted all along.
“But they are flying colors of the Isles!”
“It’s a trick,” Phillip snapped. “They’re trying to confuse ye, to break yer concentration. Those ships are crowded with Ulster warriors! What do ye think will happen when they land on Islay?”
“I—” Elise swallowed hard, trying to clear her tangled thoughts.
“Listen to me,” Phillip growled. “They’re cutthroats, Elise. All of them. The people of the Isles will die if ye falter now! It is yer duty to defend them!”
Duty.
The word sliced through her like a blade. She was a MacFinnan War Weaver and it was her duty to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. Not just Bryn and Martin and others she cared about, butallwho needed her, all the people of the Isles who would suffer if she failed in her duty now.
For a heartbeat, she teetered. Her gaze fixed on the ships, on the men crowding their decks. She couldn’t make out faces at this distance and she was grateful for that. Did these men have families waiting for them back home? Were they really the blood-thirsty thugs Phillip made them out to be? Or were they just people like any other, trying their best to live their lives with the hand they’d been dealt?
Her chest tightened painfully and the magic bucked, straining against her control.
“Do it,” Phillip hissed.
It is your duty.
Elise closed her eyes. She could feel the magic raging inside her, a roaring flood demanding release. The euphoria it promised was seductive and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist its lure.
She felt tears gathering behind her closed lids.Where are you, Jamie?she thought.I need you.
But Jamie wasn’t here and his absence left a hollow inside her that nothing could fill. Nothing but her magic.
She opened her eyes and released her power.
*
From the deckof his ship, the world seemed to tilt around Jamie as Elise lifted her hands. His heart broke as he saw the sea respond, heaving and snarling beneath the force of her will. Another blast tore free of her, slammed into Skye’s fleet with a thunderous collision that sent spray exploding skyward.
“No,” he breathed hoarsely. “Elise…no.”
Around him, his captains were shouting orders, warriors scrambling to adjust sails as the waves grew wild beneath them. But all Jamie could see was her—small but incandescent with power.
“Lord Donald!” Roger Beaufort shouted. “We can’t hold if she keeps this up!”
“I know,” Jamie whispered.
Something suddenly lashed out from Skye’s ships, a wave of force that slammed into the king’s flagship, pushing it back.
Rose and Jenna, Jamie realized, desperately trying to protect their people.
