“Jamie?” she said again. Then her hands flew to her mouth in horror. “Oh my God! What have I done?”
*
Elise’s hands wereshaking. She tore her gaze away from Jamie’s, still trying to figure out why he was standing in a tiny rowing boat below her.
The sea around the flagship had calmed a little, the sudden stillness ringing in her ears after the chaos she’d unleashed. Flotsam drifted in the water from damaged sails and snapped rigging, and through it all she could see the ships reeling from what she had done.
If Jamie hadn’t stopped her…
Her stomach lurched. She doubled over, suddenly nauseous. She stared at her hands as though they belonged to someone else, half expecting them to be stained with blood.
Phillip grabbed her arm. “What are ye doing?” he snapped, spittle flying from his lips. “Finish it. Destroy them!”
Elise wrenched her arm free. “Get your hands off me! I’m not doing anything you say!”
His gaze flicked past her—to the confusion rippling through the Isles ships in the wake of her attacks and something calculating flared in his eyes.
“Then we’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way, willnae we? Archers! Fire!”
His warriors sprang to obey. On every ship of the king’s fleet, men armed with bows hurried to the rail. They dipped arrowheads coated with pitch into braziers brought for this purpose and the arrowheads burst into flame. Bows were raised and aimed squarely at the ships facing them—ships that belonged not to Ulster at all, but to Skye and Barra.
“No!” Elise screamed.
But too late. The twang of bowstrings sounded all along the deck and a deadly arc of fire flew across the waves, speeding towards the helpless ships.
Instinct surged—not wild this time, not euphoric, but focused. Controlled. Elise reached with her magic, not outward, butaround.
Power rushed out of her faster than conscious thought, shaped by a single, burning demand:protect them.
And her magic obeyed.
The defensive shields she’d been unable to master on Barra erupted into being without effort—vast, translucent domes of shimmering energy that wrapped around every ship of the Isles.
The fire arrows struck the shields in a rain of sparks and flame—and fell harmlessly into the sea.
Phillip whirled on her, face twisted with fury. “Ye traitorous witch!”
Pain exploded across Elise’s face as Phillip’s fist crashed into her cheek, sending her sprawling across the deck. She hit hard, the breath punched from her lungs, the world spinning.
Before she could scramble away, Phillip was on her. His hand closed around her throat, fingers digging into her skin. Elise clawed at his wrist, panic roaring as her vision began to darken.
“Ye think ye can defy me?” he raged. “Iwillhave yer power!”
She tried to summon her magic but nothing happened. Of course. Her magic would answer to save someoneelse’slife. But not her own.
Phillip’s lips began to move, words spilling from him in a harsh, rhythmic chant. In response, Elise felt a wrenching sensation, like something being torn loose inside her chest.
Her magic.
It was being dragged from her, thread by thread, ripped away by the dark spells Phillip had learned at his master’s behest. Lethargy flooded her limbs, leaving her dizzy and helpless. She tried to fight, tried to wriggle out of his grasp. But her limbs would not respond and her sight began to darken against the edges.
I’m going to die, she thought.He’s going to kill me.
But even as she finished the thought, the pressure around her throat eased and the awful tearing sensation disappeared.
Air rushed back into her lungs as Phillip went tumbling away from her, staggering across the deck. Elise rolled onto her side, coughing violently and looked up through blurred vision.
Jamie stood over her. His eyes blazed with fury and his big hands were wrapped around his claymore in a two-handed grip.
