Heart in his throat, Neacal growled, "Nay!"
MacRankin turned, bloody blades raised. Neacal thrust his broadsword through the leather armor and into his gut. With the dirk in his other hand, he cut the man's throat, giving him the same death he'd given Constance. Only inches away, MacRankin's icy gray eyes stared into Neacal's as he realized he was a dead man.
"Why the hell did you kill my cousin?" Neacal snarled. Constance had been a menace, but she was still his kin and he would've never wished her dead.
"Cousin?" MacRankin gasped as his eyes rolled back. He dropped to the ground beside Constance.
MacRankin must have thought Constance was Anna. 'Twas the only explanation that made sense.
Why the devil had the idiot lass run out in the midst of a battle? Feeling gored, Neacal shook his head.
Damnation, he had to find out if Anna had been on that boat with Blackburn. He raced down the beach, the pounding rain and wind trying to shove him backward, stinging his skin and eyes. He ran past the large galleys toward the end where two small boats clunked together in the wind. After sheathing his weapons and tossing his targe into a two-oared wherry, he untied it, pushed it into the water and jumped aboard.
The loch was as rough as the sea, but he had no time to worry over it. Something told him Anna had been wrapped in that plaid. There was no one else Blackburn would abduct and try to escape with… unless it was Kristina. But he was near certain Colin had spirited Kristina away some time ago, at the beginning of the fighting. Either way, whether Blackburn's captive was Anna or Kristina, Neacal had to rescue her.
In this weather, Blackburn couldn't have gone far. What if the other boat had already capsized? Saints! Neacal glanced around over the rough surface of the water but saw no sign of another craft.
He rowed more forcefully than he'd ever rowed before, ignoring his cuts and injuries. At the moment, he felt no pain. To save Anna, he would fight until his last breath.
The small vessel rocked and tossed about upon the loch's turbulent water. The ferocious wind, blowing in off the ocean from the west and along the length of the loch, made gaining any distance difficult. Gritting his teeth, he focused on the two oars propelling the boat through the water. He glanced back, squinting against the wind.
A fearsome wave approached. Damnation! He held his breath as the wave smashed into him, toppling the boat sideways. Neacal flew overboard into the water. Letting go of the oars, he pushed himself through the water using his arms and legs. His plaid and weapons were a slight hindrance but there was no time to remove them now. Besides, he would need his sword and dirk soon.
Glad now for all the swimming he'd done over the past several months, he quickly reached the small island. Once his feet were on solid ground, he hurried along the shore.
The boat Blackburn had used sat ashore on the back side of the island. A surge of triumph blasted through Neacal, quickening his steps. Anna was still alive; she had to be. He was glad Blackburn had enough sense to know to get off the loch and out of the gale. No doubt he'd planned to hide out here until the storm was over, then take the boat further along the loch, until he was out of sight of the castle, and go ashore on the mainland at some point.
Neacal raced toward the only structure on the island, an old byre, left from when sheep and cattle used to graze here. Trying to stay out of sight, he slipped to the side of the doorway and peered through. The high winds prevented him from hearing anything and 'twas dark inside.
Knowing the byre was too tight of a space to effectively use a sword, he took out his dirk and rushed in, hoping to surprise Blackburn. A tall, dark form advanced on him. Neacal kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling against the stone wall. He wanted to make sure the knave was Blackburn, and that Anna was his captive, before he knifed him.
A string of growling curses erupted from the man's mouth as he shoved to his feet. Neacal recognized his voice.
"Who's your hostage, Blackburn?"
"She is not a hostage. She's my wife! You're the one who steals other men's wives and fiancées."
Neacal's eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness, allowing him to see the dirk the other man held at the ready.
"Do you want me to recite the atrocious deeds you've done to her? You murdered her first husband." Neacal slashed with his dirk.
"A lie!" Blackburn leapt out of the way and countered.
Neacal dodged back. "You murdered her unborn child. You beat and abused her." Neacal kicked toward the back of the other man's ankle, causing him to stumble. "You blinded and scarred her sister." He sliced the other man's arm. "If you think I'm going to let you take her from here, you're daft. In a matter of moments, you're going to be dead and she's going to be a free woman."
Blackburn, now closer to the exit, turned tail and ran out into the storm. What the devil? Was this some kind of trick? "Anna? Where are you?" Neacal glanced around the tiny one room structure.
Silence.
"Anna! Damnation!" He searched through the darkness at the back corner of the byre. His hand traced over wool material and someone lying still. 'Twas her. "Anna?" He touched her face and placed his finger beneath her nose. When he felt her warm breath puffing against him, his eyes burned. "Thank God." Leaning closer, he stroked her face gently. "Anna, my love. How badly are you hurt?" He needed to move her into the light but was afraid he would worsen her injuries. He kissed her forehead. "Anna, please wake up."
"Hmm?" She turned her head. "Neacal?"
Relief surged through him. "Aye, talk to me. Did you hit your head?"
"Aye… hurts," she breathed.
"That bastard Blackburn," he growled low.
