Page 54

When she descended, she felt dizzy. This must be from the sheer exhaustion of hard physical labor. She might normally need the insulin injection. Fear scraped at the back of her mind. She had no more insulin, but the way home was clear, and she’d be careful.

So she got back to work, with shaking hands, putting more rocks into a crate she’d found in the basement. And then as soon as it was heavy enough to bring an efficient load—but light enough for her to be able to carry it up into the inner bailey—she headed up there.

But every load brought more and more exhaustion. She wasn’t doing herself any favors, and she knew it. It was getting worse, with every step that she took, with every stone that she put into the crate. Under normal circumstances, she should be resting and taking her insulin…

Bryanna stopped in the doorway of the storage room, looking at the bailey. Dead bodies, men and women fighting… There were people she’d met, the man she was falling for…maybe even had fallen for…swinging his sword up on that wall, protecting her, protecting his family, protecting the boy that wasn’t even his.

How could she hide somewhere and wait until others risked their lives for her?

She couldn’t fight and she couldn’t take care of the wounded…but she could do this simple job. She could bring rocks up onto the wall, there, where it wasn’t breached. She could help defend the castle.

Raghnall had said she had sunlight about her…that freedom when she had thought she was invincible.

Well, maybe she could pretend she was. Just for some time. Even though she was anything but.

Shaking her weakness and dizziness off, she shifted the crate with rocks to relieve the pain in her fingers from the side of the board digging into them.

Then she walked through the bailey and up the stone stairs that ran along the curtain wall and led onto the wall. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, because the dizzy spell made her feel like she was on a helicopter spinning out of control.

There, on the right side, where the archers were shooting—including James and Catrìona and even David—the protection was still working. And other warriors were throwing rocks onto the attackers who were trying to climb the walls.

But to the left of the gates, on the wall, Mackenzie defenses had been breached, and the battle was going full speed ahead. There was Raghnall swinging his sword, his face a mask of fury and battle rage, and her heart squeezed in worry and fear for him. But he seemed to be invincible, taut muscles playing under his tunic as he fought.

He was death itself—merciless, efficient, and cold-blooded. And next to him, ten-year-old Seoc was trying to jab Raghnall’s opponent in the thigh.

Bryanna gasped. How could she have forgotten about the boy? She put the crate next to one of the warriors who was busy throwing rocks. He gave her a grateful, curt nod before returning to his defensive work.

With her feet cold, and feeling like she was flying, she hurried to Seoc, avoiding the fighting men.

“Seoc!” she cried. “Seoc!”

But the boy didn’t turn to her, didn’t hear her.

She kept going. A movement flashed to her right, and a man who had just thrown one of the Mackenzie warriors off the wall was suddenly right in front of her—just a step away.

The enemy’s eyes were wild with battle rage as he stared at her, panting, upper lip curled in a bloodthirsty snarl.

She saw the thought flash through his mind—an unprotected woman, he could kill her, or kidnap her, or drag her away and rape her if he wanted. But before he could do any of that, someone else jabbed a sword into his face, and he had to duck and forget about her.

With fear chilling her limbs like ice, she kept sprinting along the wall. Good grief, this was not a place for children!

“Seoc! Seoc!” she kept calling.

Like a small wolf cub helping a grown wolf, he was fighting another enemy warrior with Raghnall. With a knife in his hand, Seoc dashed left and right, throwing jabs into the man’s waist, legs, lower back—anywhere he could reach.

“Seoc!” she called. Finally, he turned around. throwing an irritated glance at her. “Stop this right now! Come on, you can help me—”

Raghnall turned his head to her, too.

But not the man they fought. He used the opportunity to slash Raghnall across the chest, cutting through his leine croich to flesh…

All the blood drained from Bryanna’s body at the sight of red saturating the edge of the slash, spilling down the croich.

Raghnall winced, not moving for a moment, probably from shock. Sensing his close victory, the enemy warrior raised his sword in a final, victorious slash.

It would be too late. Raghnall wouldn’t have time to defend himself. Or duck. Bryanna didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a rock that lay close to her feet and smashed it with all her might against the man’s head. He was wearing a chain mail coif, which absorbed most of the impact, but it was enough for the man to stop and turn to her.

That gave Raghnall an opportunity. He stabbed the man in the stomach. The enemy grunted, holding on to the blade that was sunk deep in his gut.