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Using all the strength left in his body, he swung the rock back and threw it, aiming for the man’s head.

It flew through the night air, hints of orange and red reflecting off its wet sides. It was like a comet, David thought oddly.

And then there was a thump and a crack of bone. Goiridh took two drunken steps and fell to the sand with a grunt and a thud. He lay on the beach like a log, his chain mail glistening with fiery gold.

Waves whooshed and murmured, crashing against the beach. Blood slowly poured from Goiridh’s temple, feeding the sand in a black blot.

David stared at the man he had just killed.

Damn it.

Although he was relieved, he didn’t like killing. He hated that people like him and like Goiridh had to listen to petty warlords who weren’t interested in reason and wanted bloodshed.

“Sorry, Goiridh,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

In the silence that followed, he felt every pair of eyes on him. Astonished, angry, antagonistic stares.

“Ye’re sorry?” yelled Dugald. “Ye’re sorry? He was my best warrior! My champion!”

David straightened his shoulders and looked at Dugald, who was watching him with wide eyes and a snarl.

“I didn’t want the ordeal by combat. I didn’t want it to be to the death. All I wanted was to get my horse back. I won. So, according to you, God showed you I told the truth.”

Dugald’s snarl became wild.

Some of the warriors put their hands on the hilts of their swords.

“Good night.” David walked through the empty circle that served as the battle arena. He shouldered his way through the line of silent MacDowells, feeling their eyes on him like knives.

But before he could reach freedom, Dugald’s voice pierced the air. “Kill him!”

Hands grabbed him, but he tore his sleeve out of their grasp and ran into the darkness. From in front of him two large silhouettes approached quickly, hooves thumping against the ground. Behind him, angry MacDowells yelled and ran after him.

“Get him!” he heard. “Kill him!”

He ran. Then the silhouettes became horses. Daisy, her light-brown coloring looking almost black in the darkness, and another horse—with Anna riding it.

“Hurry!” she cried.

He didn’t hesitate. Putting his sword into its sheath, he climbed into Daisy’s saddle, then looked back. Forty Scotsmen, their swords drawn, ran at them like a wave in a storm.

As Anna and he spurred their horses, arrows hit the ground around them as they galloped past the pasture. Anna must have untied the rest of the horses, as they were now running in all directions.

And as the wind blew into his face and the barely visible outline of the woods blackened against the sky, he was tempted to berate Anna for not leaving. But, if he was honest, he couldn’t be happier that she’d broken their agreement.

CHAPTER 12

The gallop was a wild ride in the darkness. The moon came out from time to time, light seeping through the branches of the woods like spiderwebs on the wind.

David didn’t know where they were going, just away. Away from the sharp blades and the bared teeth and the savage eyes. Away from the man he’d killed and the pool of blood. Away from death.

The horses’ hoofbeats drummed in his ears, and the black shapes of tree trunks flashed past on either side, as wide as Goiridh and as dark as his shadow. The forest was pungent with the scents of the trampled underbrush and moss and damp earth. Daisy’s sweet scent and the movements of her strong body were comforting. But the darkness swaying before him in shades of indigo and charcoal and pewter made it feel like he was riding in a nightmare.

And, as though beaten from the ground by Daisy’s hooves like sick music, his thoughts reverberated.

You killed him.

You killed him.