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“For you,” I say. “Always, remember?”
“Aye,” he says. “Tha gaol agam ort.”
“What?” I ask, sure I didn’t hear him right, but he’s huffing hard and shakes his head instead of answering.
We reach the stone wall as the distant shouts become insistent enough that I glance back. A dozen guards are milling around the dais. By some stroke of pure luck none of them have taken notice of us.
Staring up at the wall I swallow hard. I’m still drained, not a hint of power. There’s no way I’m going to lift Duncan, especially in the shape he’s in. Despair is a creeping darkness seeping through my thoughts and into my body. Each breath in is cold and spreads the sensation.
I bow my head and offer up a silent prayer to whatever powers that might be listening. In my deepest thoughts I wonder if Dugald might not save me one more time, but I’ve burned those bridges. It’s on me.
I’m the Destroyer.
Right. Tell yourself that all you want but right now I’m exhausted, burned-out, and powerless. I press Duncan to the wall and grab his chin, pulling his head up to meet my eyes. A smile plays over his filthy lips.
“Ach, you want it rough?” he chuckles.
“Kiss me, you thrice damned MacGregor.”
He jerks me in with his one good arm and we kiss. A kiss filled with passion, desire, and tainted with desperation. We’re about to die, but if this is to be our last kiss both of us give our all to it. His tongue penetrates my mouth and I want, with all my heart, for more of him to be inside me. I want to live a quiet life in the Highlands with him. Fantasies dance in my head of raising our wee bairns. Growing old together and lying in each other’s arms as we pass away the nights.
Shouts of discovery cut through the moment. We break apart but my fingers linger on his cheek as I turn to face our enemies. His kiss soothes my soul. Power flows in, weak and painful, but at least there is some. It’s our only chance.
“Here, you blasted radge,” Rob hisses. I spin in surprise and see Rob lying flat on top of the wall with an arm extended down. “If you’re quite done with being all randy, I’d like to get out of here.”
“Rob!” I exclaim.
“Come on,” he orders.
Duncan crouches down and tries to put his good arm around my waist but I step aside.
“Don’t be a fool,” I say.
I cup my hands and nod for Duncan to use the stirrup. He hesitates only long enough for an arrow to strike the wall between us, then he puts his boot into my hands, and I lift with all the strength I have.
Rob grabs him and the two of them disappear over the wall. A moment later there’s a thud and a curse. Four guards face me. I smile boldly, desperately buying time for the trickle of power to reach a level of being useful. The guards pull back on their bows, arrows aimed at my hammering heart.
“Can we not talk this over?” I ask.
“Quinn,” Rob calls.
I spin towards the wall, arms over my head, and jump. He grabs my hand and jerks. My shoulder pulls painfully, and right before I’m sure it’s going to dislocate, I’m over the top. Arrows slam into the stone with a clatter. Rob and I roll together and drop off the other side, landing in an entangled mess.
Extricating ourselves from one another we leap to our feet. Duncan stands with six other MacGregor men, all of them hurt, but none as bad as he is.
Six men. How many were there before we came? No, push aside the dark thoughts, focus on the good. Rob and I join the group, and everyone gives each other a pat on the back, but we don’t have time for reunions. The guards will be on us fast.
“They’ll have dogs,” Rob says. “We must split up. It’s our best chance.” A round of agreement comes from the men. “Alaqhon has set up camps throughout the Highlands. You know the way to an old hunting lodge?”
The men indicate that they all do, and then everyone pairs off into groups of two, leaving Duncan and I together. Then we separate, running towards the water at the edge of the Isle. Duncan and I reach the beach right before we hear the baying of hounds. The early rays of dawn break the horizon as we search along the shore, hoping to find a raft to cross back to the mainland.
The one we find at last is leaky and rotting, but it floats. Beggars can’t be choosers, so we board. Duncan sits in the rowing position, but I arch my eyebrow.
“And you’re going to do that one-armed?” I ask.
“Ach,” he says. “You cannot row the both of us.”
“Watch me,” I dare him as he shifts positions and I take the seat.
