Chapter Fifteen

Eyes still watering from Hamish’s attack, Kirstie straightened in time to catch a change in the current of energy in the room. It disturbed the stale air that had filled the small space and made her hair stand on end. Blinking, she gasped at the image of the balding man, mouth ajar, staring down at a sword that had pierced his midsection.

Shivers spread through her as she recognized Alan holding the blade at the hilt, but he looked different. His gray eyes were rigid, cold, and at the same time they burned with an intense hardness that would have been frightening if they were aimed at her, but they weren’t. They were fixated on Hamish.

Hamish shuddered. It was the first sign of any real emotion she’d ever seen in the arse who had remained passive and distant as he’d beat her when she hadn’t bent to his will.

Alan’s dark blond hair clung to his head and cheeks, appearing almost chestnut with the sparse lighting of the two sputtering candles at the far corners of the room. As his soaked clothes hugged to his bulging arms, the material highlighted their girth, and he pulled the claymore from the guard and gripped it with both hands in an intimidating pose. Hamish’s man fell with a thick thud to the ground, and Alan stepped over the body without a downward glance.

His golden skin glistened as if he’d spent the evening in the rain she’d heard pounding on the roof and windows as she’d prayed for the strength to do the right thing for her clan. This was the fierce warrior who her brother trusted at his side in battle, and despite what he’d done to her, she was thankful he was here now.

“Move, Kirstie,” he ordered, but before the words registered, a hand clamped onto her arm and pulled.

“What is this?” the devil with his talons around her asked in his eerie deadpan voice as he drew her closer to his side.

She couldn’t lash out at him, because her arms were still bound and she was weak from the lack of nourishment and the beating her body had taken. She had no hope of getting out of Hamish’s grasp without distracting Alan.

“Let her go, and I’ll think about sparing yer life.” Alan’s gaze was locked on the man holding her.

“Balloch, get the others.” She thought she heard a slight tremor in Hamish’s voice.

“Dinnae bother. They cannae help ye.”

Until now, she’d kept her gaze focused on her savior, but it shifted to the redheaded man who had earlier seemed to have some sense of compassion. His focus was locked on Alan but skid to Hamish and then back again. Since he was standing so close to the candles, it was hard to see who he’d decided to side with until his hand rose to his side, and she heard the scrape of metal as his sword was unsheathed.

“If ye walk out that door now, ye may avoid their fate.” Alan’s stare had turned to Balloch, but she was certain he hadn’t taken all his attention from Hamish and her. Balloch squared his shoulders then took a step toward Alan. “Ye dinnae have to do this.”

“Aye, I have sworn my loyalty.” The man slid sideways to cut off Alan’s access to Hamish and her, then time stood still as the men assessed each other and awaited the next move.

“Be done with it,” Hamish ordered his man from behind her.

A flash of red hair and steel blurred as the guard charged toward Alan. Swords clashed and she flinched at the clang of metal as her heart lurched, her own predicament forgotten as she prayed God would keep Alan safe. The redhead took a step back and pulled his weapon up in a defensive stance as Alan readjusted in one fluid motion.

Stepping in toward Alan, the man swung around and up, aiming for Alan’s torso, but Alan met the blade with his own and deflected it easily. Balloch swung in from the opposite side, and the swords collided again and scraped. A blur of red continued toward Alan, even as his sword was pushed out of his grasp and clattered to the floor. The brute clung to Alan’s arm and drove him back into the wall. As he did, she felt a tug as Hamish attempted to draw her toward the open door to the other room. She pulled away and his grip tightened painfully on the sensitive skin under her upper arm. Attempting to drive her elbow into his ribs, she thrust toward his midsection, but the vise around her dug in deeper and kept her from reaching the target.

“Do not make me hurt you.” His quiet command stopped her for a moment, then she remembered he would hurt her no matter what she did. He honestly thought she would let him drag her out of here without a struggle.

Her gaze shifted to take in his cold eyes, and she pinned him with all the emotion she had. “I willnae be going anywhere with ye, and ye will never lead the Camerons.”

Doubt appeared in his eyes for the first time, but before she could savor it, the redheaded guard grunted and cursed. Her attention returned to the men fighting in front of her.

Alan growled, drew his foot up between them, and pushed out to kick at the man. The redhead lost his grip and flew backward but managed to stay upright. Alan lunged forward, but Balloch had already reached down to scoop up his weapon and skidded out of reach. He stumbled but caught himself on the small table near the closed door to the hall. It creaked and its contents shifted as he nearly tumbled over with it, but when he righted himself, he moved into an offensive stance.

Hamish’s iron grip remained firm on her arm as his free hand snaked around her waist and drew her flush to his chest. She tried to struggle, but he pulled her along the side of the room toward the adjoining door.

Despite the threat in front of him, Alan shifted to block Hamish’s retreat. The arse took a step back and dragged her with him to stand in front of the window by the bed.

“Look out,” she yelled as Balloch charged toward the man she loved.

Movement from the other side of the room caught her gaze as red flames engulfed the side of the room. When Balloch had fallen into the table, the candle must have ignited something. The fingers of fire had spread to the table and chair.

Alan turned in time to block the blow, but Balloch swung around for another attack. Metal clanged and their positions shifted, completely blocking Hamish’s escape to the other room.

The redhead caught sight of the flames for the first time. He gaped, and that was all Alan needed to slice through the air and collide with the man’s side. He went down screaming as blood poured from the wound. While attempting to pull himself up by the door that had been left ajar, he collapsed and the door clicked shut, sealing his fate as Alan drove the point of his claymore through the man’s gut and twisted.

The opposite side of the room crackled with heat as the walls and door of the old inn caught and cut off that means of escape.

“Move now or we’ll burn in here.” Hamish attempted to push her toward the fiery exit.

Instead of obeying, she dug the heel of her boot into the middle of his foot. He yelled, released his hold on her waist and arm, then pulled back. Before she knew what had happened, his fist struck her cheek, and she fell onto the floor by the bed.

Hamish’s twisted rage focused on her, and she flinched into the corner. His hand swept toward her as she shrank away.

“Dinnae touch her.”

Hamish turned toward the threat, and her gaze followed his to see Alan poised just a few steps away with a vengeance in his eyes that matched the roaring fire behind him.

A shiver wracked Hamish’s body. He lunged toward her but was swept away as Alan collided with him, and they both flew out the window.

…

The jolt reverberated through Alan’s bones as he landed on Hamish in a thick puddle of mud. He tried to inhale, but the air didn’t reach his lungs, so he rolled to the side and then up to his knees; he tried again but almost tumbled over. Checking himself for injuries, he saw blood on his shirt, but when he pulled it up, there was only a small scrape. Not nearly enough to account for the amount of red staining the garment.

Swallowing, he tried to breathe again, and a little air got through. He took in another quick breath, then he remembered the man on the ground in front of him. Shaking his head, he straightened and looked over to assess the threat.

The Covenanter lay with eyes open, staring up into the relentless rain as the storm raged around them. A dark stain coated his clothing, more than what covered Alan’s, and the man was motionless. Lightning flashed, and he was able to see a thin flat object protruding from his stomach. It looked like a piece of glass from the window they’d fallen through.

Taking in another breath, he was relieved that this time the air filled his lungs and the pain was easing. Putting his hand in the mud to brace himself, he pushed up to his feet and faced the inn. His heart plummeted.

Flames shot from the window of the room Kirstie was in. The wood crackled and the small bits of rain that hit it sizzled but did nothing to stop the inferno destroying the whole inn.

Kirstie.

She was stuck in that room with her hands bound, one exit in flames and the other blocked by the body of a man he’d just killed.

“Kirstie,” he yelled, but there was no sign of her.

A scream pierced the rain. She was still up there. He forced his trembling legs to move faster than he ever had, intent on saving her or die trying.