THE SKARAVEN HELPED Perrin distribute the tiny rosemary leaves to all the fallen McAra, and less than an hour later every member of the clan had been revived. Out of deference to the laird, and to calm his frightened lady, Maddock received the first curative leaf, and stirred only moments after it had been placed on his tongue.

“What do I here?” He worked his jaw and peered up at Perrin and an anxious Elspeth. “Dinnae look at me so. I’m the laird. If I wish to nap in my dining hall, then I shall.”

“You may nap wherever you please, my love.” His wife clasped his hand to her swollen belly. “Oh, Maddock. I’m obliged to you for no’ dying.”

“I’ve druid blood,” the laird reminded her as he sat up and kissed her. “I shall never die.”

While the revived clansmen went to work raising the barricades, the laird ordered the furniture in the great hall pushed back to the walls. With his wife and their children gathered around him, Maddock listened to Kanyth’s account of the attack.

“Guards, bring Ross McAra to me,” Maddock called as soon as he heard of the bravery of the stable hands. When the lad came and bowed before him, he looked him over with a frown. “I ken you. You’re my tanist’s second son. I’m told you sneak into the garrison to have meals with your brother, Duff.”

“Aye, my lord.” The boy tried to smile. “Only when I’m done with my morning work.”

“Well, pack your things, lad.” The laird stood, looking very stern now as he approached him. “You’re to join the garrison this very day, and begin your warrior training.”

Ross’s eyes widened. “But I’m no’ yet fourteen, my lord, and they say I’m…too puny.”

“You’ve fended off giants, made brother of a fierce Skaraven, and protected your lord, my lady and this clan. I shake in my boots to think what you shall do at fourteen.” The laird leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “And lad, they called me the runt of the litter.”

Perrin stood back behind Maddock, Brennus and the Skaraven, content to watch the show. All day she’d felt Kanyth watching her, as he did now, and ached for a moment alone with him. She’d been such an idiot to fight what now owned her, body and soul. It didn’t matter to her what they called it, or what rituals were involved, or what it meant for the future. They were meant to be together—and she loved him, so much it made her tear up just to think it.

“The little laird is married,” Kanyth murmured to her as he appeared beside her and regarded Maddock. “And I wouldnae cross his wife. She fights with blades.”

“I’m already taken,” Perrin told him, and laced her fingers through his. “I think I’ll go up to our chamber so I can pack our things.”

“’Tis much work, the business of packing,” he said gravely. “It may take the rest of the day, and the night, and the morrow. I shall give you aid.”

“I know what you want to give me, you bad man, which is why you’re staying down here.”

She brushed a discreet kiss against his cheek before letting go. But as she turned, a small figure darted out from under a table, a sword clutched in its fists—a sword aimed at Brennus’s back.

“No,” Perrin yelled, lunging for the attacker.

As though awakened, the revenant whirled, drew back the sword, and thrust it at her chest. Kanyth was there a heartbeat later, shielding her with his body as Wynda struck. The sound of the blade running him through slithered in her ears, and then pain became her universe.

* * *

“Perrin.”

Kanyth backhanded the revenant, knocking her away, with his lady behind him. He glanced down at the blade still bobbing from where it protruded from his tunic. The pain felt as nothing compared to his fear when he’d seen that Wynda meant to gut his lady.

“Someone put that thing in irons,” his brother ordered as he appeared in front of him.

Though Brennus’s dark face was almost white, he held Kanyth’s shoulder as he gripped the hilt and carefully drew out the blade. But no sooner was it clear than he tossed it aside, and quickly stepped around him.

Kanyth didn’t understand why until he spun around.

Brennus caught Perrin before she fell.

“Perrin?” Kanyth gasped.

His brother held her limp form as he clapped a hand over the blood spreading quickly over the front of her gown.

“Ruadri!” the chieftain called out.

“No,” Kanyth breathed as he fell to his knees, his hands reaching for her, his arms shaking as he pulled her from the chieftain and held her cradled against him. “I took the blade. I shielded you.”

“She stood too close,” Brennus said. “It pierced you both.”

The shaman knelt down beside him, a cloth in his hands. “Brother, permit me.”

“Ka,” Perrin coughed, staining her lips with flecks of blood. “Never…saw this. Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you,” he told her, “but only if you’re very still now, and permit Ru to tend to you.” As her eyelids fluttered he held her tightly. “Perrin, dinnae dare leave me. We defeated the giants, you and I. The forge chose you for me. You’re my mate.”

She frowned up at him. “Wench.”

“Aye,” Kanyth said and tried to smile down at her. “My wench.” A long, liquid sigh escaped her. “Perrin, no,” he warned her as her eyes slowly closed. “You cannae leave. You…” Her head fell against his arm.

A hoarse shout made Kanyth look up to see Bhaltair Flen fall beside Perrin, an arrow quivering in his belly. Then came the sound of the barricades out in the great hall falling into place, and a strange laugh from the gallery overhead.

He looked up to see the merry grin of a young lass lowering a long bow.

“Oriana,” Bhaltair wheezed.

The acolyte raised her glowing hands, and the mighty fires burning in the hearths roared out. The flames crawled up the tapestries and caught the legs of furnishings, setting them ablaze. Dozens more fires erupted from bundles of rags scattered through the hall.

It was Perrin’s vision, the one he had not believed.

“You shallnae run away again, Skaraven,” Oriana called down to Brennus. “All of your cursed clan shall burn with you.” She fluttered her fingers at Kanyth, and then skipped away.

Brennus cursed and ran for the stairs.

Lady Elspeth cupped her hands around her mouth. “Now,” she shouted.

All around them men rushed to hanging ropes, and yanked on them. Then the hall became filled with torrents of water that doused the flames around them. Clouds of steam wafted up, hazing the hall as guards carried buckets of sand to extinguish the last of the blazes left burning.

Kanyth shook his head to clear his eyes, and glanced up to see dozens of dripping, empty-bottomed black kegs swaying gently from where they hung from the rafters.

“Mistress Perrin warned me of this,” Elspeth said as she came over to slowly kneel beside Ruadri. “She thought it mightnae come to pass, but I decided ’twould be prudent to take measures.” As the laird’s wife gazed down at Perrin’s body, the lady’s expression grew bleak. “You saved us again, lass.”

Save her.

Kanyth blinked against the voice in his mind.

But how could he save her? His clan ring was…

He eased Perrin into Ruadri’s arms before he stood and ran for the stairs. He raced to the door that led to the ramparts, and rushed out to the wall. There he bent over, ignoring the blood that dripped from his chest. He dug furiously through the reddening slush and debris, until he found the three pieces of his shattered clan ring.

He would not let this be the end.

As he snatched some bits of iron ore from the overturned bucket, he summoned the forge.

“You marked her for me,” he grated. Using one glowing fingertip, he melted the iron against the cracked pieces and rejoined them. Holding the ring in his palm, he shoved it into the blood-soaked snow and took it out—misshapen but whole again. “She’s my mate, Gods damn you.”

He didn’t breathe again until he ran into the great hall and dropped beside Perrin’s body, which Ruadri had covered with the blue and black tartan. He ripped aside the plaid and took hold of her hand, gently sliding the clan ring onto her finger.

“Please,” Kanyth whispered, never taking his eyes from her white face. “Come back to me, wench. Come back.”

But the ring remained as she did, still and broken. Its magic, like her, had gone from him.

Dull defeat filled him, and he held her against his chest. Ruadri and the others spoke to him, but he could not hear them. He cared nothing for their comfort. Never again would he know ease. Perrin had saved them all, and he had failed her in every way.

“My brave lass,” he whispered as he brought her scarred palm to his lips. He kissed it before slipping her cold hand to his still bloody chest. As she had once done, he pressed it against his skinwork. “I love you.” He lowered his head and spoke to the forge, summoning fierce heat within him. “Take me to her, I beg you. Take me.”

But instead of the heat and flames he desired, a rosy golden light suffused the air around him. It spread out over his chest and into her arm, and then it engulfed them in white heat. He would die now, and be with her, and that gave him joy. Then he felt her trembling as she reached for him, and let out a bellow as he looked down at her through the blinding light.

An enormous blast rocked the hall, flattening Kanyth next to Perrin’s body. He opened his eyes to see every Skaraven and McAra knocked from their feet, and then felt soft lips touch his temple. A hand bearing his glowing clan ring came up to caress his cheek. Not a single crack appeared in the stone.

“The forge doesn’t like anyone messing with our bond thing,” Perrin said as he sat up to face her. Without looking down, he knew his chest was made whole, and not just from the wound. Smiling at him, she said, “I think we’d better mate now, and keep it happy. But I’ll still be your wench.”

“Aye,” he said grinning, as he brushed her silken, flowing hair behind one ear. “Always.”