Fury surged through Eadan as he lunged toward Dughall, but several of Dughall’s men surrounded him in a protective circle.

Eadan heard a snarl behind him, and whirled as Uisdean, one of Dughall’s men, the same man he’d attacked for the lustful way he spoke of Fiona, charged at him. Uisdean raised his sword, and their blades clashed as they began to fight.

“After Dughall’s done with yer Sassenach whore, I’ll take my turn with her,” Uisdean hissed.

Eadan’s simmering rage roared to an inferno, and he let out an enraged growl as his movements quickened, but Uisdean matched each of Eadan’s moves with his own. When Eadan missed a vital parry, Uisdean lunged forward, aiming his sword right for Eadan’s heart. Eadan dodged just in time, but lunged forward, sinking his sword into the man’s belly.

Uisdean let out a pained roar, sinking to the floor, his sword clattering to the ground. His eyes fluttered shut, but he was still alive, his breathing pained and ragged. Eadan would not kill a man who couldn’t fight back, but it took everything in him not to spear him through with his sword for threatening Fiona.

But there was still fighting to be done. He turned, searching for Dughall through the mass of fighting bodies. He located him at the opposite end of the hall, his sword clashing with Ronan’s.

Eadan darted toward them and joined his cousin in the fight. Dughall was an expert swordsman and he easily fought them both, his movements filled with rage. When two of Dughall’s men joined the fight, edging him and Ronan to the back wall of the hall, Eadan realized with growing panic that several of his men were now injured or dead; Dughall and his men outnumbered them and was on the verge of overtaking them.

He didn’t know if the nobles Ronan had sent for would arrive in time, but his worry wasn’t for him, or his clan. It was only for Fiona. He could only pray that she’d heeded his words and fled the castle to get to Tairseach. He couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen to her if she was here when he fell to Dughall’s sword.

The thought gave him a surge of renewed strength and determination. His movements quickened, the blade of his sword clashing with Dughall’s as he lunged forward. Dughall’s eyes glinted, the hatred in them raw, and Eadan wondered how Dughall had maintained his civility around him for so long.

Dughall’s men closed in on Ronan, and his cousin gave him a reassuring but fierce look as he turned to take them on, leaving Eadan to fight Dughall on his own.

Dughall lunged forward, aiming the tip of his blade to Eadan’s throat. Eadan evaded, barely, but the blade nipped at his skin, and blood seeped from the wound.

“Where shall I enjoy yer Sassenach whore after ye fall tae my sword?” Dughall taunted, again swinging at Eadan’s throat with his sword. “In the same bed ye had her? Perhaps here in the hall where I killed her treacherous lover?”

Eadan was barely managing to evade Dughall’s slashes. He knew Dughall was baiting him with his words, and it was working. The fury that seared his veins made his grip tremble on the hilt of his sword, and he struggled to focus.

Dughall was fast, his aim dangerously precise. Eadan darted a quick look around the hall—Ronan and his men were too occupied fighting Dughall’s men to come to his aid.

Eadan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, willing himself to focus, to not let Dughall’s threats about Fiona sway him. He had to make the next swing of his sword count.

“Or perhaps I’ll take her in each room of the castle before my men take her. Perhaps I willnae have her hanged. I’ll keep her as Clan Acheson’s own personal whore.”

As soon as Dughall spoke, two things happened. The nobles Ronan sent for burst into the hall, descending on Dughall’s men and taking out their swords. And the rage that filled Eadan at Dughall’s words spurred him toward Dughall—he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Eadan lunged forward with his sword, moving faster than he ever had during a fight. Dughall may have been an excellent fighter, but Eadan had an advantage—his relative youth.

Dughall’s eyes widened as Eadan’s blade made contact with the flesh of his abdomen. Eadan pierced Dughall with his sword, knocking Dughall’s sword out of his hands as he sank to the floor.

When Dughall was on his back, Eadan stepped forward, pressing his blade to Dughall’s chest.

“Do ye surrender, Dughall?” he growled, struggling to restrain himself from killing the man. “’Tis the right of Clan Macleay tae bring ye tae justice.”

Dughall glared at him, and despite his pain, the hatred remained in his eyes.

“Never,” Dughall spat, clutching at his bleeding abdomen. “Clan Macleay doesnae deserve its lands nor its property, and ye doonae deserve tae be laird.”

Eadan clenched his teeth, pressing his blade harder to Dughall’s chest. The threats Dughall had made toward Fiona swirled through his mind, and he fantasized about spearing Dughall straight through with his sword, letting him bleed slowly and painfully to death.

But when he looked up, he saw that much of the fighting had ceased. The nobles who’d come to their aid had helped wound or slaughter Dughall’s men.

He looked down at Dughall, clenching his fist. The fight was over. And as much as he wanted to kill the old man, he was laird and soon-to-be chief of the clan. There was a process the clan underwent for bringing men to justice, one that he would follow.

Eadan stepped back, tearing his gaze away from Dughall as Ronan approached.

“Imprison Dughall and his surviving men in the tower,” he said. “Have a healer tend tae the injured.”

But as Ronan nodded, turning to Eadan’s men and gesturing for help, Dughall reached for his discarded sword in a surprisingly quick move for an injured man. He weakly lurched to his feet, still clutching his bleeding abdomen, and slashed out with his sword, aiming for Eadan’s heart—

Ronan turned, letting out a horrified shout, but Eadan dodged Dughall’s attack. Before he could swing again, Eadan lunged forward, sinking his sword into Dughall’s chest.

Dughall stumbled to his knees as Eadan pulled out the sword. He wheezed, fighting to breathe, before falling to the floor on his side, his eyes wide and unseeing.

“Damned fool,” Eadan snarled.

“’Tis for the best,” Ronan muttered, as he reached Eadan’s side, his breathing still ragged with tension. “When we imprisoned him, the bastard would’ve kept plotting yer demise from his cell.”

Eadan nodded; Ronan was right. Dughall’s hatred ran deeper than he’d thought.

As his men rounded up Dughall’s surviving men, Eadan hurried to the pantry adjoining the great hall, searching for Fiona. But when he didn’t find her inside, panic swept over him.

He stepped out into the corridor, on the verge of ordering his men to search the castle grounds for Fiona, when he heard a pained scream.

He froze, icy dread clawing through his chest. It was Fiona’s voice.

Whirling, he raced down the corridor in the direction of the scream, tearing up the winding staircase. When he reached the top, he found Fiona and Magaidh at the far end of the narrow corridor, right by the window, slashing at each other with their daggers. Magaidh attacked Fiona with the ferocity of a feral cat, while Fiona’s moves were more defensive; she was trying to ward her off.

Eadan charged toward them and Magaidh turned, her eyes widening at the sight of him. She grabbed Fiona from behind with surprising strength, dragging her toward the window at the end of the corridor.

“Magaidh—no!” he cried, his panic swelling as he scrambled to them.

“Ye just should’ve wed me, Eadan!” Magaidh cried. He’d never seen her so unhinged; her green eyes feral, her breathing coming in frantic gasps. “Ye—ye should have loved me, not this whore!”

“Stop this, Magaidh!” he pleaded, as Magaidh reached the window, still clutching Fiona, who struggled to release herself from Magaidh’s grip. “All will be forgiven. Just—let her go.”

“Ye’ll have me imprisoned—or send me off tae a nunnery!” Magaidh spat. “Things were well before she showed up here. She needs tae die.”

“No, Magaidh,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Fiona met his eyes, and he saw something in them that gave him pause. Though she looked terrified, there was also a determination lurking in their depths.

He realized that her struggles were just a show. She was using her free hand to slowly move her dagger toward Magaidh’s leg. Keep her talking, her eyes said.

“’Tis my fault. I—I should have told ye my doubts about the betrothal,” he said, returning his focus to Magaidh, his heart hammering frantically against his chest. “Don’t blame this on Fiona.”

“Ye never—” Magaidh began, but in a quick move, Fiona slashed at Magaidh’s leg. Magaidh howled in pain, releasing her grip on Fiona.

But before Fiona could dart out of her reach, Magaidh again grabbed for her, and shoved her out of the open window.

Fiona let out a startled, terrified cry, reaching out to Magaidh to break her fall, and they both tumbled out of the window.

No, Eadan thought, horror roiling through him. Fiona wouldn’t survive such a fall. Please, God. No.

But just before he reached the window, Fiona shakily pulled herself up over the ledge, and he almost stumbled to his knees in relief.

She turned, reaching her hands out the window, and he realized she was helping Magaidh get back inside.

He joined her, finding Magaidh clutching onto the ledge. As he and Fiona reached for Magaidh, she let out an enraged snarl, reaching up with one hand to attempt to pull Fiona out the window. But she lost her grip, slipping from the ledge and tumbling to the ground below with a scream.

Fiona stumbled back from the window, shaken, and turned, burying herself in his arms. Eadan held her close, his heart still hammering with remnant panic and fear.

“’Tis over,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “’Tis over, Fiona.”

She looked up at him, tears and relief filling her eyes.

“I thought—” she whispered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t survive. And then Magaidh dragged me up here and attacked—”

“Ye fought well,” he said. “She was determined tae kill ye. And I wanted tae survive—for ye. We still have a life tae share, Fiona.”

Fiona blinked back her tears and gave him a tremulous smile.

“I love you, Eadan,” she whispered.

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her forehead, her jaw, her lips.

“And I love ye, my strong, brave Fiona. Always.”