Chapter Twenty-Five
“What the damned hell is going on here?” Liam’s enraged bellow reached over the peals of weaponry and shouts resonating from inside the MacNabs’ walls. Halted in the valley below, he tightened his grasp on the reins as his gelding pawed the ground in agitation.
Moonlight glimmered off Calum’s scowl. “For Christ’s sake, calm down.”
“Calm down?” he yelled incredulously. “How the devil am I to calm down? I’d like to see you try were it Arabella.”
That shut his kin’s gob.
Calm down? Saints above, he straddled a frayed line between overwhelming frustration and downright panic. All through the day and well into the eve he’d ridden hard only to arrive moments ago to the sounds of outright warfare going on inside the MacNab courtyard in the dead of night. How the blasted hell was he to calm down when Nora and Will were in the midst of a damned attack?
Aggrieved with his inability to overtake Fergus and his men on the road, Liam refused to lose a moment more. Scanning the dim rampart for any sign of archers, he clutched his mount’s reins and tapped the beast’s flanks with his boot heels, urging the horse into a full gallop toward the torch-lit gate.
“Damn it, Boy. Wait,” Fraser barked after him.
To hell with the lot of them. He hardly gave a damn about the MacNabs. His sole focus centered on his lass and her kin. The rest of the godforsaken clan could rot for the little he cared.
Behind him, hooves pounded over the hard-packed earth as his cousin, Fraser, and the others in their small band raced to catch up to him. Despite his sore back screaming in protest, he flew across the valley toward the front gate, desperate to reach Nora.
Throughout the entire day’s journey, countless dreadful thoughts swirled through his mind when he considered what his lass and her younger brother might’ve faced in his absence. As he drew near, the distinct riotous clamor of battle grew, thickening the intense pressure perched in the middle of his chest. Approaching the gate, he tugged the reins, bringing his mount to a halt. His kin and the others followed suit, reining their horses alongside his own.
With a level of caution, he moved closer to the braided steel portcullis and peered through to the courtyard. Struggling to comprehend the scene inside the walls, his jaw slackened at the sight.
Fraser exclaimed, “What the devil?”
Liam spat out a curse, echoing the sentiment.
“’Tis a blasted first for me,” Calum muttered.
Moonlight flung an illuminated blanket over the bailey and the brawling men engaged in combat. Blazing torches hung from the walls and buildings lit the courtyard, flashing off the flat edges of shifting and whirling weaponry, while scuffles and shouts blended together in a dissonance of noise that droned in Liam’s ears. He cast a sideways glance at his kin and the Fraser warriors who’d accompanied them. Each man’s expression reflected Liam’s utter bewilderment.
On the other side of the portcullis, MacNabs fought MacNabs. Not an enemy clan as Liam suspected.
Not that he’d offer complaint. In truth, he was thankful for the boon, but the entire situation wholly caught him unaware.
Shoving aside his confusion, he grabbed hold of one of the sturdy steel bars of the gate. “We have to find a way inside.”
“Leave this to me,” Symon spoke up. “John, lend a hand, will you?”
Both men bounded from their horses and moved alongside the wall. Bending at the knees, John cupped his hands in front of him and tilted his head. As if the pair had rehearsed the maneuver, Symon placed one booted foot in the Fraser soldier’s joined hands, then stepped onto the warrior’s shoulder with the other. John jerked upright, hoisting the commander high enough to clutch the topmost part of the rampart.
A testament of his strength and agility, Symon used his forearms to pull himself higher up the wall until he managed to kick a heel over the edge. He raised his body with a roll to lie flat atop the stone wall. Within moments, the commander disappeared from view and the distinctive groan of gears whined over the commotion in the bailey. The portcullis lifted with a slow movement that frustrated them all.
Unwilling to wait, Liam urged his gelding inside amid the fray, ducking beneath the rising iron bars. With the entire courtyard engaged in battle, none of the MacNabs heeded their arrival. Before the beast came to a complete rest, Liam’s booted feet hit the ground. His single-minded focus on Nora, he scanned the courtyard, searching the fighting throngs of men while the others hastened to join him.
An unyielding urge compelled him to move, but he paused long enough to inhale several steadying breaths to steel his rattled nerves. Rushing inside like a madman with little regard for his own welfare would hardly save Nora or her brother. Resolved in his task, he yanked his weapon from the scabbard along his waist.
“Kill anyone who stands in our way. Find Nora and Will,” he shouted over the deafening uproar. He tossed a quick glance at Calum. “Guard my back, eh?”
Features set in a harsh glower, his cousin brandished his long sword in front of him. “As if you need ask.”
Weapons drawn and at the ready, they moved as a group into the thick of the fight, deflecting any strike or blow aimed in their direction. Determination propelling him onward, Liam advanced for the front doors hanging agape, weaving through the swarm of men. Some standing, others fallen at his feet.
Once he waded through and managed to slip inside the keep, he spat out a curse. The interior was naught short of hellish chaos.
Inside the great hall, shouts and screams boomed to the rafters. A thick tinge of blood hung in the dense air. Wounded and slain MacNabs littered the grimy, crimson-stained floors. Trestle tables and benches lay overturned or broken to pieces amid the scuffle.
“John,” Liam shouted over his shoulder. “You and Gabriel check above stairs.”
“Aye, Laird,” the Fraser warrior returned. The pair darted up the empty main staircase to search the chambers for Nora and Will.
Liam proceeded deeper into the hall, wading into the skirmish. The sharpened edge of an axe hurled at his neck and he sidestepped to keep his head attached to his shoulders. The heavy weapon clanged hard against the floor, chipping away wee shards of stone and grit. The bearded wielder raised the broad-axe, his intent to cleave Liam in two. He ducked to one side to avoid a direct hit and swung his sword the opposite, slashing a deep gouge across the man’s fleshy middle.
Uncaring if the arse lived or perished, he continued to press forward through the warring mass, scanning for the two familiar faces he desperately prayed not to spot amongst the madness surrounding him. He spun on his heel to track Calum and Fraser, and nearly slammed into a dark-haired soldier.
The MacNab stumbled back a few paces, lifting his sword the same instant as Liam. For a long, stuttered moment their gazes locked before the other man’s flickered to the tartan hunting mantle slung around Liam’s shoulders.
“MacGregor.” Liam strained to hear the rumble of the man’s voice. The soldier lowered his weapon. “Will said you’d come.”
Not in the mood for idle chatter, he rushed the soldier with a flap of his hand. “Marvelous. Now where the devil are he and Nora?”
The warrior’s gaze searched the crowd. “I lost sight of them.”
Emitting yet another foul curse, Liam had half a mind to slay the man on principle. Instead, he shoved the fool aside as one of the enemy aimed for the soldier’s turned back. He parried the strike, while the warrior pivoted to address his attacker.
The beckoning of a high-pitched whistle pierced the charged air, and Liam jerked his head toward the sound. Along the hall’s front wall, Symon snared his attention and gestured across the hall to one corner.
A few paces away, Calum dispatched his opponent, pushing the man free of his blade with a shove of his foot. “Let’s go.”
With his cousin’s aid, they cleared a path toward the rear of the hall. When he stepped into clear view of the kitchens, the sight of Nora nearly ripped his heart from his chest. Air burst from his lungs as if he’d taken a direct blow to the gut.
Backed into a corner, she knelt over her brother, her shaky hands holding a short sword in front of her to ward off an advancing MacNab.
Pure terror gripped Liam by the ballocks, jolting his limbs into action. Frantic to reach Nora before the arse closed in on her, Liam flew across the hall, his feet barely touching the stone floor. Just as the fool lifted his weapon to strike, Liam launched his body the short remaining distance. He slammed into the man’s midsection, taking the villain down hard to the ground with a solid oomph.
Relentless fury flooded his veins, unleashing a base, visceral need to destroy the bastard for daring to harm his Nora. His frayed restraint snapped, his usual good nature smashed to bits. Tossing his weapon aside, he straddled the whoreson and thrashed the fool within an inch of his life. Even after the man ceased to kick and writhe beneath him, Liam continued to pummel the bastard, assuaging the smoldering wrath threatening to incinerate him from within.
“Dammit, enough!”
Calum’s rumbling bellow scarcely penetrated the demented need guiding his fists. Strong arms wrapped over his chest, dragging him backward off the prone soldier. Dropped hard on the flat of his arse, he sat there with his arms hanging limply over the tops of his knees. Heaving in breath after deep breath, he stared at the soiled, stone floor while he strove to control his trembling frame.
Soft fingers gingerly touched his raw, bloodied knuckles.
His head jerked upright. The comeliest gaze he’d ever clapped eyes on peered back at him with concern.
“Are you all right?” she asked over the whining clamor in the hall.
The sound of her voice was music to his ears. He grunted, “Aye.”
Or at least, he was all right until he spotted the dried blood splattered over her pale cheeks.
Grabbing beneath her arms, he hauled the lass over his thighs and grasped her face between his callused palms. Brushing his thumbs over the smudges, he searched her over for wounds. “Where are you hurt? Tell me.”
“’Tis not mine.” Frowning, she tugged her face free and batted at his hands. “Will’s hurt.”
She scrambled off his lap and crawled to her brother who lay on his side. Calum crouched behind the lad with a dark expression, inspecting the dagger embedded in Will’s shoulder.
“It needs to come out.” His cousin stated the obvious.
Exhausted to the bone, Liam scrapped together enough strength to move closer and knelt beside the young man. He winced at Will’s injury, though the lad had not lost too much blood.
The youth’s dark eyes snapped open, surprising Liam. He’d presumed the lad unconscious.
“Just get it out,” Will croaked. “Hurts more in than out, I’d wager.”
Despite the situation, the wry comment almost pulled a laugh from Liam.
Symon moved in close around them, with the dark-haired MacNab warrior whom Liam had chanced upon in the center of the fray. The MacGregor commander tipped his head toward the hall. “The fight’s drawing to an end.”
Aware the clamor had dwindled, Liam glanced to the center of the hall, pleased to see one set of MacNabs had all but defeated the other group.
“Does the clan still have a healer, Owen?” Nora worriedly asked the MacNab soldier.
“Aye, my lady. Gordon’s bringing her now.” A few years younger than Liam, the warrior knelt beside Will and grimaced at the lad’s injury. “Once she arrives, we’ll remove the blade and move him to a chamber I’m having readied.”
Holding the youth’s arm steady, Calum searched the hall. “Where the devil’s Fraser?”
Owen’s mouth lifted with a smirk. “Laird Fraser and his men have Tavish and Fergus trussed up outside in the bailey.”
Nora expelled a deep gust of air and sank back on her heels. Her shoulders slumped with her obvious relief.
Itching to hold her, Liam settled for grasping her hand and twining their fingers.
The soldier’s solemn gaze met Liam’s. “My lord, I vow I urged them both to remain above stairs and away from danger.”
Unsurprised by the admission, he pinned Nora with a sideways stare. The lass had the good grace to flush a bright pink and duck her head.
“I’d say Nora handled herself well.” Despite the dagger in his back, Will lifted his head to peer beyond Liam.
Glancing over his shoulder, Liam almost bowled over at the sight several yards away. Dead on the floor with, of all things, a pair of gardening shears buried in her chest, sprawled Beatrice. He whipped his head around to spear Nora with his astonishment.
“By your hand?”
With a brazen lift of her chin, she met his gaze squarely. “Aye, and I would do it again, if necessary. She hurt my brother.”
Frustration bled through his shock. He glared at the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with, struck by her unrelenting need to protect her brother. Did she not give a single thought to her own welfare? Grudgingly, he admired her fierce selflessness and loyalty, but not at the cost of her life. Did she not comprehend how much he valued her life? Or how her demise would wholly devastate him?
“My valiant hero,” Will mumbled with a playful grin.
Rolling her eyes, Nora slapped his arm without thought.
The lad hissed in pain. “By the Saints, Nora.”
Her hands flew over her gaping mouth. “Oh, God. Forgive me. I was not thinking.”
“Stand aside, stand aside,” a feminine voice crowed.
Liam glanced at an ancient crone shuffling toward their group, wielding a knotted, oaken walking stick. At her side, her young apprentice carried a medicinal bag almost half the youth’s size. The old woman’s white hair sat askew atop her head while the cloying scents of healing herbs embraced her like a cloak. Her beady eyes widened a measure, her gaze darting from Nora to Will.
“Saints, ’tis true,” she exclaimed. “You both live.” She cracked a toothless grin. “I vow I remember when your mother brought both of you into this world, kicking and screaming up a storm. Ever the fighters you pair were, even then.”
Astonishment lit Nora’s dark eyes. “Glynnis! Sweet Mother, I cannot believe you live!”
“Come now, lass. Why should that surprise you?” The wizened, old crone cackled in amusement. “I’m only nearing a hundred years, lass. I’m sure I’ve another score left in me yet.”
The words choked Liam. Clearing his throat, he darted a dumbfounded glance at the woman. A grin split Glynnis’ ancient features and she winked a blasted, beady eye at him.
With the aid of her walking stick and her young apprentice, Glynnis knelt beside Will, her old bones snapping and cracking with the motion. “Let me have a look, lad.”
Once she appraised the injury, she rifled in her bag, pulling a small jar, a pair of phials, threading and a needle from inside.
“I need you lads to hold him”—she lifted her gaze to Calum and her white brows rose—“while the larger lad here pulls the dagger free.”
Calum met Liam’s gaze, nodding at him to move into position. Careful not to jar Will’s arm, Liam placed steadying hands along the lad’s waist and chest. Owen moved to hold the young man’s lower half, securing his hips and legs from thrashing. All the while, Nora rose to her knees, her fretful gaze latched on to her brother.
“Ready, lad?” Liam asked Will.
He muttered, “Aye, have done with it.”
Hand grasped around the hilt, Calum offered a sharp nod at Liam, signaling him to hold the boy, before he yanked the blade from Will’s back. The youth’s howl of pain resounded through the great hall.
Flinching, Nora chewed on her bottom lip while she wrung her hands in front of her.
Glynnis moved quickly for a woman of her age, directing the young girl to remove Will’s tunic and pour clean water over the wound before wiping away the dark flow of crimson. The old woman uncorked a phial and a noxious odor pervaded the air.
Calum wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Hell, reminds me of your mother’s remedies.”
“’Tis the God’s truth,” Liam muttered.
“This’ll sting a bit,” Glynnis warned Will.
When the bleeding slowed to a bright red trickle, the healer dribbled the thick fluid over the wound, earning a bellowed curse from Will. Glynnis nodded for her apprentice to dry the area before she scooped out a generous amount of brown salve from an earthen jar and slathered the paste over the injury. With practiced efforts, the young girl passed a threaded needle over to Glynnis.
“I’ll be done in a flash, lad.”
True to her word, the old woman’s gnarled fingers worked swiftly, sewing neat lines to stitch the wound and tying off the end in a tidy knot. Snipping away the excess, she nodded in satisfaction at her work.
Liam was quite impressed with the old woman’s efforts as well.
“Sit the lad up for me, will you?” She motioned to Calum, who did not hesitate to answer the old woman’s request.
Working together, Glynnis and her apprentice looped strips of clean linen around Will’s chest, bandaging his shoulder to prevent infection. “Now, let’s put the lad to bed. He needs to rest a while.” She passed a small flask to Nora. “Make sure he drinks a healthy dose. It’ll ease his pain and help him sleep. I’ll be around later this morn to check on him and change his bandages.”
Hunching over, the healer tapped Will’s cheek with a soft, affectionate pat. “Welcome home, Laird.”
Liam blinked in surprise. Saints, the old woman had the right of it. Will was, in fact, Laird of the MacNabs. ’Tis truth, he could think of no one better to lead the clan. From the lad’s keen intellect to his affable nature, Will was a born leader.
Once Glynnis hobbled out of the way, Calum, Symon and Owen moved in around Will, reaching to lift his body from the cold, stone floor to carry him to the readied chamber, but Will lifted his head.
“Wait.” He struggled to focus his red-rimmed gaze. “Help me to rise. I can walk.”
With the men’s aid, the young man managed to stand on shaky legs. Despite his best efforts, Calum and Symon shouldered his weight while Owen led them to a bedchamber, leaving Liam sitting alone on the hall floor with Nora.
For long moments, they sat side by side, watching the MacNabs round up the last of the enemy and haul them away to the dungeons. He chanced a peek at her and found her peering at him.
“Are you all right?” He echoed her earlier query.
She nodded. Her troubled gaze searched his. “How’s Geordie?”
Hesitant to speak of the man’s fate, he shook his head. Tears glimmered in her dark eyes and his heart broke for her. “I’m sorry, my lass.”
He wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Hot tears scalded his neck, drawing a wellspring of emotion from Liam. He’d never handled crying females well. Thrown together with the distressing day he’d experienced, Nora’s tears practically gutted him. Pressing his lips to her temple, he closed his eyes and relished the feel of her safe in his arms.
He confessed, “I’ve never felt the grips of true terror until I learned you’d been taken from me. Promise me, I’ll never know that feeling ever again.”
She placed a kiss along his jaw. “I vow it.”